Miles, I know it’s been radio silent for the last month or so. I apologize about that mate, and I wouldn’t break the silence if I didn’t have new information about that kid, Kevin.
So going off the information you gave me, I took it upon myself to hunt down the boy’s father. We found him and had a long conversation in regards to his son. About 6 months ago, when this all began, Kevin had run away from home. That’s apparently when you bumped into him there on Fremont Street...he was trying to see his mum but because he’s still a kid...well long story short, he only hung around for a few more weeks and came back to LA. How is not the question but as you said, you were told that he was going to try and get back into the house with his da. After that conversation that I had with his da, it didn’t go well. Like at all.
Mate, this kid is lost. It’s far worse than what we could have imagined. He’s not just a runaway. He’s being trafficked. We lost track of him about 2 weeks ago, shortly after we had actually talked to you, and then just a few days ago, he popped up on our radar only for him to vanish again. With what we’ve seen, we believe that he is with someone for him to get back to Vegas.
I’ve reached out to the detective that you let me know about, he has been made aware and has been shown every piece of evidence that we have. He encouraged me to reach out to you personally about this but has made it clear to not interfere with the investigation.
....and that’s where Miles slammed the lid to his laptop shut and almost took it and tossed it over the balcony.
“FUCK!”
This was two weeks ago when he got that email from Ben Jordan. He had been practically yoked to his phone since then and since he was advised to not interfere...if you ever knew anything about Miles, you know that was not about to happen.
First call out of the gate, Detective LaSalle. Same words: We’re investigating. Stay out of the way.
Did it stop him?
HA...Not in the slightest.
Las Vegas – Cheap Motel Parking Lot – Late Night
Miles sat on the hood of his Jeep, elbows on his knees, the desert air pressing down like a weight he couldn’t shake. The phone in his hand was lit up with an unsaved number. For a second, he just stared at it—thumb hovering over the screen—before he finally pressed to answer. “Yo”
A gravelly voice came through the speaker, tired and wary.
“Is this Miles Kasey?”
He didn’t recognize the voice. That made him sit up straighter. “Yeah. Who’s this?”
“This is Devin. I run the front desk over at the Sierra Motel on Fremont. You left your number with one of my guys. Said to call if we saw a kid named Kevin.”
Miles’ heart thudded against his ribs. He swallowed. “Go on.”
“He came through here about two hours ago. Checked in with some older guy—mid-thirties, scumbag type. Didn’t catch a last name, but they paid cash. The kid looked rough. Thin, dirty. Like he hadn’t slept in days.”
Miles pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re sure it was him?”
“Longish brown hair. Blue hoodie. Kept his head down the whole time but he has brown eyes. He barely even make eye contact.”
“That sounds him,” Miles breathed. His pulse spiked, part relief, part dread. “Can you give me a room number?”
There was a pause. Then:
“205. It’s on the second floor. I can’t promise they’ll still be here by morning.”
Miles closed his eyes, thumb tapping against his thigh. He’d been waiting months to hear something—anything—that wasn’t a dead end or a rumor. Now that he had it, the fear was worse. The knowledge that Kevin was alive was tangled up in the certainty that he was also in danger.
“Thank you,” he said, voice low. “I owe you.”
He hung up before the man could say anything else. For a moment, Miles just sat there, staring across the dark parking lot, the neon sign buzzing overhead. His reflection in the windshield looked as tired as he felt.
He thought of all the nights he’d lain awake wondering if he’d ever find the kid. If he’d be too late. If he was even doing the right thing. And he thought of the way Carter would look at him if he came back empty-handed. Of LJ’s voice telling him that sometimes, people didn’t want to be saved.
Miles pushed off the hood, shoulders squared. Didn’t matter. He was going.
As he rounded the car to the driver’s side, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone again. A text to Carter flickered on the screen:
Going to Fremont. Found him. Room 205. I’ll handle it.
He hesitated, then typed one more line:
If I’m not back in 3 hours, come get me.
He pocketed the phone, climbed in, and started the engine. The headlights flared to life in the dark, painting the cracked asphalt in white and gold.
One way or another, this ended tonight.
The Sierra Motel looked exactly how you’d expect a place called the Sierra Motel to look at 1:23 in the morning: battered neon buzzing overhead, a couple of guys smoking in plastic chairs outside their rooms, a scattering of cars in the lot that were either stolen or one breakdown away from a junkyard.
Miles climbed out of the Jeep and shut the door as quietly as he could manage. His pulse thudded like a war drum in his throat. He tilted his head back for a second, drawing a long breath of desert air, feeling the heat even at this hour radiating up from the cracked concrete.
He could hear his own inner voice screaming at him:
Stay out of it.
But Miles had never been good at staying out of anything when someone needed him.
He crossed the lot, hands shoved into his hoodie pockets to keep from fidgeting. He found the metal stairwell and climbed it two steps at a time, the rusted grates creaking under his boots. At the top, the hallway was empty, just peeling paint and the sharp smell of bleach.
205.
He stood there a second, heart hammering. He didn’t even have a plan. He just knew he wasn’t leaving without that kid.
He raised a fist and knocked—sharper than he meant to.
No answer.
Miles swallowed, leaned in close. “Kevin, it’s Miles Kasey.”
Still nothing. He tried the handle.
Locked.
Inside, he thought he heard movement—soft, quick.
He knocked again, louder this time. “Kevin, I know you’re in there bruv. You were recognized when you checked in with whoever the hell is in there with ya. Now, open the door.”
A muffled voice shot back from inside. “Go away.”
Miles braced both palms on the door. “I’m not going anywhere. Open the damn door.”
“No.”
And then another voice—deeper, older—snapped from inside. “I told you not to talk to anybody.”
Miles’ blood iced over. That voice was sharp and venomous, the kind that slithered under your skin. He felt a snarl rising up his throat.
“KEVIN! Open this fuckin’ door,” Miles growled, slamming his fist against it now.
He heard rustling, then silence. Then a click.
The door cracked open barely an inch. Just enough for Miles to see a narrow sliver of Kevin’s face: pale, exhausted, a bruise blossoming along his jaw. His brown hair hung greasy around his eyes.
“Miles,” he whispered. “You can’t be here, please.”
“With all due respect, mate...Fuck that,” Miles hissed. He pressed his palm to the door, forcing it open another couple inches. “Come out here. Now.”
“No, no—I can’t—”
A rough hand yanked Kevin back into the room, hard enough to make him yelp. Miles saw a glimpse of a man—mid-thirties, scruffy, eyes wild. And then the door slammed shut.
Miles reeled back, teeth bared, chest heaving. He blinked once, twice. Then he took two steps back—and drove his foot into the door. It shuddered but held.
Inside, the man shouted, “Are you fuckin’ crazy?! PISS THE FUCK OFF!”
Miles wound up and kicked it again. CRACK. This time the latch splintered and the door burst inward. Miles lunged into the room, fists clenched, adrenaline redlining.
The man stumbled back, hauling Kevin in front of him like a shield. “Don’t you fuckin’ come closer!”
Miles saw the glint of something metal—knife, maybe. He didn’t care. His eyes locked on Kevin’s, wide and terrified.
“Let him go,” Miles said, voice low, deadly calm.
The man spat. “You think you can just walk in here and take him? This kid’s mine—”
And that was it. Miles lunged.
The guy barely got the knife up before Miles crashed into him, ripping Kevin free. The blade slashed at Miles’ forearm, but he didn’t feel it. Even with blood lightly coming from the scratch, he managed to drive a fist into the man’s gut, then another into his jaw, the impact rattling his knuckles.
The man crumpled sideways, groaning. Miles planted a foot on his chest and pinned him there, eyes blazing.
“You come near him again, I’ll bury you. That’s not a threat, asshole.” Miles snarled, voice shaking with rage. He turned, gripping Kevin’s shoulders. “Kev. Come on kid, look at me.”
Kevin was shaking, breathing in short, ragged gasps.
“You’re alright, mate. You’re coming with me, right now.”
Kevin blinked tears out of his eyes, nodding almost imperceptibly. Miles kept one hand on him, steering him out the door. Sirens were wailing in the distance. Somebody must have called them. Miles didn’t care. Let them come. Let them try to explain why he’d busted down a door and decked some low-life scumbag.
As they descended the stairs, Kevin glanced up at him. “Miles, I’m sorry.”
Miles just squeezed the back of his neck, trying to steady his own shaking hands. “Not your fault, mate. Not for a second, just keep moving. Just because he’s down doesn’t mean he’s out and I’m not about to wait around to find out.”
They reached the lot, and Miles popped the passenger door open. “Get in.”
Kevin didn’t even hesitate with the man and slid into the seat. Miles slammed the door shut, exhaling a breath that felt like he’d been holding it for months.
He could already hear Carter in his head, asking what the hell he’d just done. But as he climbed behind the wheel and looked over at Kevin, pale and trembling but alive, Miles knew one thing for certain:
He’d do it all over again.
Next stop...Turnberry Towers.
The sun hadn’t even cleared the horizon when Miles unlocked the door and ushered Kevin inside. Carter was already waiting in the living room, pacing back and forth in a hoodie and sweatpants, hair a platinum tangle around his face.
The second he saw Miles, he exploded.
“Miles, what the fuck—”
But he stopped short when he saw Kevin.
Kevin hovered in the doorway, shoulders hunched, brown hair hanging in his eyes, face pale and hollow. His clothes were rumpled and too big for him, and his hands were trembling.
Carter’s entire demeanor shifted. The anger evaporated, replaced by that fierce protective softness Miles had fallen in love with a thousand times over.
“Oh… Kev.”
Kevin flinched a little at the attention, eyes darting around the house like he was waiting to be told he couldn’t stay. “I’m sorry...”
“Don’t be” Miles steered him toward the couch. “Come on, mate. Sit. Eat something.”
He’d already set out leftovers—rice, grilled chicken, some toast. Kevin sank down and practically began to inhale the food, eating so fast he barely paused to chew.
“Take your time, Kevin.” Carter called out as he lingered beside Miles, voice low. “Is he okay?”
Miles shook his head slightly. “I’d like to say yes but it’s not even close.”
Kevin kept eating until suddenly he stopped, his face blanching. He doubled over, dropping the fork, and Miles was already moving. He grabbed the plastic bucket he’d set on the coffee table and held it out just in time for Kevin to retch violently into it. “Easy mate. Breathe through it. Get a drink of water, small sips.”
Carter winced, hand over his mouth, but Miles kept a hand on Kevin’s back, steady, patient.
“I’m sorry,” Kevin rasped, voice raw taking the sips slowly like told. “I’m sorry—”
“Don’t apologize,” Miles murmured, gently rubbing his shoulder. “It’s normal andhHappens when you don’t eat properly for weeks.”
Kevin shivered, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve.
Just then, someone knocked at the front door—sharp, authoritative. Carter glanced at Miles, eyebrows up. Miles sighed, squeezed Kevin’s shoulder, and went to answer it.
Detective LaSalle stood at the doorway, flanked by two uniformed officers. His tie was crooked, dark circles under his eyes.
“Well,” LaSalle drawled, stepping inside, “I figured if you were going to completely ignore my advice, I’d at least come see how spectacularly you did it.”
Miles gave a humorless half-laugh, moving aside to let them in, “Can’t say I wasn’t warned. He’s in the living room.”
Carter hovered near the couch, keeping himself between Kevin and the newcomers. LaSalle noticed and softened his tone.
“Is that the kid?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Miles said. “That’s Kevin.”
LaSalle crossed his arms. “Well, at least he is alive but....Tell me what happened.”
Miles ran a hand through his hair. “Well I’m never one without connections, I got a call from one of them. That ratty murder motel on Fremont rung me up and Kevin was there with some piece of shit. I tried to talk him out. The guy pulled a knife and I handled it.”
That’s when Carter noticed Miles’ arm had a slice on it and immediately gasped, grabbing his arm and making sure it wasn’t horrible, “Miles! What the...”
“I’m fine, love. It’s just a small cut. Stopped bleeding before I even got Kevin in the car.” Miles smirked. “I told you, I handled it.”
Carter muttered, “You handled it. Brilliant. Just brilliant.”
LaSalle exhaled through his nose. “Goddamn it, Kasey. Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? If that guy’d had a gun, or—”
Miles cut him off, voice low. “I didn’t give a shit! I wasn’t leaving him there.”
LaSalle stared at him for a beat, then nodded slowly. “I know. And for what it’s worth… It was reckless as hell. But it was brave. And you probably saved that kid’s life.”
Kevin curled tighter into himself on the couch, arms around his middle. Carter was kneeling in front of him now, talking softly, trying to calm him down.
LaSalle glanced over. “Has he said anything?”
“Barely,” Miles admitted. “He’s terrified. He just keeps apologizing for everything.”
LaSalle’s expression tightened. “We’ve got resources lined up for him. Trauma counselors. Safe housing. But first… he needs medical care. I can tell that he’s malnourished, probably dehydrated. We need to get him checked out.”
Kevin’s head snapped up, eyes huge. “No hospitals. I’m not going. I’m not—”
LaSalle crouched down beside the couch, lowering his voice. “Kevin. Listen to me. I know you’ve been through hell. But you need medical care. You need a doctor to look you over. You won’t be alone. We’ll have officers posted outside your room, twenty-four-seven.”
Kevin shook his head violently. “They’ll find me. He’ll find me—”
“No, they won’t,” LaSalle said firmly. “We’ll keep it off the books. No name on the charts. You’ll be under guard the whole time. If we have anything to ever say about it, you’re not going back there. Not ever.”
Kevin swallowed hard, eyes glassy.
Carter leaned closer, voice soft. “Kev… please. Let them help. You can’t keep living like this.”
Kevin looked between them all—Carter, LaSalle, Miles. His breath stuttered in and out, fast and shallow.
“Will you… will you come?” he whispered at last, eyes on Miles.
Miles nodded immediately. “Every step, mate. I’ll be right there as much as I can.”
Kevin’s shoulders sagged, like the last bit of fight drained out of him.
“Okay,” he mumbled. “Okay.”
LaSalle stood and signaled one of the officers. “We’ll transport him. Kasey, you can follow in your car.”
Kevin tried to stand, but his legs wobbled. Miles and Carter each grabbed an arm, steadying him.
“You sure about this?” Carter murmured to Miles as they helped Kevin to the door.
“No,” Miles said truthfully. “But it’s the only choice.”
As they stepped into the hall of the condo tower heading to the elevator, Miles caught LaSalle’s eye.
“Thanks for coming,” he said.
LaSalle nodded. “Don’t make a habit of this vigilante shit, Kasey.”
Miles gave him a tired grin. “No promises.”
And with Kevin between them, they headed into the elevator, pressing the button for the garage to head for the cars, leaving the quiet condo behind them.
-------
A summer heatwave shimmered outside the condo windows, heat radiating off the Vegas Strip like a living thing. Inside, the air conditioning hummed steadily, battling against the desert sun. Miles stood at the kitchen counter, chopping fruit into a bowl for lunch, while Carter lounged on a stool nearby, scrolling through his phone and occasionally humming under his breath.
A sharp trill of Miles’ phone cut through the quiet. He glanced down, saw BRIANNA flashing on the caller ID, and grimaced. “Well...”
Carter leaned closer. “Oh, that’s your you’re-in-trouble face.”
“Shh,” Miles hissed, stabbing the ‘answer’ button. “Hey, Bri—”
Brianna’s voice came bursting through the speaker like a bomb: “MILES KASEY, WHAT THE BLOODY HELL HAVE YOU DONE?!”
Carter slapped a hand over his mouth, stifling a laugh. Miles braced his elbows on the counter. “Uh. Hi. Lovely to hear your voice. How’s London?”
“DON’T YOU DARE,” Brianna shouted, her accent sharper than glass. “I just got to the post depot because your packages arrived. Do you know how many customs forms I had to fill out for a robotic wrestling ring, designer toddler sneakers, a toddler-sized BLUEY CHAMPIONSHIP BELT, and—and—front row tickets for Bluey Live in Manchester?!”
Miles winced. “Technically, the belt was Carter’s idea.”
Carter perked up, waving. “Hi Bri!”
“Don’t you ‘hi’ me Carter!” Brianna snapped. “Riley’s been wearing that belt all day and shouting ‘I’m the CHAMPION like Uncle Miles!’ at random tourists on Southbank. He’s nearly decapitated three people with it. And now he’s insisting he’s going to Manchester alone to see Bluey!”
Carter tilted his head. “Well...He’s a very independent boy.”
“CAR-TER.”
Miles coughed into his fist. “Listen, Bri, we felt awful. We couldn’t be there for his birthday, and everything’s been you know, a lot. So we figured he deserves to be spoiled a bit.”
Brianna’s voice dropped half an octave. “Spoiled a bit? Miles Anthony Kasey, my entire flat is covered in Bluey merchandise and toddler lucha masks!”
Carter clapped his hands. “Oh, did the masks arrive?! Tell Riley he can keep whichever color he wants.”
Brianna let out a long, slow exhale that crackled over the speaker like static. “Boys. I love you both. I do. But do you have any idea how hard it is explaining to an almost-four-year-old that he cannot, in fact, start a tag team with Bluey and Bingo and then challenge people on the London Underground?”
Carter squinted. “Are we sure he can’t?”
Miles hissed, “Carter!”
Brianna went on, voice softer now but still strained. “Look. I know why you’re doing this. I know things have been insane and rough. And I know you hate missing out. But please. No more gifts for at least six months. My neighbours are already giving me looks because of the luchador delivery guys.”
Miles scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, Bri. I just- I feel like I’m missing everything. He’s growing up so fast. I was there when he just got brought into the world and well, I... hell WE get to watch him grow up through a computer screen at times”
Brianna’s tone was gentle. “I know you are, love. And you’re not missing everything. You’re still his hero. You always will be.”
Miles’ eyes prickled unexpectedly. “Tell him I’ll video chat later, yeah?”
“I will.” A pause, then Brianna added dryly: “But if he attempts a moonsault off my coffee table one more time, I’m sending him to live with you.”
Miles cracked a grin. “We’d take him in a heartbeat.”
Brianna sighed. “I know you would. I love you both, but seriously, no more Bluey. And no more wrestling gear.”
Carter raised a finger. “Can we still send snacks?”
“MILES. CONTROL YOUR HUSBAND.”
Carter turns and looks at Miles with his best stern face: “Yes Miles. CONTROL me.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Miles said solemnly, nudging Carter and giving him that look.
“Just....ease up boys! Love you both and we’ll chat later.” Brianna ended the call, leaving the two men standing in the quiet kitchen.
Carter turned to Miles with a sly grin. “Soooo, we should probably cancel the custom toddler-sized entrance robe we ordered.”
Miles groaned and thunked his forehead against the counter. “You’re going to get me disowned.”
Carter slung an arm around him. “She’ll forgive us. Eventually. Besides, we're the fun uncles.”
Miles sighed. “Yeah. That’s what I’m afraid of.”
-----
Trio Terror
Boulder, CO – Early Evening
The sun dipped behind the mountains, spilling red-gold fire across the ridges, casting long shadows over Boulder’s streets below. Miles Kasey stood on a rocky overlook, one boot propped on the guardrail, hoodie tugged tight against the breeze coming off the peaks. His breath misted faintly in the cooling air.
His eyes traced the line where sky met stone, but there was a weight behind them—a restlessness simmering under his skin.
“Funny thing about weeks like this,” he murmured, voice gravelly from a lack of sleep. “You can’t ever decide if the days went too fast… or if they’re dragging you behind ‘em like an anchor.”
“You know… people keep telling me to slow down,” he said, his voice carrying over the rustle of dry grass. “Telling me I’ve earned a break. But the truth is, I can’t afford to slow down. Not now. Because that triple threat match ain’t just a match. It’s the first domino.”
He drew in a deep breath and blew it out slowly, jaw flexing.
“Summer XXXTreme is a few weeks away. That cruise ship? That’s where legacies get made. Or get left behind at the docks. And lately, I’ve felt like I’ve been drifting somewhere in the middle.”
Miles squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose.
“I’ve spent so much of my time trying to help other people. Trying to make sure Kevin survived. Trying to make sure Carter was okay. Trying to keep my family from crumbling. And all the while, I’ve let a bit of my own shine fade out.”
He opened his eyes again, fierce and sharp.
“But not anymore.”
He rapped his knuckles lightly against the metal guardrail.
“A win this week puts me back on a pedestal. It plants my name back in every conversation going into Summer XXXTreme. Because no matter how much respect I’ve got for Aiden Reynolds. No matter how much fire I know Eddie Lyons still has buried inside him. I’m the one who needs this.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face, eyes drifting shut for half a heartbeat.
“I keep seeing that kid’s face. Kevin. I have it burnt into my head of him sitting in my living room, shaking like a leaf, trying to eat and puking his guts out right after. Sixteen years old and already carrying more scars than some blokes twice his age. And part of me’s grateful he’s safe. Another part? Still wants to break the bastard who put him through it.”
He shook his head, pushing the thoughts away.
“But I can’t do shit about that right this second. Because in a couple days, I’ve got Aiden Reynolds and Eddie Lyons standing across the ring from me… and the ring doesn't care if you’ve had a shit week. The bell rings all the same.”
Miles’ gaze hardened as he stared out at the horizon, shoulders squaring.
“Aiden Reynolds.”
The words hung in the air, sharp and fond all at once.
“I love you like a brother, mate. Hell, you are my brother. But you’ve always been this spark, yeah? Bouncing off walls, being there for a great laugh, taking risks no sane man would, because you’ve got that belief that somehow, you’ll stick the landing. But the ring’s not always so forgiving and you know that just as well as myself and Eddie. In just a few weeks we will be aboard the cruise ship that’s gonna be the tightest spotlight we’ve had in months. So I’m telling you now, I’m not stepping back just because we share the same locker room. I’m coming to win.”
He drew in a slow breath, trying to steady the thunder rolling in his chest.
“And then there is Eddie Lyons...” His mouth twisted into something caught between respect and challenge. “You’ve been standing at the crossroads ever since you lost that Roulette belt to AIDEN by the way. Like you’re waiting for a sign to tell you it’s alright to charge forward again. But the truth is, Eddie, and take this with someone with some experience, the sign ain’t coming. Not unless you take it. But I’ll be damned if I let you take it off me.”
He dropped his foot from the rail and started pacing a slow circle, the gravel crunching under his boots.
“See, this isn’t just another triple threat for me. This isn’t just a warm-up for the cruise. This is me proving to myself that I’m not just the bloke who spends his days worrying about kids in hospital beds or about holding my family together or about trying to be everything for everyone.”
He paused, jaw working as he swallowed hard.
“I need this. I need to feel my fists hit someone’s body and remember that I’m still dangerous. That I’m still a threat. That I’m not just surviving—I’m fighting.”
Miles tilted his head back, staring up at the indigo sky where stars were starting to peek through.
“And yeah, maybe that’s selfish. Maybe after everything this week, I should be slowing down. But slowing down never saved anyone and I’ve got too much left to prove.”
He turned, eyes blazing, voice tightening into steel.
“So Aiden, Eddie, come at me. Bring me every ounce of skill, every trick, every drop of your fight. Because when that bell rings, I’m swinging like my entire goddamn soul’s on the line. And I promise you both, I’m not walking out of that ring empty-handed.”
He sucked in a breath of crisp mountain air, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.
“Not this time. Not ever again.”
Miles gave the mountains one last look, then turned and strode back down the path toward town, his shadow stretching long behind him under the bleeding colors of twilight.
