Page 26 of Daddies’ Dark Desires (Forbidden Fantasies #19)

HARPER

I t’s the weekend—the only time I’m allowed a modicum of freedom. Granted, I wake up early out of habit now, so I slip down into the kitchen to distract myself with some good old comfort baking.

I have cookies in the oven, which makes the entire first floor smell of vanilla and cinnamon. Mmm.

I’ve also got a breakfast platter going, bacon keeping warm, eggs simmering away in a tomato sauce for my own version of shashuka , toast and hash browns heaping on their own plates, and I also cut up a tray of fruit.

I love the domestic feeling. It allows me a type of control I don’t naturally find elsewhere. I can make dishes and feed loved ones with simple skills I learned over years of cooking for Dad because Mom isn’t one to spend much time in the kitchen.

She’s super smart and driven, which also made her more absent than Dad. And I’ve always enjoyed taking care of him in the mornings. Something so small became our routine as our days got busier.

Besides, my dad gave me whatever I wanted. Whatever I asked for. Even when I was a brat. I never wanted him to think I didn’t appreciate it.

Pushing those thoughts away, I did not want to cry over the eggs. They were salty enough.

All three men come wandering in, sniffing the air, and eyeing me in my apron like they’ve never seen a domestic goddess doing her thing before.

They have good timing.

I pull the cookies out to cool and finish plating the rest of breakfast.

Pointing at the table, I demand, “Go sit. I’ll bring you your plates.”

I already have the table set, and Grant gives me a good once over before he sits. I can see him wanting to argue with me. To tell me that these aren’t the rules set out for me, but I’ve adapted them. Not broken them.

I bring over a carafe of coffee first with cream and sugar. The soft round of thank yous has me grinning as I spin off to grab the platters of food.

It takes me three trips to bring everything over, and maybe I should have enlisted their help to reduce my steps, but really, there’s something about doing this myself that I desperately need.

And none of them argue. Not one comment about me making this harder on myself or how it’s unnecessary. It’s like they know I need this right now.

When I finally sit, I brush my hair back from my face and smile. “Dig in.”

“This smells incredible.”

Their praise is empowering, and I like the idea of being able to take charge of something and have it be mine. I like the idea of taking care of them in the same way I took care of my family.

I don’t want to be stuck at home or in the kitchen, but I’m not left with a lot of means to express myself. Not with the way I’ve built walls with my personality. Not with the drive I have when I’m working.

This is like I’m giving myself a break to check in on the softer parts of my personality I often keep hidden.

Oliver meets my gaze and nods. He’s seen me this way more often than the others if I’m right about how often he watches me. About how long he’s been watching me. Conrad never understood the dynamics of my personality. He would always tell me to not waste my time and just order something in.

Trent is the one who’s examining me more fully. It is because he’s barely let me touch him. Scarcely allowed himself to touch me. To give into the things that are clearly between us.

I wish I knew how long he’s going to make me wait.

I stare back at him without flinching. Those dark eyes give me nothing but his tough exterior, even if I’ve already seen his softer side. The one that protected me and let me cuddle against him in the car. The side that let me kiss him and kissed me back.

But we’re back to where we started.

He’s unwilling to bend.

It’s going to break me.

No one seems inclined to chatter as they eat, so I keep the peace, filling and clearing my plate with ease. I’ve never been shy about food. Or my consumption of it.

They’re not shy about it either. Nor do they comment on my ability to put it away.

But once they’ve all eaten, I drop the bomb I’ve been waiting for.

“So, what did you find in those papers? The encrypted files?”

As expected, all I get in response is a stony silence and three sets of eyes narrowing at me.

I gently place my hands on the table and stand, bent over to give them all a peek of my cleavage. But I’m also taller than them all for once.

The distraction works but only for a second.

“I found them. I deserve to know what’s on them. It’s not my fault I have tits, so don’t treat me like that’s a good enough reason to keep me in the dark about it.”

More silence. I meet each one of their gazes as they stare at me.

Fire burns in my chest, blasting down my middle. I’m so god damn angry that they think they can keep this from me. I did the fucking work. I found things they didn’t even know existed. They can’t just take it all from me and give me nothing in return.

Sure, I get it, they want me to be safe, but this is a surefire way of shoving me right into danger. Because I will keep searching. If they don’t help me, I’ll go find someone who will.

I slam my fist on the table, and the dishes jingle and clatter. “Damn it, you hired me for a reason, and it had better not be just because of who my father was.”

If it is…I’m done. Just done. They can take their protection and their rules and shove it right up their self-righteous and misogynistic asses.

Straightening, I’m more than ready to stomp off, to use my skills for escaping.

Fuck it. I’ll call my mother to come get me if I have to. She might want me safe, but she is also the only one I know who gets more fired up than me about the way women are treated.

I smooth my hair back, stalk over to the kitchen, and stare at the tray of cookies through watery eyes. I’m ready to toss them all in the trash when big hands encase my shoulders and a soft kiss drops into my hair.

“Come back to the table.” Grant’s soft rumble has me bracing for a fight again. “Please.”

That slumps my shoulders, and I let him turn me around.

His hands cup my face as he looks down at me. The care in his eyes tears down a few of my walls. The way he smooths away the unshed tears from my eyes makes my indignation crumble a little.

“Come on.”

I nod.

When he releases me, I step past him and stand by my seat. All three of them are watching me again. I’m not going to crumple from their direct attention like they’re so used to others doing. Especially with the combination of their authority and dangerous backgrounds.

Not me. Not happening.

Grant commands me softly, “Sit.”

I fold my arms over my chest. “No. Not until you start talking.”

The submissive version of Harper is gone. This one is all business. The brat is back, and I will not be cowed by the dangerous looks they issue me.

My brow raises, and I wait.

“Fine. Here’s what we’ve found. Oliver used a program to flag suspicious behavior, and he followed it back to someone in our firm’s investor pool. Someone who is involved in smuggling and laundering for a cartel.”

“ La Sangre Nueva, ” I supply because I know that’s the cartel my dad was investigating. The one that got him killed.

Trent’s eyes go icy as he examines me. “Yes. For La Sangre Nueva .”

“Ryan didn’t find any concrete evidence, and neither have we. But your father feared that someone inside the firm was watching him. Redacting his logs.” Grant folds his hands together on the table.

“Like the one I found.”

“Yes.” He looks pointedly at my seat, so I take it. “We’ve found a trail of heavily redacted files, compliance logs connected to the firm’s logistics client. They’re hiding shipments, locations, and destination names. One is a cartel hotspot.”

I try to keep the flame in my chest from sparking into something uncontrollable.

Oliver hooks my ankle with his foot. Silent support. A caring touch I very much need right now to remain stable.

I nod again.

“The encrypted files uncovered a lot more than we thought it would, but there was also a personal log in there…”

The way Grant trails off has emotion working itself free inside me. His blue eyes are full of things I can’t quite decipher. Something haunting. Something broken. Something that landed a blow to his core.

“His last note was to tell you, Harper, not to trust anyone. Not even us.”