Page 32 of Daddies’ Dark Desires (Forbidden Fantasies #19)

HARPER

T he firm line of Grant’s mouth isn’t reassuring.

I suck in a slow breath. “No matter what, we get Sunny back.”

Searching Grant’s eyes, that softness reappears, and he brushes his big paw over my cheek and jaw. “We’ll do our best.”

I get why he can’t simply say yes , but my faith in them holds no bounds. They can get her back. I need them to.

“But while we’re doing this, you have to promise to stay put while we go in.”

Because I’m a liability. Which I get. In this kind of thing, I’m not ideal. I don’t have the training, and that will get me killed.

It doesn’t change the fact that it makes me feel incompetent.

“All of our skills will be needed to get in and get out. All three of us. And we need to know you’re safe to do it properly. No distractions.”

Distraction. I hate that word, but yes. Yes, I get it. Worrying about my safety would definitely be a distraction.

I nod. “Fine. Yes. I’ll stay here.”

“Good girl.” His usually calm voice lowers with the sweetness of his praise.

I lean in for a quick kiss before I crawl back off his lap. I’m not going to keep lounging here, keeping him hostage when there are things he can be doing to help my friend.

After a blink of his loss, he stands and whispers something to Oliver before he rounds his desk and picks up his phone to make a call.

Oliver approaches. As much as he likes to simply watch, does he know how tumultuous my emotions are? That they’re all right under the surface and ready to explode everywhere.

His thumb traces my bottom lip before he cups my face and draws me in for his own kiss. It’s not quite as quick as Grant’s, but it’s faster than either of us want.

“I’ll be watching you. Don’t go vigilante on us when the waiting gets intense.”

I huff out a laugh. “Yeah. I won’t.”

He catalogues every micromovement of my face for a few beats before his touch drops and he backs away.

I retreat back to the couch as they plan, calling Trent back from his recon, and when they have everything in place, I get a round of quick goodbyes before they lock me in.

The feeling of being trapped hits me all at once, sending my limbs into a frenzy of energy, and I pace Grant’s office.

I hate waiting. Especially when there’s no way to know if something’s gone wrong.

But without Grant here, I snoop through his things. Most of what’s on display is just that—display. I bet some of the panoramic shots are his, of places he’s been. His past military experience sent him to a lot of beautiful places.

I recognize the Middle East. The pictures share so many similarities with the ones my dad showed me from his deployments. No people are featured in any of them, other than the one I’d taken out of his hand earlier.

He does have his military awards on display though. Another indicator of authority and competence.

Grant is very obviously competent. It radiates off of him.

It’s a fun game to try and decipher which items are for show and which ones are personal, and I appreciate the distraction, but it doesn’t last long.

Not long enough anyway.

When I can’t stand it anymore, I sit at his desk and log into his computer. Time to dig.

There’s plenty I don’t have access to, but I try clicking into everything.

Failing to find anything new, I go back to staring at the clues we’ve gotten so far, the connections we’ve already made.

Everything that Sunny found is mixed in with the files and photos. I wish I had her skills and her knowledge of the city.

Dad kept me sheltered. As much as he gave me, pampered me, and taught me to fight, he also steered me away from the less savory parts of this city with an easy nudge. There wasn’t anything down there I needed to see, wanted to explore, except for maybe once with an ex.

One night at a dance club didn’t amount to the same experiences as someone who wandered around down there for kicks.

I let my brain go unfocused as I flip through the pictures and reports and emails. I know what’s in every bit of it, so it’s time for the tired brain to make some connections.

If there’s anything left to uncover from this, I want to find it. Because, let’s face it, I can’t sit idle and just wait for them to risk their lives without doing anything . Even if it’s fruitless.

On my third time clicking through, something snaps into place that wasn’t there before. With all the connections we’ve made, we missed something.

Something important.

Oh no.

There’s no way whoever took Sunny is in the place they’re infiltrating. In the warehouse by the old Foundry.

Shit.

Should I text them? Call?

Will it make things worse if they’re already inside?

I can’t just say nothing. Not when I know this is a trap.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I slam my palms down on Grant’s desk.

A text. To Oliver. He said he’d be watching. Does that mean he’s waiting nearby with surveillance?

I have to chance it, typing out: It’s a trap.

No response, but it reads as delivered. Fuck, it’s the best I’ve got.

I’m out of his chair and pacing again.

Now, my only option is to go back to doing what I’ve been doing—waiting and worrying.

The silence is deafening.

Exhaustion drags me back to his couch where we’d been cuddling just hours prior. I curl up in the corner and let the aftereffects of shock and adrenaline pull me into a light, fitful sleep.

I’m chasing after shadows in my dreams, trying to catch Grant or Trent, trying to get Oliver to look at me as I babble warnings at him.

Please. Something’s wrong. Help them.

Going around and around in circles, I make zero progress until someone bangs into the office.

I shoot upright, suddenly very awake, my hand wrapping around the heavy carving beside the couch.

But it’s the guys, and Grant is limping.

Shit. No, no no no.

Blood spreads across his shirt.

Panic rises in my chest, and after a second I’m darting to the first aid kit I found earlier in his bottom desk drawer.

Trent and Oliver drop Grant into the chair I occupied not but half a day ago, and I meet him there, kneeling at his feet.

There’s no traces of pain, not even in his eyes. What a reminder that he’s been through so much more than this.

He raises a brow at me. “Been snooping again, have you?”

That cracks a smile across my face before I lift myself up to give him a small kiss. “Be glad that I did. Now, take your shirt off and let me see.”

“It’s just a through and through. I’m fine.”

“You’ve been shot.” How is he seriously so calm about this? So calm about every damn thing. The brat in me is ready to poke and prod a reaction out of him.

He tucks his hand into my hair to bring me close again, our noses brushing. “I’ve been shot before. And I’m fine.”

I growl at him. “Take. Your. Shirt off.”

A pleased look fills his eyes, and the smallest curve hits his mouth. I eat it up, before I use two fingers to push him back and start unbuttoning his shirt.

Usually, this would be slow and sexy. Teasing, but my hands are shaking as I spread the fabric away from more and more of his tan torso.

It takes some maneuvering to get his sleeve away from his wound, but once I see that it’s as he said. A bullet went through his bicep, and the makeshift bandage is already soaked through.

He doesn’t flinch once as I clean up the blood.

“Will it need stitches?”

“No.” Grant brushes my cheek with his thumb. “I’m fine, baby girl.”

I nod, using every bit of my energy to keep calm and not fall apart. Not when I have a task in front of me. “What happened?”

They fill me in. I was right; they did walk into an ambush.

Oliver’s jaw is locked tight as he runs a hand through his hair.

Trent crosses his arms over his bulky chest. “We breached just after your text came through. Too late to pull out clean but early enough to keep it from becoming a massacre.”

God. If I hadn’t hesitated, maybe this wouldn’t have happened at all.

“They were waiting.” Trent’s voice is like gravel. “Whole place was rigged to trap us. Not kill us. Catch us.”

“They wanted Grant.” It’s the only thing Oliver adds, sparing him a look that carries more weight than I understand yet

I glance back up at Grant, his hand on my shoulder steadying me—or maybe himself.

“They lured us in with recordings of her calling for help. But Sunny was never there.” Grant’s voice is edged with something dangerous. “Just taunts. She’s been moved.”

Fuck. I knew it. They used Sunny as bait.

But it’s not just Grant they’re after.

They want me, too.

I wrap the bandage around Grant’s arm, making it tight.

Oliver paces behind me like a caged predator. It’s a totally different energy than I’d been giving off an hour ago.

“We did get something. One of the guys we took down had a burner with an open map. A planned drop point. She’s not far.”

“Close enough to still be in play,” Trent adds. “But not close enough to wait around here any longer.”

Grant shifts forward in his seat, suddenly all commander again. “We’ve been compromised. The breach wasn’t just physical. They know we’re onto them. And they know we’re close.”

My heart lodges in my throat, and the pieces start falling into place.

I was right. And it almost got them killed.

“I’m sorry.” My voice is barely there. I don’t know why I can’t be strong when I’ve been so, so wrong.

Grant cups the back of my head, guiding my forehead to his, his warm breath brushing over my lips. “Don’t be. You saved us.”

After a beat, Trent’s voice cuts through it all, deep and final, “Time to go. We’re no longer safe here.”