Page 102 of Daddies Dark Desires (Forbidden Fantasies)

He nods, but it’s not at me.

A shadow moves at my right. One of the cartel men—tall, scarred, breath like stale cigarettes—clamps a hand around my upper arm, his grip crushing muscle against bone.

“You’re coming with us,” he growls.

Another lifts Sunny from the couch, hoisting her with a grip under her arms. Her feet kick out, thrashing against his hold.

I yank at my arm, even though I know it’s fruitless. “Let go of her.”

A small tug has me pivoting, and I slam my heel down on his foot, but he moves fast enough that I hit the hard toe of his boot instead of the soft part of his upper foot.

My captor swings me until I swear I hear my shoulder pop. Pain flares through my arm.

The investor doesn’t even flinch.

“No. Take the blonde,” he orders lazily, as if deciding between wines. His gaze pins me. “But that one…she’s mine.”

My pulse spikes so hard it blurs my vision.

Sunny’s wide eyes lock on mine over the brute’s shoulder, panic flashing.

All I have to do is say the safe word, and my men will come in with guns blazing. Oliver’s messed with their surveillance feed so they don’t know how close my men truly are.

It’s an easy safe word.

“Daddy.” The perfect safe word because these assholes will think I’m calling for my dead father.

The front door explodes inward, the sound splitting the air into jagged edges. I flinch and duck out of the way, even though there aren’t any bullets flying yet.

Trent and Grant storm in, guns up, sights locked on their targets. The crack-crack-crack of suppressed gunfire follows, each shot a heartbeat in reverse. They take out the four cartel guys in the room easily, but more are coming from the back.

In the chaos, Preston is trying to soft foot his way back the way he came, he’s moving slowly to not draw attention. But I see him.

I pick up a dropped gun from one of the cartel members and follow him. It’s cold and heavy in my hand.

Sunny totters on her feet, hands still bound and cloth still wedged in her mouth.

Preston notices her, too, making a quick dash for her, pulling her to him as a shield as another round of bullets go flying.

My friend’s bright blue eyes shine with fear, and my heart nearly stops. As good as I am with a gun, the margin is too low to try, but that doesn’t keep me from following. He’s not getting away with her in tow.

I will not let that happen again.

Heat encases my back. Oliver’s clean and soapy scent calms me and builds my confidence. He’s close enough that his breath stirs the loose strands of my hair. He’s tracking the man, hisstance rigid, but I know what he’s seeing: too much risk, too little space.

Neither of us has a shot. My stomach knots even further.

We advance anyway.

Preston glances back, his mouth twisting into something cruel. “Still can’t protect your own, can you, Oliver?”

Preston takes her a few more shuffling steps back, but he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry. It’s like the man can’t help himself. “You pull that trigger, you’ll put a hole in her, too. Can you live with that?”

An idea dawns on me. “That’s alright. She’s dead weight anyway.”

Sunny’s brows flick up in the tiniest, fastest acknowledgment.

And then—god bless her—she goes limp.