Page 87 of Daddies Dark Desires (Forbidden Fantasies)

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.