Page 101 of Hurt

HEAVEN HELP A FOOL WHO FALLS IN LOVE

Grant closed the browser and leaned back in his chair. He resisted the urge to look at the clock—it had to be late. A quick glance to the window confirmed it was still dark outside. His eyes ached, and his back was killing him, but his mind would let him rest.

Kurt was asleep on the couch. He had talked until he couldn’t speak anymore. His throat was raw, and his nerves stretched so thin they could snap at any moment. The pain meds finally kicked in, and he curled up into a ball on the couch. Pressing his back to the cushions, he had dragged the blanket Grant brought over his head and hid under it like a child.

Grant had watched him sleep for a long time. Kurt seemed to be still—his breathing even and face calm. It seems the pain medicine had kept the nightmares at bay. At least for now. It was only when he realized Kurt might be upset if he knew he was being watched that Grant had finally left his side. With every intention to take a shower and clean up, he found he couldn’t let it rest. He needed a plan.

An organization like Weaver Syndicate ran on information. Money and power were useless without knowing how to use them. Grant had made an entire career out of collecting and utilizing data that most people would find completely irrelevant.

Like a hoarder, he kept every scrap of information he found, tucking it away until he found a use for it. Everything from weather patterns to a politician’s favorite type of chip. It was all useful in its way.

Which is why when his mind was presented with the problem of Kurt, the first thing he wanted to do was gather more information. His first attempt had been wrong. Sending Jamie to spy on him was a breach of trust. This time would have to be different. He didn’t want to shake the fragile foundation of belief Kurt had in him.

So, he turned to the internet.

His first series of searches had been fruitless. Excellent information, but not what he was looking for specifically. While having the background information on survivors of sexual assault and PTSD was beneficial, he found it was all things he was familiar with. His inquiring mind demanded more.

After he had ordered five books on the psychology of recovering from trauma, he decided it might be time to stop. Tomorrow he would make some calls to find a reputable psychiatrist. He wasn’t sure how Kurt would feel about seeing a professional, but it never hurt to have someone in his back pocket if he did.

Rubbing his eyes, he wondered if maybe he should be the one to talk to a therapist.

The sound of a vehicle pulling up to the house cut through the silence. Already on edge, Grant stood up quickly and retrieved his knife from the floor where he had left it. Twisting the hilt around his fingers, he moved to the door just as headlights flashed in the front windows. Nudging the curtains to the side, he saw Roland’s familiar figure emerge from a car he didn’t recognize.

Relaxing, he pressed the hilt of his blade against his forehead as he took a deep breath. His nerves were ragged. Sleep. He needed sleep. The blood from earlier had dried on his blade, and he made a mental note to properly clean it before sliding it back into the sheath on his thigh and opening the front door.

Roland was resting against the porch railing. He had shed his jacket at some point and was just wearing a shirt with the top few buttons undone. Seeing his brother in such a relaxed state of dress was strange.

“I didn’t think he’d want me to come in,” he said with a gesture toward the front door.

Grant nodded his thanks. “How are things?”

“Fires out.” His brother rested his large hands on the wooden railing and leaned on them. “Getting a head count in now. Protocol J7 is in place.”

Grant had helped design the various protocols. J7 was one of the more unthinkable scenarios he could come up with. The Weaver members would disperse for several days before contacting them via a secure server for more orders. Once he knew it was safe, he would call for a meeting and make a game plan. For now, they had to wait.

It was infuriating.

He joined his brother at the railing and stared out into the dark woods. Roland’s home was in the opposite direction, which means he made an effort to come give him news.

“Let’s keep a low profile. We need to be cautious until we have a better idea where we’re at.”

Roland nodded. There was a tilt to his mouth, a small indicator of a frown.

“How is Willow?”

He reached into his pocket and produced a cellphone. Unlocking it, he flashed the screen so Grant could see a wall of notifications.

“That good?”

“She is angry and confused.”

Being drugged, kidnapped, waking up in a foreign place, and then being told your brother almost died will do that to you.

“You should go to her.”

Roland grunted as he returned the phone to his pocket. “I am…unsure how to handle it.”

Crossing his arms, Grant rested against a support beam. “Knowing Willow, you won’t have to.”