Page 8 of Protected By Her Daddy

Shit. I suddenly realize my hands are covering her breasts.

She slaps my hands away and winces, touching her fingers to the back of her head. Bringing her hand in front of her face, she grimaces when she sees the blood on her fingers.

I hold up my hands, palms facing her. “Steady. You took a hard knock. You could have a concussion,” I warn, trying to keep her calm when I see the fear in her eyes. “I won’t hurt you. I saw you were in trouble and?—”

“No!”

She shoves me hard with a strength her thin body shouldn’t possess, taking me by surprise and toppling me backward.

“What the fuck?” I grunt as I land ass-first in a puddle. “I told you I wasn’t going to?—”

I catch movement in my peripheral vision a second too late. The fucker is back on his feet, knife in hand, as he plunges it toward me. I throw up an arm to block the blow, but she’s already there, lunging between me and the blade about to embed itself in my neck. The knife misses its intended target but rams into her instead. Her scream rips through the air, and she clutches her shoulder as the attacker yanks the blade free.

Where the fuck is Ed?

The thought barely forms before a gunshot rings out, and debris explodes from the wall two inches from the soon-to-be-dead fucker’s head. He curses and bolts into the shadows of the alley as Ed fires off another shot.

“Gabe?” Ed barks, his expression tense. His gun is still raised, his eyes on the fleeing man.

“I’m good. If you catch him, he’s mine. Go!” I shout.

Ed nods in understanding and takes off in pursuit.

I drop to my knees beside the fallen woman. Blood pools darkly on the wet pavement, mixing with the rainwater in grotesque patterns. Lifting her head gently into my lap, I tug off my jacket. Wadding it, I press it against her shoulder to stem the bleeding.

“Silly, brave little fool,” I growl as her eyelids flicker open. Seeing her wounded has unsettled me in a way I’ve never experienced before.

“Couldn’t… let him… hurt you,” she slurs, her eyes hazy with pain.

“Better me than you,” I mutter, pressing harder on her wound.

She whimpers. “Hurts.”

My chest tightens at the pain etched on her face. “I know, sweetheart. I’ve got you. Help is coming.”

Keeping one hand pressed against the wound, I fumble in my pocket for my cell as Ed reappears, breathing heavily.

“Lost him,” he says, grim-faced.

“Fuck.” I shake my head. “Never mind that now. Call Luther to clean up here and let Dr Sanderson know we’re en route with a patient with a stab wound,” I instruct, not wanting to relinquish my pressure on her shoulder.“And grab that,” I add, indicating the grubby backpack a few feet away.

Ed grabs the backpack and makes the call, his voice a controlled mix of urgency and authority as he explains the situation.

I look down at the woman who saved my life. Threw herself between me and the attacker’s blade without a thought for her safety. “You’re going to be okay. We’re taking you to a doctor,” I tell her, my voice firm as I lift her gently, hoping to instill a sense of calm and reassurance amidst the chaos.

“Not hospital,” she croaks. “No insurance.”

“No, not a hospital, but close. And don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of you.” I’m unsure why I added the last part, only that it sounded right.

“Please... don’t... leave,” she whispers, her voice barely audible, each breath a struggle. “Everyone… leaves me.” Her face is ghostly pale, her hair plastered to her forehead by the relentless rain. She trembles, her lips blue from the cold.

“I'm not leaving you,” I promise, pressing firmly against her shoulder as I cradle her against me. “Trust me.”

She nods, an almost imperceptible movement of her head.

Fierce protectiveness surges through me and grips my heart. “What’s your name?” I ask, trying to keep her conscious as I follow Ed to the car.

“Wren,” she murmurs, her voice fading. Her eyes, though tired and scared, cling to me, seeking reassurance.

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