Page 206 of Morally Gray Daddies

“Good girl. That is your answer, Anastasia. No. I will never let you go.”

A shiver runs through me from head to toe. I’m not sure what I just did, but for some reason, I’m not so afraid anymore.

What is that pounding?

Ugh.

It’s like someone is hitting me over the head repeatedly.

And then, everything starts spinning and I leap from my bed to run to the bathroom. I barely crash to my knees when I start vomiting into the toilet. Over and over, I heave. My head throbs, and the throwing up only makes it more painful.

“Fuck. Ana.”

A warm body squats behind me and pulls my hair back. It’s his scent that brings me to reality again. Patrick. He’s in here. While I’m throwing up.

“Get out!” I cry, trying to push him away.

“No. I’m not leaving you.”

He reaches in front of me and flushes the toilet, then rises and turns on the faucet. A moment later, he presses a cool washcloth to my forehead, and it’s heaven.

“I’m going to chew her ass out for getting you so drunk,” he murmurs.

It takes a second to realize he’s talking about Helen. I sit back on my feet and frown. Patrick must have turned on the lights when he came in, but he’s dimmed them so it’s not too bright. “Don’t be mad at her. She’s my friend.”

Wow. I just sounded so pouty. Maybe I’m still intoxicated.

He studies my face for a second, then takes the cloth from my hands and starts wiping my mouth. “Are you done throwing up?”

I nod, which was a terrible thing to do because I start heaving again. This time, when I’m done, he sighs. “Come on, babygirl. Let’s get you cleaned up and get some medicine in you.”

“Am I sick?”

What? Did I ask that out loud?

“No, baby. You’re drunk. I was barely able to get any food in you before you passed out on the couch. And when I tried to get you to wake up and take some ibuprofen, you told me you couldn’t open your mouth to take it.” He chuckles and gently pulls me up to stand. “Which was funny as hell since your mouth was open while you were telling me that.”

I giggle and blink several times, and holy cow. Patrick isn’t wearing a shirt.

“Whoa,” I mumble as I let my gaze roam over his inked-up chest.

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t say anything as he leads me to the vanity and finds my toothbrush.

I stare at him the entire time I brush my teeth, and by the look on his face, he’s fully amused by it.

A raised scar catches my eye. It’s darker than the rest of his skin, almost as if it’s a newer wound. “What happened there?”

He glances down and runs one of his thick fingers over it. “Bullet wound. It was worth it, though. My bosses’ girls weren’t harmed, and that’s all that matters.”

A wave of emotion rolls through me. “You… protected them?”

His hand wraps around my wrist, and he tugs me out of the bathroom. “Yeah, baby. Women are precious and need to be protected by all means necessary.”

By the time I process those sweet words, he’s led me through the house and into what I assume is his room.

I dig my heels into the carpet as panic creeps over me.

“Ana, relax. I’m bringing you in here, so if you get sick again, I’m close by. You can sleep in my bed, and I’ll sleep on the couch.” He points to the sitting area that’s almost as big as a living room.

---