Page 93 of Grayson’s Challenge

With the scissors, she cut through the front of his T-shirt. Gently, she peeled the fabric away from the wound and laid his chest bare. She’d always assumed that Orlando was ripped. It was evident under the clothing he wore, but she hadn’t expected his skin to be so smooth and his muscles so defined. An odd flutter settled in her stomach. She’d seen plenty of handsome men half-naked or naked, but there was something about seeing Orlando laid bare like this.

To distract herself from his perfect chest, she asked, “Who did this to you?”

“Matt Smith,” Orlando pressed out, still in obvious pain. “He knew I was coming. Somebody warned him.”

Isabelle used a surgical cloth and started cleaning Orlando’s stomach wound. He winced.

“Only a few people knew you were going after him,” she said. She lifted her head and looked into his eyes, and for a moment neither said a word.

Her family and Monique’s family would have never warned Abel’s man. Which left only one person who’d known about Orlando’s plan.

“William,” they said in unison.

She looked over her shoulder, and called out, “Mom?” She listened for sounds from upstairs. “Striker, take one of the guards from outside and check on my mother, and on Faye and Monique too. Be careful. William is somewhere in the house.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t get ambushed easily.” Striker cast a sideways glance at Orlando. “Not like this guy here.”

Orlando grunted at the direct jab. “I didn’t need your help. I could have gotten him on my own.”

“Yeah, I saw that.” Sarcasm was practically dripping from Striker’s voice. “If I hadn’t found you in time, you would be dust now.”

Orlando growled. “Instead, you killed Matt Smith before I could interrogate him.”

“You’re welcome,” Striker said and left the living room.

Isabelle turned back to Orlando. “So Striker saved your life?”

“Hmm. I would have managed.”

Isabelle raised an eyebrow, but decided not to pursue this subject. Apparently, Orlando was a proud man who didn’t like to admit that he needed help on occasion.

“Now let me clean this wound.”

“I’m fine.”

He made an attempt at sitting up, but Isabelle had no trouble pushing him down. It confirmed what she already knew: Orlando was badly injured, but too hardheaded to admit it.

“We have to stem the bleeding.”

She took a fresh sheet of gauze and laid it over the deep gash on his abdomen, while she reached for another bottle of blood. She twisted it open and handed it to him.

“Here, drink this.”

He grunted something incoherent, before he set the bottle to his lips. She pressed her hand on the stomach wound, and Orlando jerked back in pain.

Not wanting to alarm him as to the severity of his injuries, she said, “Don’t be such a baby.”

“I’m not a—”

She pulled the soaked gauze away from the wound, and Orlando cried out in pain, even though she could tell he was trying to suppress it. Thanks to the human blood he was drinking, his stomach wound didn’t bleed as badly anymore. But it was still not closing, and he was still losing blood.

“Keep drinking the blood,” she ordered, before she lowered her head to his stomach.

“What are you doing?”

Clearly alarmed, Orlando tried to scoot back, but she placed her hands on his hips to stop him from moving.

“What does it look like? You’re losing too much blood. I’m gonna close the wound.”