Page 1 of Inked Daddies

1

MARIE

The bellabove the library door jingles, but I don’t look up. Instead, I stay tucked behind the circulation desk, pretending to scan a return while stealing a glance through the front windows.

Across the street, the guys at The Lethal Legacy tattoo shop are lounging outside, leaning against the wall like they’ve got all the time in the world. One of them, Hugo, tilts his head back, laughing at something Trick says, and the sound carries faintly through the open window.

I don’t even need to hear it to know it’s the kind of laugh that would make my stomach flip if I weren’t so busy trying to act like I don’t care. I shouldn’t care.

They’re my dad’s best friends. Older. Off-limits. Dangerous.

And okay, fine—maybe the “dangerous” part is what keeps pulling my eyes across the street.

“Marie, are you even listening?” Julie’s voice startles me out of my daze, and I fumble the book in my hand, almost dropping it. I set it down with a thud and force myself to meet her eyes.

“Sorry, what?”

Julie sighs and glances at the clock on the wall. “I was saying I’ve got to leave in, like, two minutes to pick up the kids. Dorothy’s not coming back tonight, and I hate that you’re stuck closing alone.”

It’s not the first time we’ve been understaffed, and it won’t be the last. The city is too cheap to pay for proper coverage at the Auclair Public Library, so we almost always make up for that with no lunch breaks and very little overlap. But that’s the life of a small-town librarian in Louisiana.

I shrug it off. “No big deal.”

“Itisa big deal,” she counters, leaning against the desk. “Haven’t you heard what’s been going on in the parish? There’s a gang sweeping through, and everyone says the Hell’s Hammers are targeting women. For trafficking, Marie. Trafficking.”

My stomach twists at her words, but I force a laugh, brushing it off. “Julie, we live in the quietest corner of the world. The worst thing that’s happened here is when the book club fought over who got the last copy ofThe Nightingale.”

She doesn’t laugh. Her arms are crossed, and her mom-face is in full effect. “I mean it,” she says, lowering her voice. “They go after women who are alone.”

“I’ve closed up by myself for months. What’s got you amped up like this?”

“The news. I know, I know, you always say I shouldn’t watch it?—”

I cut her off with a laugh. “Yeah. All it does is upset you.”

“But that gang was in Granger last week. That’s only twenty miles from here. They said the gang is sweeping through southern Louisiana. They’ll come here next.”

The thought sends a shiver through me. But that doesn’t change anything. “Our hours are set by the city council, and I’m not getting written up for closing early. You have to go get your kids, Julie. And don’t even think about coming back here—I know Cally has that dance recital.”

She sighs deeply. “And Dorothy would kill me for clocking back in and eating up payroll.” A sly smile crosses her face. “It’s not like we have cameras here. I don’t have to clock in to close with you, and she’d never know I came back.”

“The recital,” I tell her firmly. “Cally would be heartbroken if her mom wasn’t there.”

She looks like she wants to argue, but her phone dings with a text, and she glances at it with a groan. “The school’s already texting me. I have to go. Just…promise me you’ll be careful, okay?”

“I promise.” I smile to reassure her. “Go. Your kids need you. Tell Cally to break a leg for me, okay?”

She hesitates for a second, but then she grabs her purse and heads for the door. “Text me when you’re home.”

“Will do.” I almost say, “Will do,Mom,” just to annoy her. But ever since I lost my mom six months ago, saying the word hurts my heart.

The door swings shut, and just like that, the library is quiet again. Only a few older folks shuffle in and out of here daily for their mental health and exercise. Most of them walk over fromthe nursing home around the corner. Mrs. Wasserman might be my favorite of them. She’s a nosy gossip and always tells me about the escapades of the residents. I hope she comes by soon.

For the next hour, I move through the motions of shelving books and checking in returns, but I keep sneaking glances across the street. I can’t help myself. The guys are still out there, talking, laughing, looking like trouble in all the best and worst ways. I’ve studied each of them since I was a girl. But then things went south with Mom and Dad, and she and I ended up in Boston for a long time.

Now that I’m back in Auclair, my crush on the three tattoo artists across the street is so much worse.

Sam Cane owns The Lethal Legacy. Friendly, but reserved. Not quite the strong, silent type, but not far off. Out of the three of them, he has the strongest Captain America vibes.

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