Page 69 of Inked Daddies

Marie snaps awake. “What the fuck?”

“Crow wants to trade him for you. They’re at your place. We have nineteen minutes as of now.”

Trick’s eyes spark with immediate fury. He doesn’t say a word, but his eyes glaze over the way they do when he’s looking for a fight. He starts for his bedroom, presumably to gear up.

But Marie keeps shaking her head, confused. “Why…?”

I sit on the edge of the bed, choosing my words carefully. I cannot tell if she is in shock, so I explain again. “They want you. Crow and his men forced their way into your house. They have him.”

“My house? Dad…” She looks at Sam, who quietly shows her the photo on his phone. A strangled gasp escapes her. “No. Oh God, no.” Her eyes brim with tears.

I pet her shoulder. “I am sorry, love. We will?—”

“The cops?”

“Cops have rules to follow. We don’t.”

Her breaths heave for a moment as tears stream down her face. But just as suddenly, they stop. Her countenance is icy. “We have to go get him!” she snarls. What was fear a moment ago has become a blind fury.

It makes me love her all the more.

Sam crosses his arms. “We will. But it’s dangerous as hell. Crow wants to use you. You’re safer here.”

She tosses the blanket aside, stumbling to her feet and searching for clothes. “I don’t fucking care. That’s my father in my home. You think I’m staying here while you run into a fight? No way. No fucking way.”

My chest tightens. She is right, of course. None of us would stay here instead of helping Preacher, least of all his own daughter.

Sam tries for reason. “Marie, the three of us know how to handle ourselves in a fight. You don’t. You froze up the last time you tangled with Crow, and we’re not letting him get his hands on you?—”

She merely scoffs a laugh as she straps on her sandals.

Sam raises his brows to me. A silent plea for my help.

Dammit. I am on both her side and his in this matter. Inconvenient. “Your father would not want you risking your safety for him, love.”

“There are a lot of things my father doesn’t want me to do. Namely, the three of you. So, I’m not real worried about what he wants right now. I’m worried about him breathing.” She stands up, hands on her hips as Trick walks back in.

He’s got his tactical bag on his shoulder, and he looks her up and down. She’s a sight, wearing his T-shirt, my jeans, and those damn sandals that will do nothing to protect her feet in a fight. But I doubt she could wear our boots. His gaze goes cold. “You’re not coming with us.”

“I’m not asking for permission. If you leave without me, I’ll follow you in my car. If you take my keys, I’ll run all the way there through the swamp without a car or good shoes to protect me. You don’t have the time to tie me up, so make your choice now. I ride with you, I drive myself, or I get myself killed in the swamp between here and there. The clock is ticking.”

Sam sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. But you stay in the truck. If we find Preacher, you letusdo the extraction while you stay in the fucking truck.”

“Deal. Just promise we won’t let them kill him.”

Trick nods. “Whatever it takes.”

We gear up in under five minutes, each movement fueled by an undercurrent of panic. Sam checks a pistol, slides it into his belt. I yank on jeans and boots, rummaging for a sidearm. Trick hunts down extra ammunition. Marie paces, biting her lip, face drawn with terror.

Unevenly, she asks, “Can I have a gun?”

“Can you shoot one?” I ask.

“Well, I’ve seen enough movies?—”

“Have you ever shot a gun?”

She shakes her head. “But I think I’ll feel better if I have one.”

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