Page 74 of Inked Daddies

My gaze flits across the yard, searching for that battered old pickup truck we rode here in. The last I saw, Marie was inside, safe behind the doors.

I exhale a shaky breath. At least she’s protected in there. She must have seen the guy in the tree. That’s why she honked. Good girl. If Sam and Hugo can push the fight deeper into the house, or corner these creeps, we can rescue Preacher and get the hell out.

I try to breathe through the pain, blinking sweat out of my eyes, forcing my vision to focus. My ears ring from the gunfire. Can’t hear much else right now. Then my eyes land on the truck. Just a dark shape on the far side of the yard. My heart lifts, relief mixing with throbbing pain.

But then I see Marie. Standing outside of the truck.

My stomach drops to all the way to hell.

No.Her shoulders are squared as if she’s on some mission of her own.

My breath catches in my throat. “Marie?” My voice cracks. She can’t hear me at this distance over the din of the fight.

A rush of terror flushes through me so intensely I almost black out. Everything else recedes—the bullet wound, the swirling brawl. I only see her arms up, face set with determination. She’s walking forward, away from safety.

Why the fuck is she leaving the truck?

I try to shout, but my voice is lost in the chaos. So I dig my nails into my palms, summoning the will to stand. I press my free hand over the wound, kneading the muscles around the bullet hole, ignoring the slick warmth, the burning pain. A wave of dizziness nearly topples me. My leg trembles under my weight. I let out a harsh groan.

Marie keeps moving, crossing the yard with slow, deliberate steps. In the half-light, I can see the fear in her eyes, but also that fierce resolve. Does she think she can broker a deal?

Oh fuck. That’s her plan, ain’t it?

She’s offering herself up like some sacrificial lamb to save her father, or maybe to keep us from getting hurt.She’s going to get herself killed.

Or worse, end up in Crow’s clutches. I have to stop her.

The pain in my leg flares, molten, as I take a step fueled by love and fear. I hiss through my teeth. Blood seeps between my fingers, dripping onto the dirt. My head wobbles, but I push on. “Marie!” I force the name from my throat.

She can’t hear me. She’s too far, or too focused on the figure standing beyond the swirling bodies. Crow.

The asshole stands near the side of the yard, arms folded, his face twisted in that smug grin of his. He barely acknowledges the ongoing fights around him, as if he orchestrated the chaos and iscontent to watch from the sidelines like the fucking coward he is. But when Marie steps into view, his attention snaps to her like a hawk spotting prey.

I want to vomit. I take a step, lose my balance when pain spikes up my spine, and fall. I land on some dead guy and roll off him. My free hand claws at the ground, trying to drag myself upright. Every movement is a fresh slice of agony. “No,” I moan through clenched teeth. “No, no, no.”

If only I could get to her. If only I had two working legs.

My mind screams that I have to stand, but my body rebels. White-hot pain flares in my thigh, making me dizzy. My vision flickers. I plant my palms in the grass, ignoring the blood, ignoring everything but her.

Marie is about to face Crow alone.

Hugo is locked in a brutal clash with two men now, fists flying, blade glinting. He’s too busy to see Marie. He’ll tire eventually.

Sam is still inside the house, presumably going for Preacher.

I can’t rely on either of them to take Crow too. That leaves me, half-dead in the dirt, bleeding like a stuck pig. Useless. My chest tightens with panic.

“Marie!” I shout again, hating how weak I sound.

The yard’s cacophony drowns me out. She keeps walking, heartbreak etched on her face. Heartbreak, not fear. She’s heading for Crow, not even flinching at the gunshots raking the air.

My pulse skyrockets, and I force myself onto my elbows, dragging my bleeding leg behind me. The bullet hole stings viciously, but I push it aside. Nothing else matters. Only her.

I make it a few feet across the grass before Crow steps forward, meeting her halfway. A bullet whizzes overhead, but neither he nor Marie react. They’re locked on each other, as if everyone else is mere background noise.

She says something—her lips move, but I can’t hear it.

Crow tilts his head, that grin curdling into something more menacing. He looks to be mocking her, gesturing with one hand.

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