Page 76 of Inked Daddies

Crow yanks on my shirt collar, urging me forward. He’s not content to linger near the truck. He wants to haul me further into the darkness at the yard’s edge, where the glare of the porch light won’t reach. His breath warms the shell of my ear when he leans in to speak, voice dripping with cruelty. “You should’ve stayed inside that truck, sweetheart. By walking out, you just handed yourself over.”

“Why do you think I did it, genius? Let my dad go. Let the men leave. I’ll come peacefully?—”

He hauls back like he’s about to hit me again. But then he cracks a laugh so sharp it hurts. “Have you been paying attention? This fight is ours. Your father, your men, they’re all dead. They just don’t know it yet.”

I don’t speak. Speaking would give the game away.

My fingers inch toward the pocket of Sam’s jacket that I’m still wearing. We pass the remnants of a smashed flowerpot near the front porch steps. My father used to keep hibiscus there, and apang strikes my chest at the memory of him dutifully watering them in the morning. Now shards of terra-cotta litter the grass, glinting under the flickering light.

Crow drags me a few more steps, aiming for the cluster of trees that shield the neighbor’s property line. He wants to vanish into the night with me, probably to force me into a car or do something worse. My pulse races.

I can’t let that happen.

A shout erupts from behind us—Hugo or Trick, I’m not sure. The yard teems with roiling shapes, men battered and spent, swinging desperately. Another muzzle flash ignites near the porch. I don’t look, but I hear a grunt of pain. My stomach knots. If it’s Hugo hurt, or Trick again, or some new horror, I can’t dwell on it now. I have to focus on the moment at hand.

Not another step.

My voice is weak and tired as I murmur, “I think…I think I’m about to fai…” I force my body to go limp, letting Crow shift his weight to accommodate me.

He grunts now, having to take on some of my weight. His grip momentarily slackens, and his eyes flick away, scanning for threats. “If I have to carry you, I’ll make you regret it.”

I breathe deeply, counting the frantic hammer of my heartbeats, preparing for the single shot I have. Just need to drag myself down a little more?—

“Keep moving,” Crow snarls, yanking me forward.

But I pivot, sliding out of his grip, and drive the blade up into his groin. I don’t slash or stab deep—I keep the razor-sharp tip rightat the most vulnerable spot of his entire anatomy. He was erect until he felt the tip.

God only knows what he was dragging me away for.

He inhales sharply, freezing in mid-step, face turning from smug to alarmed in a split second. “The fuck?”

I exhale. “Not one move,” I murmur, voice quivering only slightly. “Unless you want me to slice off your favorite part.”

Crow stands stock-still, sweat beading at his temples. “You’re playing a stupid game, little girl. Don’t think I won’t snap your neck if you so much as?—”

“Shut up,” I interrupt, pressing the blade a millimeter deeper. He hisses, a bead of sweat rolling down his cheek. “Do you want to keep talking, or do you want to keep your dick?”

His breath rattles in his chest, nostrils flaring. He flicks his gaze around, presumably checking if any of his henchmen are close enough to jump me. But we’ve drifted far enough from the main brawl that he’s basically alone. He wanted privacy for whatever he was going to do to me.

“Where was all this attitude the night we met, huh?” He stares into my eyes, as though he can see the real me. “Cuz this feels like you’re pretending to be a hero?—”

I slash the knife upward—not for his dick, but for the hand that had started to move toward me. He jerks it back as if he touched a hot pan on the stove. I shove the knife back against his junk. “You’re right about that. I’m not a hero. I’m just the girl with a knife next to your dick. So should you play nice?”

“You won’t kill me. That’s not who you are.”

I tilt my head, letting him see the steel in my eyes. “You have no idea who I am. Let me show you.” I dig in a little deeper.

“Fine! Fuck, fine!” He holds his hands up. His blood drips down his elbow and puddles on the sugar sand.

“You should have walked away when you had the chance, Crow.”

“Where was all this attitude the night I came to the library, huh?” He stares into my eyes.

“You were smarter that night. You came after only me. Tonight, you hurt my dad. You hurt my men. If I’d been the only one on your list tonight, you’d probably have me.” I clutch his throat, feeling him swallow against my palm as I squeeze. “But you weren’t smart tonight.”

His voice chokes out, “What do you want?”

“Your men are losing this fight,” I snap. “Hugo’s taking them down, Trick’s still breathing, and Sam’s inside saving my father. If you want to keep breathing, you’ll do exactly what I say.”

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