Page 9 of Inked Daddies

“How long do you think it’ll take?” I ask him.

“Not long,” Trick says with a grin. “Sam’s in a mood.”

Sam’s always in a mood when it comes to protecting people. And Marie? She’s one of our own, even if she’s never given us the time of day in that regard. At this point, it’s the principle of the thing.

He barks, “Name?”

But the kid just lies there.

He pinches the kid’s nose shut. The kid holds out for thirty-seven seconds before he’s gasping for breath. Sam snaps, “Name?”

The kid tries to wriggle his head side to side to escape Sam’s grip, but it’s no use. Tears spring out of his eyes, leaving tracks in the dirt on his cheeks. “Crow! My fucking name is Crow! Let go of me!”

Sam gives his nose a shove, just enough to elicit more tears. “The fuck were you doing out there, Crow?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“I have my orders. I fill them. It’s that simple. Now, let me out of here.”

Sam stands like a statue, calm and terrifying all at once. “You said you fill them. Notfollowthem. What kind of orders are these?”

“Hell’s Hammers don’t answer to anyone.” Crow smashes his lips together into a thin line. He’s done answering. Until we motivate him.

That might get bloody. I glance toward the other room where Marie is sitting, her arms wrapped around herself. Her face is pale, but she’s listening. I know she is.

“Stay with her,” I tell Trick, nudging him toward the couch.

“What? Why me?” Trick looks offended, but I give him a shove anyway.

“Because you’re better at distractions, and she’s about two seconds from breaking down again. Get that paltry police force here, and for fuck’s sake, make her that tea I promised her.”

He mutters something under his breath but moves toward her anyway, plopping down beside her and giving her one of hisdumb, charming grins. “Hey, you ever seen a guy beg for his life before?”

Marie shoots him a look, half-appalled, half-amused despite herself, and I shake my head. Idiot. But at least she’s not crying anymore.

“What are your orders, Crow?” Sam growls.

“Hell’s Hammers don’t answer to anyone.”

“Yeah, you said that, but what you haven’t said is anything useful.” Sam grinds his steel-toed boot into Crow’s shin through his jeans. He lets out a groan, but still keeps his mouth shut. “Don’t make me ask again.”

“Hell’s Hammers?—”

Sam flicks out his switchblade, the one he keeps in his pocket. “I don’t need to hear a third verse of that pathetic song. I’m a tattoo artist, as you might have guessed. But I also do body modification. I know how to split a person’s tongue so they barely feel it.” He crouches low so they’re eye to eye. “I also know how to do it wrong, so they feel every millimeter of the split. That shitty Chinese tattoo on the side of your neck, do you know what it means?”

“Killer.”

Sam cackles in his face. “It means limp.”

“The fuck do you know? You had to tie me up to threaten me. You’re a fucking coward?—”

Sam lunges, pressing the knife to Crow’s throat. “You’re the one who attacked a woman alone at night.Cowardis the nicest thing I could call you right now.”

“Hell’s Ham?—”

Sam smashes his fist across the boy’s nose, knocking him out.

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