Page 90 of Inked Daddies

Dad huffs. “Y’all helped build my house. I expect full support.” There’s a little glimmer in his eye when he says it, and that tells me things are going to be okay as far as we’re all concerned. He gestures to the toolshed out back. “Plenty of nails and boards out there. Might as well get started.”

They head out the back door, leaving me inside with a still-woozy Trick. I find eggs, flour, and the fixings for pancakes. The quiet act of measuring and mixing feels almost surreal after the insanity of last night. But it’s a welcome slice of calm.

As I pour batter onto a sizzling griddle, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the microwave door—disheveled hair, bruises forming on my arms and throat, and a faint tear track on one cheek from earlier.

How did I get here?I wonder briefly. Then I smile to myself.Oh yeah, because a human trafficker decided I was a target.He’s not coming back, that I am sure of. He said something about a buyer who wanted me in particular, but he never gave details.

I push it out of my mind. He was just a psycho making up bullshit. I never want to have to threaten someone with a knife again in my life, but it was effective. And now, I get to live my life the way I want to.

A life with three men who’d lay it all on the line for me.

I flip the pancakes just in time for Sam to reappear, dusty and sweaty from hauling a stack of wooden boards. He sets them down by the door and slides behind me, hooking his chin overmy shoulder. “Smells good,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against my temple.

My heart flips. “Thought you were working outside.”

Sam gently tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Hugo’s got the muscle memory for repairs. I’d just be his glorified assistant anyway.” He offers a small grin. “And I trust your cooking more than I trust my hammering skills.”

Warmth floods my cheeks, and I realize how domestic this all feels. Another wave of surreal joy washes over me.Is this what life could be?

I fill a plate with fresh pancakes and hand it to Sam, who carries it into the living room. Trick is awake enough to eat, albeit groggily. Hugo comes in a few minutes later, wiping sweat from his forehead, and Dad trails behind him, each of them grabbing a stack.

The tension between them is far from gone, but it’s less suffocating now. We all share a bizarre, post-battle breakfast in the living room, because the kitchen table is blood coated from Trick’s impromptu surgery.

Dad takes a bite, eyes flicking to me. “Always did love your mom’s pancakes. You got her talent.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

I catch Hugo’s eye. He gives me a slight smile. Sam carefully helps Trick sit up against the couch pillows so he can eat, and the man devours his plate in minutes, making deliriousmmm-ing noises that draw out a chuckle from Dad despite himself.

Trick wipes a drip of syrup from his chin. “Sorry, Preacher,” he says around a mouthful, “but your daughter’s cooking is officially heaven.”

Dad’s expression twitches—part amusement, part annoyance—but at least he doesn’t snap a retort.

When the plates are empty, Sam gathers them up. That’s when Hugo sets his plate down, levels me with a thoughtful gaze, and says, “Marie, there’s something I wanted to ask you. Something we all want to ask, actually.”

“What’s going on?”

Hugo clears his throat softly. “We were wondering if you’d consider moving in with us. Properly.”

“Move in? For real?”

Hugo’s gaze is gentle. “We want to take care of you—and the baby—together. It just makes sense, no?”

Trick wiggles his eyebrows, though the movement makes him wince. “And I think we can all agree that once I’m healed up, there’ll be a hell of a lot morefunif we’re under the same roof.” His suggestive wink earns him a not-so-subtle elbow in the ribs from Sam.

Blood rushes to my cheeks, and I can’t help a tiny grin. Then, I glance over at my father. He’s staring up at the ceiling in a silent prayer.

“Dad?” I venture softly, though I have no idea what I’m expecting him to say. “You gonna lose your mind if I say yes?”

He huffs, lips pursing like he’s biting back a scathing remark. Finally, he mutters, “That congregation of mine is going to havea field day. If you move in, they’ll probably hold an emergency prayer circle.”

Sam’s mouth quirks, and I suspect he’s suppressing a wry grin. “Once they see the baby, they’ll all melt. No one will care how that child came into this world.”

This is the life I want. I know that down to my bones. Turning back to the guys, I clasp my hands together, heart pounding. “Yes,” I say, the word slipping out before I can overthink it. “I’d love to move in with you.”

A collective wave of relief washes over the three of them. Trick flashes that trademark grin, Sam’s eyes gleam with a rare joy, and Hugo’s lips curl in a gentle smile. Even Dad, in the corner, closes his eyes like he’s accepting a minor defeat. Maybe in time, he’ll see it’s more of a victory—for all of us.

“Then it’s settled,” Sam says. “We’ll handle the logistics. We’ll get you moved in as soon as we can. Like us, you can have your own bedroom, and we have other spares to make a perfect nursery.”

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