Page 5 of Inked Daddies

I don’t recognize him, but I don’t like the way he’s leaning in. My jaw tightens, and I give a sharp whistle to get the guys’ attention. “Check it out,” I say, nodding toward the window.

Trick looks up first, his playful grin fading. Hugo’s not far behind, and I feel the shift in the room as we all take in the scene.

“That’s Marie,” Trick says, his voice low.

“No shit.”

Marie’s been back in town for what, six months now? She came home after her mama died, all grown up and way too good for this place. I try not to notice her most days—hell, I’ve spent years pretending she doesn’t exist—but it’s not easy when she’sright across the street at the library, her dad’s doe-eyed little girl turned into something that’s way too tempting for her own good.

Not that it matters. She’s untouchable. Always has been, always will be.

The guy with her leans even closer, and my fists clench. My first thought is to hate him—to hate any guy who thinks he can get that close to her—but then I remind myself she’s not a kid anymore. She’s not the little girl who used to hang around the shop with her dad, begging to look at the designs we were working on. She’s a woman now, and if she wants to let some loser invade her space, that’s her choice.

But then she screams.

It’s not loud, not at first. It’s more of a muffled cry, the kind that’s half fear and half shock, but it’s enough to make my blood run cold. Before I can think, I’m already moving.

“Stay here,” I bark at Hugo and Trick, but I know they won’t listen. If they come too, this’ll get messy, and Marie doesn’t need to see that.

The door slams behind me as I step outside, and my boots crunch against the dirt road and gravel. The guy’s head snaps up as he notices me approaching.

“Hey!” I bark, my voice echoing down the empty street.

Marie looks at me, and her eyes are wide, panicked. That’s all it takes. I don’t need to know the details. I don’t need to ask questions.

I’m already crossing the street, and if this guy thinks he’s going to get out of this without answering to me, he’s out of his damn mind.

3

TRICK

That scream.I’ll never forget that scream as long as I live.

Marie Durand has no business making a sound like that, one that rips my heart out like she owns it. Sam gave orders about me and Hugo staying in the shop, but fuck that. He doesn’t get dibs on the asshole who made Marie scream.

As fast as my anger came on, it fades away.

I don’t hear my footfalls as I race behind Sam, but I hear Hugo’s as he tries to catch up to me. He won’t. But he tries. I don’t feel the muggy night air, but I know it’s there. And the sharp stab from scar tissue in my right knee as I run? It hardly registers.

A sergeant once told me I don’t fight at all. I simply become violence. I think he meant that as a compliment, but I never asked.

There are different terms for it, “the fog of war” being the most common of them. But it’s always been that way for me when I’m heading for a fight. I’m not in my body anymore. I’m planning my next move. The last time I had a good fight? Too long,honestly. Can’t recall it. But this guy gave me all the excuse I need.

I pass Sam on the way there—I’ve always been the fastest of the three of us. The weak streetlamp flickers overhead, growing long shadows across the pavement, but I don’t miss the way the stranger shifts his weight as I square up to him. Rookie mistake—he’s tipping his hand, showing me he’s about to come at me with his left. I grin, rolling my shoulders to loosen up, and crack my neck for good measure. This is gonna be fun.

And this guy? This punk in the hoodie, jeans, and lace-up boots, with his stupid hammer tattoo and his cocky smirk? He’s going down.

I’m not sure I’ll let him get back up, either. My vision narrows to beats, almost like snapping a picture with a camera. I take in one sight after another, disconnected from their movement.

In my periphery, Hugo’s got Marie a few feet behind us, one arm around her shoulders. She sobs into his chest. She looks so damn small like that, and it doesn’t sit right with me.

Marie’s always been this quiet little thing, yeah, but she’s not weak. She’s smart, sharp, carries herself like she’s got the weight of the whole library on her shoulders. Seeing her like this—terrified and trembling—it’s like someone’s dumped ice water down my back.

Let’s go.

I step forward, letting my knuckles brush against my palms, my fists already aching for contact. “You’ve got two options, boy. Option one, you walk away now and pray to whatever god you believe in that I don’t follow you. Option two…” I grin wider, my teeth flashing. “You don’t walk away at all.”

He doesn’t take the hint. Guys like him never do.

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