Page 66 of Inked Daddies

My mind floats, each breath carrying me further from the anxiety of the day. Even thoughts of Dad recede, the pregnancy reveal overshadowed by the warmth of these men.

Tomorrow, maybe I’ll tell them. Or soon. But not tonight.

27

SAM

I’m standingin the kitchen, the air thick with the aroma of fresh espresso and the faint echo of earlier laughter that’s died down to uneasy quiet. The single lamp near the couch casts uneven light across bare brick walls, creating jagged shadows that crawl over the furniture. Normally, it feels like home. But tonight, it feels oppressively small—too cramped to hold the tension throbbing in my chest.

Marie is asleep in the other room, curled up with a dreaming Hugo and a snoring Trick after the night’s exhausting events. Not me, though. Adrenaline hums in my veins, refusing to let me relax. I’ve been pacing around the house for half an hour, anticipating the worst.

Preacher.

He was always smarter than the rest of us, always thinking about the next move or what our enemies might be up to. Always planning. It was one of the things we bonded over when we met—two overthinkers, two schemers. Two peas in a pod until Trick and Hugo came along to make us four peas.

For a time, we were. Until he met his wife.

He will sense something’s amiss. He’s always been like that—smart enough to see the angles, to read people’s secrets the way I read a tactical map. And if he’s pieced together that his daughter is with the three of us—really with us—he won’t be happy.

Amemory tugs at me. Years ago, in the early days of our alliance, Preacher and I bonded over strategy. We’d sit at cheap diners, analyzing potential threats. He had a knack for coaxing out hidden agendas, for spotting the trap in every handshake.

Even after he left the team, that strategic mind didn’t vanish—it funneled into his ministry, into being the calm, unyielding voice of reason in a small town that adores him. If he sees me, Trick, and Hugo as a threat to Marie’s well-being…well, I don’t like the odds of that conversation. But I have to have it eventually.

It’s not as if there haven’t been signs. I’m sure some town gossip has chewed his ear about something regarding the four of us, and the longer we’re here together, the longer someone will happen to drive by and see Marie’s car here late at night.

The phone on the kitchen counter vibrates, the screen lighting up the gloom like a grenade with the pin half-pulled. My pulse spikes. The caller ID shows Preacher, mocking me. My gut clenches.

He knows.

The moment we let ourselves get too comfortable with Marie, I knew I’d eventually have to face him. Possibly tonight. Possibly now.

But why call in the middle of the night? Preacher might be upset, but he’s also not the type to wake me just to rant. He’s more methodical than that.

Maybe we warrant an emergency call. Maybe he sees us as that big of a threat. I tap the screen to accept, pressing the phone to my ear. “Preacher?”

Silence greets me. The lamp’s glow flickers over the sink, and the hush in my ear feels like a black hole about to swallow me. My heart thuds twice. Then I hear a faint crackle, and a voice breathes through the line.

“Well, well.” The tone drips with lazy smugness. “I half expected you wouldn’t pick up.”

Crow.

My free hand closes into a fist, and a sick, electric jolt zips through my veins. He has Preacher’s phone which tells me two things, assuming he hasn’t cloned it. One, Preacher is not okay. Two, this just got a hell of a lot worse. “Tell me what you want.”

A slick chuckle rasps in my ear. “Straight to the point, Sam. I like that.”

I grit my teeth, stepping away from the counter. “If you’re calling me from his phone, that’s bad news for you. Means you’re messing with the wrong man, in the wrong house.”

He offers a cold laugh that sets my teeth on edge. “Oh, I’m in the fucking right house, alright. It’s so far deep in the swamp that no one can hear him scream.”

I swallow that down. “Just remember that, Crow. Because no one will hear you scream either.”

He scoffs at that. “Your preacher boy is tied up in his own living room, if you can believe that. We had to teach him some manners, so the place got a bit messed up.”

Rage surges, but I keep my tone controlled. “Put him on. Or this conversation is done.”

A low sigh. “You’re in no position to make demands?—”

“We both want something, Crow. That means we both have leverage. Let me hear him, or I hang up. You want to lose your bargaining chip tonight? Go ahead.”

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