Page 68 of Inked Daddies

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?” An edge of fear in his voice.

“I keep my guys on a leash, and if you cut the leash, they’ll tear you apart.”

“You’re running out of time?—”

“You made this personal, Crow. And so will we. Now, we don’t like hurting people. It’s not our way. But if we have to make a point to keep Preacher and Marie and the rest of Auclair safe, then we’ll do it. And we won’t start with you. We’ll start with everyone you care about. And we’ll make you watch.”

He chuckles, a low, sinister sound. “You threaten me again, and I’ll carve up your preacher right here in his own home. Don’t test me unless you want his sweet daughter to find little bits of her father all over her home. In her bed. In her shampoo. Everywhere.”

My stomach lurches. “We both know you’d rather not do that yet—Preacher’s valuable only as long as he’s breathing. And if you kill him, you lose the only leverage you have.”

He snorts. “That’s where you’re wrong. I’ll kill him simply to send a message, and I’ll still tear this little town apart. Three men can’t protect a whole town. Bring me the girl, or watch your buddy bleed out on a livestream. I’ve done that trick before. I’ll send you the link.”

My breath comes shallow, each exhale measured. Not that I’m going to, but I ask, “Where do I bring her?”

“You’re going to walk her right up to her front door. No cops, no backup. Just you, the girl, and a friendly handover. Then your preacher can limp away if he’s still breathing.” The line goes dead.

28

HUGO

I never sleep deeply,but tonight, rest is especially elusive. I drift in and out of half-formed dreams. Something about how our cups won’t hold coffee…it leaks from every cup I try. No matter what I do, nothing works.

A hand clamps onto my shoulder and shakes me. My eyes snap open. Sam looms over me, tension radiating from every line of his posture. One look at his face, and my stomach twists.

He jerks his chin toward the door, and I follow. The moment I close the door, he growls, “The Hammers got Preacher. Crow is at Preacher’s house.” Sam swallows hard. “He wants Marie.”

My brain jolts from groggy to razor-sharp in an instant. “What in the fuck? They broke into his house?”

Sam nods, handing me his phone, and my mind refuses to believe what I see.

There’s a picture of Preacher, shirtless, bloody, swollen, purple in places. The bastard Crow has him by his hair, but by the look on Preacher’s face, he doesn’t feel it. Or perhaps he won’t give Crow the satisfaction of reeling from the pain.

Preacher was always that way. Never giving in. Never surrendering. And neither will we.

Everything inside of me goes tight and hot and sick. I want to scream. I want to wail on their faces, fist after fist. I want to make them bleed. My jaw clenches as my rage builds. Every cell in my body demands vengeance, and I will have it.

Sam murmurs, “He called from Preacher’s number. Sent that photo. Twenty minutes to show up with Marie, or they kill him.”

Something hotter than rage surges through me, a physical burn in my chest. In his own home? That’s a violation that goes beyond mere kidnapping. It’s an insult, a statement that they can walk into our friend’s safe space and tear it apart. That Auclair is not safe for anyone.

My fists clench. “We aren’t calling the cops, right?”

“No time,” Sam mutters.

“Thank fuck.” I’m already planning a small arsenal to take with us. Cops would only get themselves killed if they were to be involved.

“We have to wake Trick and tell Marie. We can’t hide it from her.”

I let out a breath. Marie is the hitch in the plan. Telling her…I dread it. And with only twenty minutes, anything else is almost impossible. There is no way out of telling her. Such is life. “Oui. Now.”

Sam nods once, and we head back into the bedroom. Of course, Trick must have woken upon our exit. He’s always hungry upon waking, and now, there is a mysterious lump beneath the sheets and Marie is sleepily writhing for him like a dirty angel.

Sam clears his throat, catching her attention. She beckons us to join, but he shakes his head. “Trick, snack time is over.”

Trick flips back the sheet and grins, his face shiny. His gaze bounces between us, and he jokes half-heartedly, “Who died?”

Sam’s voice is flat. “Preacher might, if we don’t get to him.”

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