5. Marie
5
MARIE
The blue blanket Hugo gave me is remarkably soft, and it smells faintly like the shop—leather, ink, and something masculine that I can’t place. I sink into the leather couch, pulling the fabric tighter around my shoulders, but I can’t stop the tremble in my hands.
I’m not cold. This goes deeper than cold ever could.
The adrenaline is wearing off now, leaving me raw and exposed. I should be calming down—I’m safe, Crow’s gone, and the guys are handling everything—but my mind won’t stop racing.
They’re still in the other room, talking in low, serious tones that I can only half hear. I catch bits and pieces—Sam growling something about “next time,” Trick laughing softly like this was all some kind of joke, and Hugo murmuring in that smooth, cocky voice that always seems to hold a secret.
I can’t stop flashing back to how it all happened, replaying every detail in my head. Crow, dark eyes piercing me in place. That man had a knife. He could have killed me. There was nothing I could do to stop him.
That was what he made me say to him. Tears streamed cold down my face, and he growled, “Say it, Marie. There’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
And I did. I knew what he was doing. Making me not only feel helpless, but acknowledge it out loud to make me feel utterly worn down. I had no choice. No options. We both knew it.
A swell of adrenaline spikes through me again, somehow numbing me and making me feel every sensation that much more. The softness of the blanket on my skin. The dizzy sense of trauma I haven’t processed. The ticking clock on the wall—I feel it in my bones. It’s been happening since I saw Crow in the parking lot.
When he leaned in close—too close—I screamed. I didn’t know what was coming, but I knew it’d be bad, and that scream erupted from me out of nowhere. And just like that, Trick appeared with Sam on his heels. Hugo swept me into his arms, but I nearly fought him off of me.
I didn’t mean to, but I had to see if Trick and Sam were alright, so Hugo let me twist around in his grasp and watch what happened. I remember thinking he should have been more rigid or ready to jump into the fight if needed. But he wasn’t tense at all—he knew they’d be okay to go up against Crow, and knowing he was fine with it meant I could relax a little.
Only a little.
If they had gotten hurt because they were protecting me, I don’t know what I would have done.
There was Trick, grinning even as he wiped blood off his knuckles. Sam, with his sharp, focused eyes and coiled strength, as he pounded Crow’s gut. Hugo, steady and unshakable, his arm around me like he’d never let go.
Even with the violence all around me, I was turned on.
It shouldn’t have made my heart race the way it did. I worried for them, but not only for them. I worried I’d never get to say what I’ve wanted to say ever since I knew I had a crush on them. To tell them who they are to me.
Ridiculous. I am ridiculous. Just a kid in their eyes. Nothing more.
I glance toward the doorway, my pulse ticking up when I catch a glimpse of Trick leaning casually against the wall, his arms crossed. He’s still got that playful smirk on his face, but there’s a tension in his shoulders that says he’s not as relaxed as he looks. He’s worried. Probably about me.
Sam’s pacing, his broad shoulders casting odd shadows under the overhead light. I barely hear a word he’s saying, but bits come through the haze in my head. “…shouldn’t have let her see…” and “…bad idea…”
Hugo watches him, his lips curved in a faint smile like he knows something the rest of us don’t.
They’re so different from one another, yet somehow they fit. They’ve always fit.
When I was a kid, I thought they were invincible. They were larger than life, my dad’s friends who could do no wrong. Sitting on their shop couch, I thumb the faint scar on my right knee, the one I got when I fell off my bike on their street.
A bee or a hornet had chased me, and I pedaled my heart out to get away from it, not paying attention to where I was going. A piece of broken concrete clipped my tire, and I went ass over teakettle, sprawling across the road. They came and helped me get washed up before driving me home. I had no idea what the world was really like back then, no idea what their lives were like outside the shop and the occasional church event.
Now I know better.
Dad always says they’re dangerous men, that they have a dark past. I never believed him before tonight. After seeing Sam and Trick fight, though, I know he’s right. No one moves like that without a history of it, and none of them talk about their history. But somehow, that only makes them more appealing.
Not that it matters. To them, I’m just the kid who gets hurt, and now the kid who gets mugged. And whatever else Crow wanted from me. It’s one thing to steal my money—that would have sucked, but I’d recover. When he said he wanted more…my stomach lurches at the memory as if vomiting might wipe it out.
But then I remember how Trick and Sam beat the hell out of Crow while Hugo held me, and my body is on fire again.
I bury my face in the blanket, letting out a quiet groan. I shouldn’t be thinking about them like this—not now, not ever. This isn’t normal. Who goes from damsel in distress to horny in two seconds? But I can’t help it. The way they looked at me tonight, the way they fought for me, the way they held me afterward…that spark is a raging forest fire right now.
It should be illegal to look as good as they do at nearly my dad’s age.
This isn’t good. I don’t want to be the girl who needs saving, but I like the way the guys made me feel. Protected. Like I wasn’t just some innocent bystander, and like I’m someone worth fighting for.
“Marie?”
I jump at the sound of Hugo’s voice, my head snapping up to see him standing in the doorway. Most of the time, I don’t pick it up, but tonight’s tension has his very slight accent more pronounced. I’m not sure if it’s Cajun or French, but it’s usually only detectable on certain words. The way his lips form around the words…all I can think of is kissing him.
But all I’ll ever do about it is write them into my spicy novels and play with my battery-operated boyfriend. The three of them have helped me build a mildly lucrative side gig under a pseudonym. If my father ever learned about it, he’d never speak to me again. The only person who knows about it is Julie, and that’s only because she caught me writing on a lunch break.
My readers might hate me if they knew I was a virgin. Just thinking the word in Hugo’s presence makes me blush.
He leans against the doorframe, one hand in his pocket, his sparkling eyes fixed on me in that unnervingly intense way he has. “You sure you’re alright?”
“I’m fine,” I say automatically, even though I’m pretty sure we both know it’s a lie.
He raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with my answer, and steps into the room, his boots thudding softly against the floor. He stops a few feet away, crossing his arms over his chest.
“You don’t look fine,” he says, his tone teasing but not unkind. “You look like someone about two seconds away from curling into a ball and hiding under that blanket.”
I glare at him, but there’s no real heat behind it. “I said I was fine. Can we leave it at that?” I don’t want him to treat me with kid gloves.
Hugo studies me for a moment, his head tilting slightly like he’s trying to figure me out. It’s unsettling how good he is at that—at reading people, at knowing exactly what they’re thinking even when they don’t want to admit it. Not as good at it as Trick, but close.
“You want to talk about it?” he asks, his voice softer now.
I do. I want to give in, to give him whatever he wants. But what good would it do? It’s over. “There’s nothing to talk about. The police have him. It’s done.”
Hugo doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he moves closer, kneeling down to meet my eyes. Those emeralds of his flash, and for a moment, it’s hard to breathe. “It’s not done for you. Not yet.”
My chest tightens, and I look away, focusing on the worn edge of the couch instead of his face. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Aye, you do.” His voice is so soft, so gentle, that it makes my throat ache. “Look,” he says, shifting so he’s sitting on the coffee table in front of me. “You don’t have to pretend you’re okay. Not with us.”
Us.
The word hits me harder than it should, and I blink back the sudden sting of tears. “I don’t want to be the girl who needs saving,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.
Hugo leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze steady and unflinching. “You’re not. You’re the girl who got saved because three idiots couldn’t stand the thought of something happening to her.”
I laugh softly, the sound shaky and uneven, but it’s better than crying. “You’re not idiots.”
“Well, Trick might be,” he says with a small grin, and I can’t help but smile back.
“Marie.”
The sound of Sam’s voice makes my smile falter, and I glance toward the doorway to see him standing there, his expression unreadable. He’s got that same intensity in his eyes that he always does, like he’s responsible for everything and doesn’t trust anyone else to hold it.
“Hey,” I say softly, my voice catching in my throat.
He steps into the room, his gaze flicking to Hugo before settling back on me. “You alright?”
It’s hard to breathe with all of them checking on me. I nod, even though I know it’s not the answer he’s looking for.
Sam sighs, running a hand through his hair, and for a moment he looks older than I’ve ever seen him. Tired. Worn. Like tonight took something out of him that he wasn’t prepared to give. And that’s my fault.
“You don’t have to take me home,” I say quickly, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. “I’m fine. Really. You’ve done enough.”
Sam’s eyes narrow slightly, and he shakes his head. “You think we’re just going to let you drive home after what happened? You’d wreck in the swamp.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” I mutter, pulling the blanket tighter around me.
“No,” he agrees. “But you need someone.” The words hang in the air between us, heavy and undeniable.
For a long moment, none of us say anything. Then Trick appears in the doorway, breaking the silence with his usual irreverent grin. “Alright, I’m officially bored,” he announces, flopping onto the couch beside me and throwing an arm over the back. “Somebody tell me what we’re doing next.”
I glance at him, my heart twisting at how effortlessly charming he is, even now.
“We’re taking her home,” Sam says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.
“If you want to be boring about it,” Trick shoots back, his grin widening. “I was just about to suggest we all take a nice, relaxing walk around the block, maybe find a nice spot for a picnic. You know, let off some steam together.” He winks.
I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the small laugh that escapes me.
“See?” Trick says, nudging me with his elbow. “She gets it. Laughter is the best medicine, right?”
“Not when the patient’s still in shock,” Hugo mutters, but there’s a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
They’re ridiculous. All of them. And yet somehow, sitting here with them, I feel a little bit better. A little less alone. It’s not enough to erase the fear or the lingering tension in my chest, but it’s enough to remind me why I’ve always wanted them.
Because I do want them.
I’ve wanted them since I was a teenager, since before I even understood what wanting really was. And now, after tonight, I know I’m never going to stop. But I also know I can’t let them see it.
Because no matter how much I want them, no matter how much I ache to know what it would feel like to kiss them, to touch them, to let them in—I can’t.
Preachers’ daughters don’t fall for the bad guys. And they definitely don’t fall for three of them at the same time.
“Let’s take you home, Marie,” Sam says with half a smile.
Somehow, my brain picks the dumbest possible thing to say. “But I didn’t get to sit on your fancy chair.”
He snorts a laugh, and the other two join him. “I promise you can tomorrow.”
“She can sit on whatever she wants,” Trick fake-flirts with me.
It’s only ever teasing when it comes to them. That’s all it can ever be.