6. Sam
6
SAM
Marie is still trembling, even though she’s trying to pretend she’s fine. She’s pretended to be fine for most of her life, so she’s good at it. But the way her hands twist the blanket Hugo gave her makes my chest ache. She doesn’t have to hold it together for us—not tonight, not ever.
She’s been through too much.
I crouch in front of her to meet her gaze, keeping my voice low and calm. “Marie, take your time. You’re not driving anywhere until I know you’re ready.”
She meets my eyes, her lips pulling into a tight, shaky smile that doesn’t reach the rest of her face. She’s still trying to reassure me , which is just like her. Even now, after the night she’s had, she’s thinking about other people. It’s that kindness that hooks people in.
Sure as hell worked on me.
“I’m fine,” she says softly. “I don’t want to keep you guys up.”
I don’t call her on it. Not yet. She’s had enough for one night without me pushing her. But fine is the last thing she is.
The moment I saw her backed up against her car, Crow looming over her, something inside me snapped. It wasn’t just anger or fear—it was instinct, primal and all-consuming. My protective instinct has gotten me in and out of trouble. I grew up the youngest of four brothers, but I was still the one they called when shit got bad. Even after I left home, I still answered the call. But this? This was different.
This was Marie.
And seeing her scared like that? I couldn’t think straight. All I could see was the threat, and all I wanted was to destroy it.
I don’t regret what I did to Crow. He was a thug to be taken down, and that’s what I do. But now, looking at Marie, I can’t help wondering if she regrets letting me help her.
Does she see me as some violent animal? Someone who lost control and turned into something ugly? A monster? I don’t want her to see me that way. She saw the monster behind the man tonight, and I worry it will stick in her mind. That she’ll think that’s all I really am.
It doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. She’s safe. If she’s scared of me after tonight, so be it. Whatever it takes to keep her safe. Even if she hates me.
I tell her gently, “We’re going to follow you home.”
Marie’s brows rise, and she shakes her head. “You don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine. I promise.”
“We’re following you home, Marie. End of discussion.”
She frowns, but the fight leaves her almost instantly. I know it’s not because she agrees with me—it’s because she doesn’t have the energy to argue. She exhales her discontent, and her posture sags along with it. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean to make tonight such a mess for you guys. You’ve already done so much. I just don’t want to inconvenience you.”
“Don’t apologize.” My tone is sharper than I intend, and she blinks in surprise. I adjust, softening my voice. “Never apologize for needing us.” That sounded…wrong. “Never apologize for needing help .”
Her lips curve into a small smile, and she tucks a wayward strand of her chocolate waves behind her ear. “Thank you. I always feel better when you’re around.”
The warmth in her voice melts something in me I didn’t even know was frozen. Those words— I always feel better when you’re around —hit me harder than I expect, wrapping themselves around my chest and squeezing tight like a hug I’ve always needed.
It shouldn’t feel like this. I shouldn’t feel like this. She’s Preacher’s daughter.
I can still remember the day he brought her into the shop for the first time, this wide-eyed little girl who was more interested in the sketches on the walls than the motorcycles out front. She must have been five or six, all big smiles and endless curiosity.
“Can I watch you draw?” she asked, her voice so earnest it made me laugh. She meant tattoo.
“You’d better ask your dad,” I told her.
Preacher ruffled her hair, giving her a warm smile. “You stay out of their way, Marie. You hear me?”
She nodded, her eyes sparkling, and for the rest of the day, she hovered around the edges of the shop, sneaking glances at the designs we were working on and peppering us with questions. Sometimes, we caught her cleaning up.
That’s how I used to think of her—this sweet, curious kid who thought the world of us. But she’s not that kid anymore.
She’s twenty-six. A grown woman with a life of her own. And ever since she came back from Boston all those months ago, I’ve been having a harder and harder time convincing myself that I don’t notice the way she’s changed.
She’s beautiful. There’s no other word for it. Those long legs, that thick body, her smile, her hair, those eyes. She’s the whole package, physically.
But it’s not just that. It’s the way she carries herself—quiet, confident, a bit shy around the edges. She’s got this softness to her that makes me want to shield her from anything that could hurt her, but there’s steel underneath too. She’s stronger than she gives herself credit for.
And I…I shouldn’t be thinking about her like this.
Not just because of the age gap, though that’s bad enough. I’m forty-two, just four years younger than her father.
And that’s the real reason, the one that keeps me up at night—Preacher.
He’s one of my best friends. He got me in with the right people when I needed them the most. We’ve always had each other’s backs when the chips were down.
And Marie? She’s his whole world.
If he ever found out that I’ve been looking at her like this, he’d kill me. And I wouldn’t blame him, wouldn’t even fight back, because he’d be right to do it.
So, I can’t let this become anything more than it already is. I won’t.
The ride to Preacher’s house is quiet, with the three of us in my pickup, tailing Marie in her car. The tension in the truck is thick enough to cut with a knife. It’s been a long night, to be sure, but we’re never quiet for this long. Silence is never a good sign between the three of us.
Trick is in the passenger seat, fiddling with the radio, and Hugo is sprawled out in the back, his arms crossed over his chest. It’s times like this I wish I’d learned about things like small talk. When I need to think, I like to clean. It keeps me focused. But right now, I’m following Marie to her house, so I can’t clean. If I can’t clean, how am I supposed to think?
“She’s tougher than she looks,” Trick says suddenly, breaking the silence.
I glance at him briefly, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Trick shrugs, leaning back in his seat. “I mean, she held it together out there. Most people would have fallen apart.”
“She’s Preacher’s daughter,” Hugo says from the back. “She’s got grit.”
“Yeah, well, grit doesn’t mean she’s okay,” I mutter, gripping the wheel tighter.
“You worried about her, or are you just worried she saw you go full caveman on that guy?” Hugo asks, his tone sharp and teasing.
I don’t answer, because the truth is, it’s both.
The last thing I want is for Marie to see me as some violent, out-of-control psycho. I’ve worked hard to keep that part of my past behind me, to be the kind of man who solves problems with words instead of fists. But tonight…tonight, words weren’t enough.
And if I’m being honest with myself, I didn’t want them to be. I wanted to beat the shit out of that kid for scaring Marie. He deserved it. And more.
Preacher used to tell me it’s one thing to see something needing to be done. It’s another to need to be the one to do it. And I always needed to be the one to do it back then.
I always took one for the team, always the first to volunteer. If there was an ugly mess, it was my privilege to clean it up. Whatever that mess might be. A building that needed breaching, a rookie who needed his ass handed to him, whatever. Didn’t matter if it made me an asshole. I handled shit. I was the man for any job.
Still am.
We pull into Preacher’s sugar-sand driveway, and before the truck is even in park, Hugo says, “I want Marie. And I want you two on board with that. Green?”
I blink at Trick, no time to say a word before Marie is out of her car and running toward Preacher. We pop out of my truck, following behind her. My head is swimming. What the hell did Hugo mean by that?
“Dad!” she calls, her voice breaking.
Preacher meets her halfway, his arms wrapping around her like a fortress. “Marie, what happened? Are you hurt?”
She shakes her head, burying her face in his chest. “I’m fine. There was this guy—he followed me to my car, and he wouldn’t leave me alone. He had a knife.”
Preacher’s face darkens, and his eyes shift to me, Trick, and Hugo. “And you three took care of him?”
“We weren’t about to just stand by,” I say simply.
Trick adds, “The police have him now.”
Preacher’s jaw tightens, and for a moment I think he’s about to yell at us for letting the bastard live. But then he sighs, his shoulders sagging slightly. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to her.”
I nod, glancing at Marie. Her honey-brown eyes meet mine, and for a split second, the rest of the world fades away.
But then Preacher is guiding her inside, and I’m left standing in the driveway with Hugo and Trick, my heart in my throat. As we head back to the truck, I stop Trick with a hand on his shoulder.
“Stay here,” I tell him quietly. “Keep an eye on the house tonight.”
Trick nods, his usual grin fading into something more serious. “You got it.” He disappears into the shadows. Their property has plenty of them. It’s surrounded on three sides by a swamp, so there are too many places for someone to hide. But knowing Trick is here puts me at ease.
As much as I can be at ease after seeing Marie scared shitless. I know Trick will keep her safe, but every step back to the truck is more effort than it should be. I want to stay here, keeping watch over her. But Trick is better at stealth than me, and if we’re all here, Preacher will worry this is bigger than I think it is. So will Marie, and she’s been through enough tonight. I don’t want the three of us out here to spook her.
So, Hugo and I climb into the truck. As soon as the doors are slammed, I speak my mind. “The fuck were you thinking, saying that shit about wanting Marie?”
Hugo leans back, his expression calm and unreadable. He’s always had that French sensibility about him, like nothing can faze him. Tonight, though, I saw him fazed. When he had his arm around Marie, holding her close after I put the beat down on that asshole, Hugo looked like his world was shook up.
“I’m not thinking,” he says after a moment. “That’s the point. This isn’t about thinking, Sam. It’s instinct. She will be mine. Ours, if you like.”
The thought is too tempting and too dangerous. But his wording catches my ear. I glance at him, my chest tightening. “Instinct?”
“Aye,” he says simply, his tone matter-of-fact. “It’s like breathing. I see her, and I just…I want her. And I know you feel it too. I see it on your face when you look at her. It’s the same face Trick makes.”
I can’t object to what he’s saying, no matter how much I want to. Hugo, for better or worse, is the best reader I know. He can see a person’s life story in the bite of their lip, the flick of the hand, the way they grimace ever so slightly when you ask the wrong question. It made him perfect for our old job, but when he turns those skills onto us, it’s grating.
“Don’t read me.”
He lifts a shoulder. “It cannot be helped. Old habits and all that.”
“I have more faith in you than that, Hugo. Adapt.”
“What is that saying about old dogs and new tricks?”
“You sound like you’re feeling old. Old habits, old dogs. Feeling your age?”
He sighs. “Oui. But she makes me feel young again.”
“When it comes to Marie, try feeling nothing. Because that’s all you’re ever going to get with her. She’s Preacher’s kid. Don’t forget that.”
He chuckles but says nothing else on the matter. Which is Hugo for, “I’m not going to follow your order.”
I sigh in frustration. I can’t stop him from doing whatever’s on his mind, but I’ll be damned if I go along with it.
“You like her too. Don’t lie.”
His words settle heavily in the air between us, and for a long moment, neither of us says anything. Because as much as I want to argue with him, as much as I want to tell him he’s wrong…I know exactly what he means.