27. Sam
27
SAM
I’m standing in 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.
A memory 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.”
It’s a gamble. But it’s the only way to know Preacher is alive.
He’s silent for a beat. I sense him weighing the threat. Then I hear a muffled shuffle, a thud, and a distant grunt of pain. My heart seizes. That’s definitely Preacher—a raw, choked sound. Another shuffle, and Crow returns, voice dripping with false courtesy. “Satisfied?”
“You might live to regret this.”
Crow clicks his tongue. “Now, now. You want him back alive? You’ll bring me the girl.”
My blood chills. “Marie.”
“That’s right. The sweet librarian who got away last time, thanks to you and those assholes. I have a buyer who’s partial to innocence, and she’s the poster child for it, isn’t she?”
Hardly. But he doesn’t need to know that. Not when he has Preacher under his boot.
“Look, you want money? We can do money. We have more resources than you can imagine. Let Preacher go, name your price.”
Crow scoffs. “Money’s nice, but this is personal. My buyer’s squealing for her, and it’s my job to keep him happy. You got twenty minutes to get to his house. Show up without the girl, and you better start planning a funeral.”
Twenty minutes. Hardly enough time to plan. My heart pounds, my mind racing through possible contingencies. “You’re making a mistake. If you think you can kidnap her without consequences?—”
He snorts, scorn dripping from every syllable. “Oh, I’ve done my research. Might not have found everything, but I know enough. You and a couple of your buddies run a tattoo shop, and you’re all playing house with the preacher’s daughter. Cute arrangement. But you can’t stop me. Hell’s Hammers have been scouting Auclair for weeks, and we’re starting with her.”
I grit my teeth. “I get it. You’re trying to prove a point, that you can waltz into Auclair and do whatever you want. But if you’ve done your research, you should know how my crew reacts to threats.”
He gives a snide chuckle. “Yeah. You might be tough, but you’re also old and outnumbered, so it doesn’t matter. We have your preacher, and we want the girl. Twenty minutes, Sam. Bring her, or he’s dead.”
A wad of panic tries to climb up my throat. I swallow it down. Preacher would do anything for his daughter, and that includes letting Crow beat him to death. I wouldn’t give her over to them even if I wasn’t in love with her.
“Marie’s off-limits. Let Preacher go, and I can guarantee we leave you alone. Cross that line, and you’ll regret it.”
“That’s not how this works,” Crow sneers. “You bring me Marie, or say goodbye to your preacher. Simple as that.”
He’s enjoying this, the smug bastard. My mind reels with potential angles. The cops, who are barely equipped to handle a full-scale gang infiltration? Or do we do this the old-fashioned way? We have only twenty minutes.
The phone pings with a text alert. Crow’s voice purrs, “I just sent you a little proof of life—or near life. He doesn’t have much time.”
I yank the phone from my ear, checking the message. Preacher, slumped against a blood-smeared wall, arms bound. He’s battered, bruised, face streaked with red. The living room is wrecked, just as Crow said.
Inside, I feel it. That depersonalization I was trained for. The way you shut off your humanity when it will only get people killed. A comforting numbness takes hold.
But then I look at the picture again, and all of that dissolves into nothing. This is personal. My humanity demands action. No more numbness. I’m a live wire.
I press the phone back to my ear, breathing through gritted teeth. “You’re crossing lines you can’t come back from. Walk away.”
He sounds bored. “The clock is ticking. Remember who holds the cards.”
“You’re a businessman, right, Crow?”
He’s quiet for a moment. “Yeah. What of it?”
“A good businessman does his research. He wants to know who he’s getting into bed with. Doesn’t want the deal to fall through?—”
“I didn’t call for a seminar?—”
“You should have done your research, Crow. You have no idea who you’re fucking with. Walk away now, and you’ll see the sun rise.”
He laughs. “You do not seem to understand. There is no path for you to keep them both. You must choose one or the other. That’s the only way this ends.”
Sweat beads on the back of my neck. “She’s not an asset you can play with, Crow. If you want an asset, let’s talk real business. A dead hostage is worthless, and my entire crew will come after you with no restraint, and not only you.”
“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.