Page 3 of Spock’s Snare

Dad sits on an overturned bucket, his back against the wall. A rag is pressed against the back of his head, stained dark with blood. His face is pale, but his eyes lift when he hears my voice.

“There’s my girl,” he says gruffly.

I drop to my knees beside him.

“What happened?”

“Someone doesn’t like me.”

Despite the joke, my stomach twists. I can hear Declan explaining to Spock and the others how he found Dad, but I pay him no mind. My focus is solely on my father.

I gently touch his shoulder. “You need to go to the hospital.”

“Not going.”

That’s when Puma takes the decision out of his hands.

“Who did this?” I ask Dad, although I already know the answer. It’s the same son-of-a-bitch who has been causing me trouble for the past four months.

Dad nods at something behind me. When I turn, I let out a gasp. Someone has written a message in red paint on the wall—directed at me.

NEXT TIME IT WILL BE YOU, BITCH!

The words are huge, jagged, and angry. I stare at them for a long moment before dragging my attention back to my father. He’s the priority. This new threat can wait.

“I’m not going to the hospital,” my father says. His jaw is set, and the look he gives me tells me that I won’t be winning this argument.

Well, he’s wrong.

“You got hit in the head,” I say. “You’re going.”

Puma steps closer and studies the injury.

“You could have a concussion. You need to go,” he tells my dad. “Stop arguing with your daughter.”

It takes a crazy man to say no to a man like Puma. My dad isn’t crazy. He nods and accepts his fate.

I move out of the way when the paramedics rush into the room with a gurney. I glance at the message on the wall again, but I refuse to dwell on it. Right now, all I care about is making sure my dad gets better.

Once he’s strapped in, one of the medics turns to me and tells me which hospital they’re taking him.

“Is he going to be okay?” I ask as the other paramedic shines a light into Dad’s eyes.

The paramedic nods. “Right now, he’s alert, oriented, and not showing any obvious signs of a concussion. His pupils look good, and he hasn’t reported any dizziness, nausea, or loss of consciousness.”

I glance at my father. “See? You got lucky.”

“Always do,” Dad mutters.

The paramedic gives him a skeptical look before turning back to me. “Head injuries can be tricky. Symptoms don’t always show up right away. We still want to get him to the hospital for imaging and a full evaluation, just to be safe.”

“You hear that?” I ask Dad. “A professional says you have to go.”

Dad grumbles something under his breath.

The paramedic smiles. “Trust me, ma’am. I'd rather have him complain about the hospital than miss something serious.”

“Good luck convincing him of that,” I say.