Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 141464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
“I’m not. I felt fine…until I stood up.” His grin fades into a frown. “What’s wrong?”
My eyes drift to the bed, heat creeping into my cheeks. “Am I not good at that? Why didn’t you let me finish?”
His brows knit. “Good at what?”
“You know…” I wave a hand vaguely. “That.”
“Sucking my cock?”
“Yes.”
He cradles the back of my head with his hand and pulls me closer, kissing my forehead. “Margot, you’re fucking incredible. Your body’s like Disneyland; I get so crazed I can’t decide which way I want to dirty you up first.”
I blink, then hold his gaze. “I don’t feel dirty with you.”
His teasing expression softens into something reverent.
“I love doing dirty things with you, though.” I force a bright smile, holding back all the other things in my head.
Dirty—never. I feel whole, seen, understood, cherished. A whole lot of things I never thought were even possible until we met.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Jigsaw
Wrath: Church 11:30. Officer meeting first.
I don’t need more than one guess to know it’s about the tweaker.
I toss the phone onto the nightstand and shift, curling around Margot’s warm, sleepy body. The scent of plums, sugar, and sin clings to her soft skin—sweet and lethal. Makes me want to stay right here, wrapped up with her, and forget the world exists.
“Think you’ll come up to the clubhouse with me today?” I ask, dragging my lips over the curve of her shoulder.
“Mmmm.” She sighs and rolls to face me, eyes half-lidded. “Can’t. Appointment at eleven.”
Fuck.
“Someone’s coming to pick you up, right?” she asks. “You won’t try to ride, yet.”
“Yeah, Rooster’s coming.” My fingers trail down her arm.
She bites her bottom lip and searches my face like she’s bracing for bad news. “Are the guys going to tell everyone what I did the other night?”
My whole body stills.
Yeah, probably. “Maybe just the officers. We’re gettin’ called in first. Usually, Rock and Z just keep us after.”
She squints as if she’s trying to remember who the other officers are. “Besides you, Rooster, Murphy, Rock, and Wrath…your other officers are…Z, Grinder, Dex, Teller, and…”
Impressed she remembered almost everyone, I kiss the tip of her nose. “Hustler. Downstate’s treasurer.”
“Hustler,” she repeats. “Well, I assume Teller won’t care. Neither will Murder Daddy.”
“I’m sorry.” I laugh. “What?”
“Grinder.” She shrugs, a playful glint in her eye. “That’s what Shelby calls him.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head. “Great.” Then I realize why she’s puzzling this out. “No one’s going to care, Margot. They’ll be impressed. Trust me.”
“Oh, all the other ol’ ladies slice and dice people too?” She raises an eyebrow, but her voice is tight, uncertain.
I chuckle—can’t help it—but keep my tone firm. “No. But Heidi’s clocked a few guys with a hammer when they came after Murphy.”
That gets her attention. Her eyes widen with more curiosity than concern. “Really?”
“Yes. All of them would protect their men, in their own ways. Your way is just more immediate and visceral.”
She bites her lip and drops her gaze. “It wasn’t protective, though. It was reactive. Revenge for hurting you.”
That lands hard in my chest. I trace her jaw with my knuckles. “Look, I know you have a certain code for how and why you end people, but don’t lose sleep over this one. Sooner or later, he would've hurt someone else. Either in a drug deal gone bad or out of sheer stupidity. He came close to shooting Griff. Threatened to hurt Molly. He was scum.”
She lets out a slow breath. “I don’t want your brothers to be…afraid of me. Think I’m nuts.”
“Trust me, they respect the hell out of you.”
Her lips twist into a wicked smile. “Ah, just what every ol’ lady dreams of—her boyfriend’s outlaw biker brothers impressed by her murder skills.”
“Yeah, kinda.” A flicker of pride burns through me. “Now they know exactly how far you’ll go to protect your man. And the club.”
A couple of hours later, Rooster and I pull into the upstate clubhouse’s parking lot.
On the way up the stairs, he side-eyes my outfit. Again. He’d given me the same dying to crack a joke face when I’d met him in Cedarwood’s parking lot this morning.
“Shut up,” I grumble.
“I didn’t say anything.” He offers his shoulder like I’m a fragile grandpa who forgot my walker at home, but I make it up on my own.
“Your face says plenty.”
Inside the clubhouse, it’s quiet and clean. A lot fewer wild parties being thrown up here these days. Sparky and Stash are still passed out on the couches—some things never change. Although today it looks like Willow’s sound asleep on top of Sparky—his own human blanket.
I slap Rooster’s arm and point at the trio.
He shrugs and keeps heading for the war room. “Not my business.”
“What in the gangbanger-turned-suburban-dad fuck are you wearing?” Murphy cackles the second I limp into the room.
Short on options that wouldn’t irritate my Franken-leg, I’m wearing the ridiculously loose black sweats Rooster brought the other night, a plain white T-shirt, and the Crocs. Still ugly as sin but surprisingly comfy. Of course, my cut on top. I wouldn’t dare show up for church without it.