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)
The bar’s slammed and it takes a while for Lala to make her way over to me. “You want another Velvet Crown?” she asks, lifting an open bottle of champagne.
“No, maybe just sparkling water? With lime, if you’ve got it?”
She ducks behind the bar—then pops up like a waffle out of the toaster. “We’re out back here, but I know there’s a case of those little San Pellegrino bottles in the big fridge.” She jabs a finger toward the double doors. “Or I can grab you seltzer from the soda gun.”
She points to a battered black-and-silver machine. My nose wrinkles. Who knows the last time they pulled that thing apart and cleaned it?
“That’s okay. I’ll try the kitchen.”
“I’d do it, but—” She waves a hand toward the packed bar.
“No problem.” I offer her a warm smile. She shouldn’t have to worry so much about serving me. “I got it.”
I slide off the stool.
Still mid-conversation, Jigsaw whips around. His eyes lock on mine, a where are you going scowl on his face.
Charmed by his protectiveness, I point to the kitchen doors. “Grabbing a water. Want one?”
He frowns, eyes flicking from the door to me, then nods.
The second the door swings shut behind me, regret claws up my spine.
Five women. Early twenties, maybe younger. Heads cocked like rabbits trying to decide if I’m a threat or a snack. Three perched on the high stainless steel counters, whispering and laughing. One by the stove. One elbow-deep in an industrial dishwasher.
Their chatter stops.
They all have one thing in common—a whole lot of skin on display.
Too many clashing artificial scents—buttery vanilla, coconut lime, cheap musk—crash into me like a mall kiosk ambush.
The two women actually doing something go back to their tasks, ignoring me. The other three continue staring.
I paste on a polite smile like armor and head straight for the large, stainless steel refrigerator on the far wall.
I’m fine. I belong here. My boyfriend’s right outside those doors. He’s an officer of the club. I’ve got my trusty little knife.
I might not be wearing one of the property patches, but people have seen me with Jigsaw tonight, right?
The whispers start again. Softer. Meaner. Ignoring them, I yank open one of the heavy fridge doors.
The murmurs grow louder, conniving and smug.
No longer gossiping…plotting?
Lala was right. One whole shelf is full of nothing but short green bottles. I grab two and shut the door. I’d kill for a lime, but I don’t want to stay in here longer than necessary searching for one.
I turn and two girls are blocking my escape.
“You’re Margot?” one of them asks. She’s all angles and eye rolls, arms folded tight. Huh, must be the leader of the mean-girl gang.
The one beside her was definitely at the bonfire. My lips tug into a shaky smile. “Hi. Bonnie, right?”
Bonnie matches her friend’s hostile stance. “Yup. That’s her, Nikki.”
Nikki drags her gaze down and back up like she’s measuring me for a fight. “So you’re the reason Dee-Dee got suspended from Upstate’s clubhouse?”
Seriously? They’re blaming me? “I’d argue Dee-Dee is the reason Dee-Dee got suspended.”
“What are you even wearing?” Nikki sneers. “That dress is so cringe. You look like you’re dressed for a church picnic.”
“Awww, thanks,” I say, matching her snotty tone. “We can’t all wear stuff from this year’s ‘desperate for attention’ collection. I’ll leave that to you.”
Ignoring the dig, Bonnie looks down her nose at me like I’m a cigarette butt stuck to the bottom of her tacky plastic high heels. “You won’t last long. You look way too innocent to take the rough poundings Jigsaw enjoys.”
They cackle—loud, grating, and painfully performative.
She flicks a look at Nikki. “Bet she doesn’t even know what he really likes.”
“Oh.” Nikki gasps and bites her lip like she’s auditioning for one of Stella’s films. “Unless you’re into being thrown onto the bed, flipped over, and wrecked six ways from Sunday, you might wanna cut your losses now. Jigsaw loves to give a harsh spanking, fuck hard, and yank a ponytail good.”
This is starting to feel oddly familiar. Dee-Dee all over again—only worse. Much worse. And much more…descriptive.
Is it true?
He’s never been rough with me in bed. Demanding and growly in the best ways, sure. Rough—never.
“Apparently, none of you got the memo from your friend with the tragic haircut. I’m not interested in opinions on my relationship.” I stare them down even though I’m trembling. “Especially from a bunch of raggedy muffler bunnies.”
The one left sitting on the counter hops down and slinks closer, joining the two already in front of me.
Great, they’re multiplying like…well, bunnies.
“What did you say?” the new one asks, the cheap, rhinestone-studded belt holding up her ratty Daisy Dukes flashing under the kitchen lights. It draws attention away from her bare breasts trying to escape her cut-off white tanktop.
“No one’s talking to you,” I snap.