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)
Trouble seems to find me every time I step into one of his MC’s clubhouses.
Maybe I’m not cut out to be an ol’ lady after all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Jigsaw
The serial killer face people always joke about must be working overtime. Bikers, porn stars, hangers-on—they all part like I’m Moses storming through the damn Red Sea. No one meets my eyes. Even the drunkest hangarounds flinch and stumble back, giving us space.
Good.
I keep my arm clamped around Margot, her body close to mine, guiding us through the noise, lights, and sweat-slick chaos of the common room toward the back hallway.
She’s trembling.
Every step we take, she stiffens—like she’s bracing for an attack.
My stomach burns.
Grinder slips out of one of the side rooms—eyes scanning the room for trouble. He spots me barreling toward him and throws up both hands like he’s trying to calm a wild animal.
“Whoa, slow down. What’s wrong, Jiggy?”
Margot clings tighter to my side, like she’s trying to crawl under my cut for safety or hide herself from everyone.
Grinder’s gaze drops to her. “Margot, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She pulls away from me just enough to lift her chin. Her voice comes out too calm and flat. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
A disapproving, but somehow gentle, scowl settles over his face. Grinder reads people too well. He knows she’s lying and putting on a brave face. “Are you sure, honey? You were all smiles and cheer a few minutes ago,” he coaxes.
Margot shrugs, shrinking into herself. No more words. Just a slight shake of her head.
The creases between Grinder’s brows deepen, and there’s nothing gentle about the scowl he turns on me. His arms cross over his chest, biceps straining his sleeves, eyebrows lifted in a what the fuck did you let happen to her glare. All of it demands an answer. Now.
I don’t flinch away from his silent judgment. I deserve it.
“Bonnie, Nikki, and Amanda need to be thrown the fuck out,” I seethe. “They were in the kitchen last I saw.”
He jerks his chin in a sharp nod. Doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t need to. Grinder knows I’d never make that call without a damn good reason.
“Anyone else?”
I rake a hand through my hair, pressure building behind my eyes. There were other girls in there, but I didn’t recognize them. Those three were the ones specifically in Margot’s face. “I don’t think so.”
“All right.” He settles his concerned dad eyes on Margot again. “You all right, sweetheart?”
“I’m fine. Just tired.” Her voice is thinner now. Faded. She tilts her head, peering around Grinder. “Can you tell Serena I’ll talk to her in the morning? You guys will still be here, right?”
“We’ll be here for breakfast,” he confirms.
“Okay.”
I don’t wait for another word. I keep my arm tight around her waist and lead her down the hall. Past the guest rooms. Past anyone still watching. I don’t care.
I slam into our room and close the door behind us. My heart’s thundering. My chest’s tight. My jaw aches from grinding my teeth.
Gripping Margot’s arms, I search her body for any signs they hurt her.
“Did they touch you? What happened?” My voice comes out sharper than I mean it to. “Jesus, you were gone for less than five minutes.”
Her lips part, but no sound comes out. Her eyes are wide and shiny with unshed tears.
From the confrontation? Or from me yelling at her?
Calm the fuck down.
Deep breath. Try again.
“Margot, baby—hey.” I lower my voice and reach for her again, gentler this time. “I’m sorry. Please. Tell me what happened back there?”
She sniffles, then breathes deep. She lifts her chin and stares at me. Something seems to shift in her. Her eyes aren’t filled with tears anymore. They’re wary. “Well, for starters, they all seemed eager to tell me how much you enjoy rough sex.”
A sharp, unhinged bark of laughter explodes out of me. “What?”
Her mouth flattens into a tight, humorless line. The weight in her stare pins me to the floor, like she’s dissecting me with her eyes, searching for a truth she’s scared to find.
I scrub my hand over the back of my neck, trying to shake the unease crawling up my spine.
She’s dead serious and staring at me like she’s trying to puzzle out whether I’m the man she thought I was—or someone entirely different.
They must’ve told her some fucked-up shit.
“Is that true?” she asks quietly. “Are they telling the truth? Because… that other girl said something similar at the bonfire.”
Is it? I don’t think so. There are only one or two women in my life I actually cared about pleasing. Felt comfortable enough to let my guard down with.
The rest? A release. A fun time. Boredom chaser. I never wanted to be seen or understood by any of them, so I just fit myself into whatever version of “Jigsaw” they wanted. Played the role. Got them off. Got myself off. Got gone.