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)
Remy leans back and stretches his arms across the back of the booth. “Saw your brother at Strike Back last week, Jigsaw.”
My spine goes stiff.
“Cain?” I say stupidly, just to make sure he doesn’t mean someone from my club.
Remy nods. “Kid’s quick. Showed him how to roll out of a choke. He picked it up fast.”
Pride flashes hot through my chest before I can stomp it down. “Glad he’s got good instincts,” I mutter.
“He’s a funny kid. Kinda quiet. Shy at first.” A flicker of a smile cuts across his face. “Totally opposite of your sister.”
Something twists so hard in my chest, my ribs might snap.
I smooth my expression, even though my jaw’s grinding behind it. He doesn’t know our history. All the shit we’ve been through. And if he thinks he’s ever dating—or whatever the fuck he does—my sister, he’s dead, fucking wrong.
“Different moms,” I say in a tone designed to shut him up.
He’d have to be suicidal to pull at that thread with me.
He nods quickly and shifts his gaze to Griff. “You’re out way past your bedtime, Stonewall.”
Griff, bleary-eyed and heavy-limbed, nods. “Yeah, I think we’re heading back now. Coach’ll kill me if I’m draggin’ ass tomorrow.”
The three of them slide out of their side of the booth, collecting phones, wallets, and half-finished drinks.
Wrath and Trinity stop Griff and Molly, talking about logistics for tomorrow’s afternoon press conference.
Griff? He’s barely present—arm draped around Molly, eyes fixed on the door like he’s already halfway out of it.
Remy hangs back, drops into the booth across from me. “Hey, Jiggy.”
I raise my eyebrows, not fond of him shortening my road name. “Yeah?”
He cuts a quick look toward his sister. “Griff’s worried Molly might freak out at the fight. If he…”
“Starts bleeding all over the canvas?” I offer.
“Yeah.” His mouth twists with annoyance. “Will you help me hustle her out of the arena if I have to?”
“Maybe she shouldn’t go?”
He tilts his head. “Yeah, I’m not even gonna try to stop her.”
The girl did take a crowbar to someone’s leg. “I think she’ll be fine. But yeah, you got it. Just say the word.”
“I’ll have her sit next to me, Remy,” Shelby offers. “She’s dyin’ to see Magic get knocked on his ass after all the trash he’s been talkin’ this week.”
“I know.” Remy nods. He knocks his knuckles against the table and stands. “Thanks, Jiggy.”
“No problem.”
Why does Remy bug me so much? I respect him—he works his ass off. He’s a damn good fighter. He’s loyal to his friends and his family.
My gaze lands on his sister, Molly. Talk about spirited. She reminds me a lot of Jezzie, except unlike my sister, Molly actually seems to like her brother. Worships the big goof, really.
Maybe that’s what bugs me? They had a shit family too. I don’t know details, except Remy was out of his dad’s house and living with his grandparents by the time he was fifteen or sixteen. After they passed, Molly moved in with him instead of staying with their alcoholic father.
He took his sister in. Made sure she was safe. Looked out for her.
He didn’t ship Molly off to another relative like I did to Jezzie.
Didn’t abandon her like I did to Cain.
Well, Cain had a mother. Still, I tried to pretend the kid didn’t even exist.
Christ, I’m not this deep. Don’t usually give this many fucks about untangling my issues. Never have.
I take another pull from the bottle, shake my head, and stare through the open door like I might find an answer out on The Strip. I should head back to the hotel. Tomorrow’s gonna be a long one.
“What’s up, bestie?” Shelby drawls. She elbows me, bumping her hip into mine, warm and insistent until I shift over.
“What’s up with you?” I ask, grateful for the distraction.
“I want to get out of the booth.” She fans her hand in front of her face. “It’s hot as blazes in here.”
“You’re from Texas.”
“Yeah, but this is dry heat.” She sticks her tongue out. “Ain’t the same.”
“Fair enough.” I stand and help her out of the booth.
Rooster slides out next. “I can’t wait to be done with this,” he says against my ear.
“Same, bro.”
Fight night can’t come soon enough.
MARGOT
Am I really going to the clubhouse by myself?
Jigsaw promised tonight was strictly family. Then Lilly called early in the morning to make sure I was coming. She offered a guest room in their cabin on the club’s property so I wouldn’t have to drive all the way home after the fight ends.
Older or not, Jigsaw’s 4Runner handles better than my Thunderbird. Especially up the steep driveway leading to Upstate’s secluded clubhouse.
The parking lot’s full. Big trucks. SUVs. Motorcycles.
Seeing all of them makes me miss Jigsaw even more.
I pull my phone out and send him a quick text.
Me: At the clubhouse.