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)
Charlotte pats her husband’s leg and rises, weaving through the guys with an unapologetic grace. A few groan that she’s blocking the TV, but no one stops her.
“Hi, Margot.” She pulls me into a hug. The scent of baby powder and something tart, but pleasant—like grapefruit—fills the air between us.
I don’t think I’ve been hugged this much since my grandmother’s funeral.
My eyes sting.
Get it together, Margot.
I’m not used to this many people caring about my presence. Not even my own family. It’s nice…in an overwhelming sort of way. Jigsaw’s not even here, so they’re not just being nice for his benefit.
“Hi.” I smile at Charlotte. “I hear your husband’s the one I should take my bets to?”
Charlotte’s mouth turns up in an affectionate grin. “Oh yeah. He’s in full bookie mode today—placing parlays, over-unders, knockouts by round... I think someone even asked if there was a line on how many times some guy bleeds.” She waves a hand toward Teller. “Honestly, I think he enjoys the bets more than the fights. So far, he’s won more than he’s lost, so it’s all good.”
“But the big one’s tonight!” Murphy calls out as he strolls over and joins us. “No pressure or anything, Teller!”
Without missing a beat—or lifting his eyes from his laptop—Teller flips him off.
Charlotte snorts.
“Hey, ginger twinny.” She taps her knuckles against Murphy’s shoulder. “Where’ve you been hiding?”
He tilts his head toward the dining room. “Playland. Hoping if we wear ’em out enough, they’ll all crash before Griff’s fight starts.”
Lilly gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I need to check on Chance. I’ll see you in a bit.”
Hope offers me another reassuring smile before following her down the hall.
I trail after Charlotte, weaving around the recliners and stepping over a couple of blankets.
From the far side of the couch, Serena waves again. She nudges a stuffed-to-bursting diaper bag off the seat and pats the cushion beside her.
“Come sit,” she whispers.
Baby Lincoln’s nestled against her chest, his tiny body rising and falling in a soft, sleepy rhythm.
My heart does that weird, achy flutter again.
I’m not used to people making space for me.
“Sorry,” she says as I ease into the seat beside her. “I would’ve come over to meet you but…”
“Your hands are a little full?” I lean over, peeking at Lincoln’s round cheeks and perfectly pursed lips. “He’s, uh, grown a lot since last time.”
“I know.” She smiles down at him and snuggles him closer.
“Hi, Margot,” a deeper voice rumbles.
I glance up at Grinder—looking especially murder daddy-ish tonight—seated in the corner of the opposite couch, angled ninety degrees from Serena and their baby. Quiet menace radiates off him. His intense gaze settles on me, and he gives a slow, respectful nod.
Oh, lord. Jigsaw must’ve told him about the guy I helped into the crematorium express lane.
Of course he did. The whole club probably knows.
But no one seems afraid of me. Or even seems concerned.
Yeah, no kidding. They’ve all probably done much worse.
Instead of terrifying, it’s comforting.
Everyone in this room would probably kill to protect their loved ones.
That, I can relate to.
Feeling more settled, I let my gaze wander around the room, noting not everyone’s here.
“Where are the other guys?” I ask Serena. “Ravage? Birch? Dex?”
Serena laughs softly. “They’re either watching the fight at Crystal Ball or Remy’s bar.” She pulls her phone out from under her thigh, expertly thumbing the screen, like she’s used to doing everything one-handed. “Well, Dex and Emily are running things at Remy’s bar while he’s away. Em says the place is absolutely packed.”
“That’s great.” Except for Griff’s party, Remy’s bar has been slow when I’ve been there. Hopefully the boost in business helps.
“Oh! I brought you something—” Serena stretches her free arm out, straining to reach for the bag on the floor without jostling Lincoln.
“Let me take him for a while, buttercup.” Grinder stands and scoops his son into his arms.
Serena throws him a soft, grateful smile. “Thank you.”
She digs around in the bag, pulling out diapers, wipes, toys, blankets, extra baby clothes—so many extra clothes. Finally, she unearths a sleek, black, sparkly case shaped like a coffin.
“A-ha!” She holds it in the air like a trophy. “The company sent me two of these limited-edition kits. I thought the bag was so cute. I brought one for you.”
She hands it to me, and I blink in surprise. The name stamped in silver across the front jumps out immediately—an expensive brand I’ve admired but never dared splurge on.
“Wow. Really?” I unzip the case. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, yes. It’s their fall line. Not available yet. I have to post my videos by the end of the summer. Oh! Maybe you can come down and we’ll swatch everything together. Their new liquid liners are insane—super pigmented, zero flake, and the precision tips? So, so clean.”
Serena’s cheerful enthusiasm finally cuts through my anxiety. We geek out over the kit, comparing shades and formulas. She helps me test one of the lip colors, gently swiping it over my lips like a pro.