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)
My lips quirk. “No, I suppose not.” Does that mean Jigsaw will be there too?
Nope. Not now. I wrap up things with my dad and move on to the refreshment table, dispose of empty paper plates and wadded up napkins.
Someone gently bumps my shoulder, a light, warm presence. “Dear God,” April whispers in my ear. “That tall, intense one with the murdery vibe, wearing the dark blue plaid flannel under his leather vest, hasn’t taken his eyes off you all morning.”
“What are you talking about?” I laugh then quickly smooth my expression into something respectful.
I turn and scan the room. More than half the men in attendance today qualify as “tall, intense, and murdery.”
But I don’t have to ask who she’s referring to. The weight of Jigsaw’s gaze weighs heavy on my skin even before our eyes meet.
There he is.
My breath catches.
April’s right. Even though he’s in a loose circle with three other bikers, his eyes are on me.
Waving like an infatuated teenager would be more than inappropriate. Besides, what I really want to do is throw my clipboard in his face. Ask him where he’s been. What the hell’s going on.
“Yup. Tall and scary,” April murmurs. “My goodness.”
“He’s not scary,” I mutter.
He’s a dangerous heartbreak waiting to happen.
“Ohhh,” she says under her breath, somehow managing to keep a placid, professional expression in place while subtly teasing me. “He’s the guy you’re kind of seeing?”
I lift one shoulder, afraid to admit all the things I feel for him.
“A biker, huh?” She raises her eyebrows but not her voice. “Did your dad shit a brick?”
“No, he likes him.”
“Go, Mr. Cedarwood.” She chuckles softly. “Learning how to unclench at his age isn’t easy.”
“April!” I scold in a harsh whisper.
“I’m teasing. Introduce me to him after the service.”
“Not if you’re going to call him scary and murdery.”
“Ooo.” She raises her eyebrows. “I’ll try.”
“Go refill the guestbook pens before you say something even worse.” I give her a light shove.
“On it, boss.” She grins and hurries away.
Shaking my head, I finish clearing debris off the table.
A shadow falls over me. My skin prickles from scalp to toes.
“Can I talk to you for second?” Jigsaw’s warm breath caresses my cheek. Warm shivers slide down my spine.
“I’m working,” I say through clenched teeth.
“Margot.”
Just my name. But from his mouth, it’s a trigger.
Damn it.
Why can’t I resist his raspy, pleading tone?
I turn, slow and deliberate, and stare up at his contrite expression. No. Something more than contrite. Haunted.
“Where have you been?” I ask.
“I’ll explain.” He glances around. “Later. I promise.”
Why, why, why does he have to sound like that—like gravel and regret. All while he stands there looking like sex and apologies wrapped in flannel and leather.
CHAPTER TEN
Jigsaw
As much as I wanted to get here early, Wrath insisted those of us attending Whisper’s funeral arrive together. A united front. We rode while Hope and Charlotte drove the new Escalade.
One glimpse of Margot and my lungs forget how to work. Somber. Professional. Fucking heart-stopping.
Her father smiled at me and shook my hand as soon as he saw our contingent. I couldn’t tell if he was relieved to see members of my club or actually happy to see me specifically. Either way, I caught Teller watching with wide-eyed respect.
See, I told you I wouldn’t fuck up the club’s relationship with the funeral home.
My own relationship—that’s a different story.
Margot’s working. This is her job. I can’t wrap my arms around her waist and drag her upstairs like I want to. She’s working.
Still, every time she smiles or talks to a brother wearing a Wolf Knights MC cut, I want to launch myself across the room and empty my Glock into his skull. Doesn’t matter that most of them are closer to her father’s age than hers. Age doesn’t stop them from eye-fondling her, touching her elbow, or worst of all, calling her sweetheart.
I never knew I’d turn out to be such a possessive motherfucker.
Margot’s nothing but professional. Pride and awe beat around in my chest. That’s my woman. She put all of this together. Up until last night she was probably freaking out. Worried everything wouldn’t come together in time. But now, she’s nothing but poised and calm.
One of the attendants walks up and whispers something in Margot’s ear. Then the two of them turn and stare at me.
Fucking hell. The second my eyes lock with Margot’s, my heart stutters.
Her gaze narrows, anger simmering over her pretty face for a second before she gives me her back and continues speaking with the other woman.
Yup, I deserve that.
I was going to wait until after the service. Be respectful. Give her space. But I can’t take another second of this self-inflicted silent punishment. Every second she refuses to acknowledge my presence scrapes my insides raw. This isn’t the time or place to lay out the whole story—but I have to say something to her.