Twist the Knife – Lost Kings MC Read Online Autumn Jones Lake

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Biker, Forbidden, MC Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 132321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
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“That’s nice. You’re close?”

“Not really…it’s⁠—”

“I get it. Families are complicated.” I hate that I’ve made him uncomfortable with all my questions.

“What about you?” His posture relaxes to the easygoing driver he’d been earlier. “You’ve never wanted to leave Pine Hollow?”

“Never had the chance.” I stare straight ahead at the dark road, my gaze sweeping left and right, checking for deer. “The family business is here.” My voice falters. That didn’t stop my brothers from pursuing other careers. “Since my brothers decided not to help out, I feel…obligated, I guess?”

Jigsaw’s voice lowers, almost to a whisper. “That’s not a way to live, Margot.”

“I like what I do.” I cross my arms over my chest. “I think I help people.”

“You do.” He glances over at me, his gaze piercing through me. “I see how much care you take with everything you touch.”

“Sometimes, I see my life in two paths.” I draw in a shaky breath. Do I really want to reveal the gnawing doubt that eats at me? “I could go this way.” I slowly extend my left arm, curving to the left. “And do anything I want. Move somewhere new. Start over someplace where no one knows me as that weird girl who grew up in a funeral home.”

Jigsaw’s grip tightens on the steering wheel, his jaw clenched. “Who said that to you?”

“Uh, everyone throughout school.”

“Kids are assholes.”

“Please.” I try to deflect with a shaky laugh. I glance sideways at him, taking in his strong profile and muscular arms. “You were probably captain of your football team and dated all the cheerleaders.”

He snorts a laugh. “No, that was Rooster.” The smile quickly fades. “I was the kid from the wacko religious commune who wore strange clothes and freaked people out by quoting fiery lines from the bible.”

“Oh.” That was probably the last thing I expected him to say about his background. “What religion?”

“One of those aggressive branches of ‘Christianity’ that breaks away and forms a smaller group of nutjobs who all follow the orders of the supreme nutjob leading them.”

“Like a cult?”

“Yup.” His voice is tight, like he isn’t going to discuss this much longer.

I’m sorry doesn’t seem right but I’m not sure what else to say. “But you…made it out?”

“I did.”

“And saved your sister from it?”

He glances over again. “Yeah, I did.”

My house comes into view. Large, yellow, and imposing on the quiet street. Jigsaw pulls into the parking lot and heads for the garage bays.

He turns the car off and hands me the keys.

Disappointment and nerves swirl through me. I wanted to keep talking. To find out more about him. But I think the conversation part of the evening is over.

What if I’m not ready for what comes next?

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Jigsaw

For the second time this week, I find myself in the hallway of the funeral home. Tonight, Margot doesn’t lead me into the kitchen. She turns toward the stairs, resting her hand on the thick, dark, hardwood banister.

“Do you want to come up and see my place?” she asks over her shoulder.

That’s why I’m here. “Sure.”

A thrill of anticipation builds as I follow her up three long flights of stairs. I’m always excited to sleep with a woman but something about this feels different. That Margot trusts me to teach her everything she wants to know elevates this into something more than a simple hookup. The pressure to get things right, to give her the best experience, has me tied in knots that I’m looking forward to unraveling with her.

We finally reach the top. It’s a small landing. Barely big enough for the two of us to stand on comfortably. The door reminds me of something you’d find on the outside of a house and it’s purple. Margot presses her finger to a pad over the latch and the door clicks open.

The “apartment” isn’t what I expected at all. No faded yellow wallpaper or gold carpet up here. No black walls, coffin, or goth decorations, either. It’s an open space. Dark hardwood floors gleam under bright, white light fixtures. A living area with built-in bookcases. The walls and bookcases are painted a deep spring green. A large, over-stuffed royal blue lounge chair, the size of a twin bed, is tucked into a corner by the bookcases. It has a low table in front of it and a small round table next to it. Books are scattered over the tops of both. No sign of a television. Nothing to indicate she has guests on a regular basis, or ever.

The green ends in the kitchen, where everything is stark white and stainless steel. Two high-backed chairs are tucked under a counter that extends from the kitchen. A basket of red apples, bananas, and oranges sits in the center.

“This is nice.” When she said she lived on the third floor of the funeral home, part of me worried she was trapped up here like Cinderella in the attic with the mice.


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