Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 132321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
Z clenches his jaw and snarls—something I’ve rarely seen him do. Maybe it’s time to dial it back a bit.
“Bone chunk will be fine,” I concede before his head explodes.
“Great,” Z claps his hands together, “now that we’ve sorted out souvenirs for the insane, can we move things along?”
Rooster lifts his chin toward the brick building. “Want me to move my truck closer?”
“That’d be preferable.” Z barely controls his sarcasm. Out of respect for Rooster’s injury, no doubt.
“I’ll do it.” I hold out my hand for Rooster’s keys, but he shakes his head.
“Let me do something,” the stubborn fucker insists.
“You got stabbed, brother,” Z points out. “Wasn’t that enough?”
Rooster grunts and shuffles into the truck, holding his side. He lets out a barely audible groan as he hoists his big ass into the cab.
Z turns his stern, presidential glare on me. “In between sifting through bone fragments, will you please keep an eye on him? I’m trying to reach Doc. See if he’ll meet us at Upstate’s clubhouse. No way he’s driving all the way downstate in that condition.”
“You know I will.” I tilt my head toward the house. “Margot offered to help, but you know how stubborn he is.”
Z’s lips curl into a slight sneer. “Or he was concerned since she usually spends her time sucking blood out of bodies, not trying to keep it in.”
A violent urge to defend Margot washes over me, even though I barely know the woman, and technically Z isn’t wrong. He’s also my president and I respect him. So I keep my lips zipped. Even in the weak moonlight, my irritation must show on my face, though.
“Easy.” Z holds out his hands in a “calm yourself” gesture. “She’s a nice woman. I’m just saying, she usually attends to the dead, not the living.”
“I hear you, Prez.”
Rooster’s loud, diesel engine rumbles and chugs to life. He slaps the driver’s side door and sticks his head out of the open window. “You two wanna get the fuck outta my way, or should I use you to fill in the potholes?” he shouts.
“So much for not waking up the neighborhood,” Z grumbles as we move toward the brick building.
“What neighborhood?” I ask. “There’s barely any houses out here.”
Z grunts in response as he turns to wave and guide Rooster closer to the crematorium.
Rooster turns the truck off. Z jogs over and presses his hand to the door. “Stay put. We’ll handle this.”
“He won’t sit there for long,” I warn Z when he meets me at the back of the truck.
“No shit.” He circles one hand in the air. “Let’s hurry the fuck up, then.”
I grab the handle and lower the tailgate. Two freshly killed corpses, neatly rolled into dirty sheets, wait for us. Bye-bye, final members of the South of Satan MC.
The hinges creak and the tailgate drops open with a hard thud that sounds like the door to night ripping itself open.
The sound of retribution’s clean-up is music to my demented ears.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Margot
Four funerals and a wedding this week.
My social calendar really needs an overhaul.
And I’m attending Teller’s wedding with my father. Like a twelve-year-old. Although my father didn’t have to work hard to convince me to go with him.
I haven’t stopped thinking about Jigsaw since the night he was at our house. He’ll be at the wedding, right? He has to be. Of course, I didn’t tell my father Jigsaw was the reason I said I’d go to the biker’s wedding. If he’s ever going to let me take over the family business, I have to prove to him I’m willing to nurture business relationships.
Not that I’m sure I actually want to take over the family business. I’m the obvious choice, since both of my brothers decided to opt out. I wanted to be a cosmetologist. But as soon as I finished cosmetology school, I enrolled in the Mortuary Science program at the local college. I passed my national and state board exams. Although Cousin Paul sure has made it known he’s open to taking on the burden of the family business.
Ugh. I don’t even want to compete with Paul. When we were younger, I was closer to him than my brothers since they’re both so much older than me.
But one day, I might end up fighting my cousin for the family business.
Stop it. Today’s a day to celebrate life and love.
What does someone even wear to a biker wedding? It’s warm, so I choose a dress I’ve wanted to wear but didn’t have the proper occasion. Now I do. It’s a sleeveless mint green with bright pink flowers. The skirt falls to my shins. I’ll pair it with a wide pink belt and bubble-gum pink, patent leather open-toed heels. Everyone assumes I sleep in a coffin and surround myself in black, but I love color. For work, I have to present myself as bland and toned-down as possible. Dark colors, low-key makeup. It’s just not appropriate to greet a grieving family in something as bright and cheerful as a mint green and hot-pink dress.