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)
“Do you need help?”
“No. Just make that call for me.” Still clutching his back, he walks by me, heading for the kitchen.
My stomach flips at the thought of reaching out to the club. At least I’m calling Teller and not Jigsaw. Based on all the people I saw at Teller’s wedding, there are a lot of bikers in his club. What are the odds Jigsaw’s the one sent here? The way I understood it, Jigsaw’s home club is all the way down in Union. He’s not the one who’d be sent here to do a favor for my dad, right?
Still, the thought nags at me. I don’t want to face Jigsaw again when I have all these weird, unresolved feelings strangling my heart.
A deeper part of me, that I’d rather ignore, desperately wants to see him.
There’s no getting out of this. Dad’s right, we need to move that heavy casket and no one else on our team can do it right now. I sit behind my father’s desk and reach for the phone, mentally preparing myself for whoever shows up and knocks on our door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Jigsaw
Riding normally helps clear my head. Wind in my face, concentrating on the road. Always outrunning my past, though. Never moving toward something. The way I like it.
Or I used to.
Today, I’m riding to the upstate clubhouse. Their garages are bigger than what we have downstate. Stocked with more tools too. It’s a better place to work on my bike, that’s all. Nothing to do with its closer proximity to Pine Hollow.
First, I gotta pay my respects to the first Upstate brother I find in the clubhouse. I stomp up the steps and open the screen door. It’s quiet. Not a soul in sight. Still feels like more of a home than Downstate has lately. That probably has something to do with the fuzzy blanket, carefully folded over the back of the leather sectional that takes up one entire corner of the large living room. Or the cozy, cutesy throw pillows tossed into the corners. Downstate, we have a jizz-covered pool table, buckets of condoms on the end tables, and our “art” consists of “humorous” signs reminding you to “wrap your banana” nailed to the wall.
Low voices murmur from one of the closed doors on my right. I step up to the first one and cock my head, concentrating on the voices. Murphy?
I tap my knuckles against the wood.
A second later the door swings open. Murphy grins at me.
“What’s up, brother?” He holds out his hand. I clasp it and he pulls me toward him. “Good to see you.”
He steps aside. Rock and Teller are also in the office. Rock nods at me. Teller reaches out for a handshake but neither of them get up. The office is big but not big enough for the four of us to be throwing our arms around each other.
“What brings you by?” Rock asks.
“Uh, I was hoping you wouldn’t mind if I borrowed the garage to do a little work.”
Rock pulls a face like it’s an absurd request. “Of course you can. You don’t have to ask.”
“Thanks.”
“You need help with anything?” Murphy asks.
“You miss being road captain that much?” I ask.
He throws a quick glance at Rock. “I’m gonna plead the fifth on that one.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Rock flicks his gaze to the ceiling. “I’m so hard on them.” He circles one finger in Teller and Murphy’s general direction. “Yet, somehow they always come find me.”
It’s said with more affection than annoyance. Still, Teller groans and shakes his head.
“It’s all right, Rock.” My lips curl into a smirk. “You’re just like the big lion that all the other cubs want to frolic around.”
Murphy pats his chest. “Who are you calling a cub?”
“Speaking of lions.” Teller sits up, his chair creaking from the sudden movement. “Did you ever talk to Eraser and find out why Quill’s been out at Zips so much lately?”
Fuck. No, I haven’t. I’ve been too busy pining over Margot and taking care of my Downstate responsibilities.
“No, I didn’t have a chance yet. But I can head out there now.”
“Maybe Quill just needs friends.” Murphy shrugs. “I don’t see the big deal.”
“It’s not a problem unless he’s gambling with fake cash there,” Teller says. “The kids don’t need that kind of attention on them.”
Inside, I’m laughing at Teller referring to Griff, Remy, and Eraser as “kids.” He really does sound like Rock’s mini-me. Outside, I keep my face blank.
Rock tilts his head to look at me. “Sit. Take Wrath’s chair.” He points to the desk opposite his.
“Uh—”
“He’s at Furious, he’ll never know your butt cheeks touched the leather,” Murphy jokes, correctly reading my hesitation.
“Touch this.” I flip him off and drop into the seat, stretching out my legs.
Murphy throws himself into his chair and spins it in a half circle like he’s five.