Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 121578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Jigsaw leans back, his head tipping slightly as he reaches out, his knuckles grazing the leg of Shelby’s jeans. “You all right?”
She nods and flashes a quick smile at him. “I just need to go for a walk.”
Jigsaw frowns at Rooster who shakes his head and shoots a murderous glare at Ravage.
The three of them are awfully close.
It’s nice the way Jigsaw cares about Shelby. A much friendlier brotherly relationship than he seems to have with his actual sister Jezzie. A nicer relationship than I’ve ever had with my own brothers.
Am I jealous?
No. That’s not quite it. Wondering how I fit into their trio? If I’ll fit in…permanently?
Maybe.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jigsaw
Fucking Ravage. Brother has no common sense sometimes. Knowing the horrors some of the ol’ ladies have been through, it’s insensitive as fuck for him to ask them to share personal scary stories. Never mind, I have my own. Part of me would like to give a detailed account of my time in Daddy’s dungeon when I was a kid, bleeding out on the floor, not knowing if I’d live to see the next day. Maybe it would stop Rav’s story time requests for good. But probably not.
I cast a quick glance around at my brothers and their ol’ ladies. At least I have the comfort of knowing most of the people who’ve harmed anyone in this circle are six feet under—many of them at the club’s hand.
I didn’t hesitate to tell Margot that Shelby’s stalker is dead. She should know if anyone ever fucks with her, I’m not the only one who will kill to protect her, the whole club will. The only guilt I have about that fucker’s death is that I only cut off part of his pinky finger before Rooster had to turn the lowlife over to the FBI.
“Okay, maybe true horror stories was too much,” Rav says. “How about scary campfire stories? Someone must have a good one.” His sneaky gaze slides to Margot again.
Margot’s lips twist into that slightly evil, borderline unhinged smile that’s starting to turn me on more than it should. “Do you assume because I grew up in a funeral home, I must have lots of creepy dead body stories?” she asks sweetly.
“Well…” Guilt flashes over Rav’s face, followed by interest. “Yes.”
I will gut you, I mouth to Rav, making a point to pat my side where my hunting knife rests.
The fucker smirks and holds out his arms, practically daring me to make good on the threat.
“Let’s see, I was slapped by a dead body once.” Margot taps her finger against her chin like she’s flipping through a long list of events. “Few things scare me anymore.”
“What the fuck?” Z asks, half shocked, half laughing.
“It’s just a muscle contraction,” Margot explains in her usual kind but professional way. “It happens. My father’s had bodies actually sit up while he was wheeling them around the prep room. That’s always a wild sight.”
Silence falls over the circle.
Margot focuses on Rav again. “But you asked for a scary campfire-type story, right?”
“Yup.” He nods. “Ghosts haunting the hallways or zombies popping out of coffins? Give it to us.”
“Okay. I have one.” Her voice lowers, the words hanging in the smoky air. “A good one.”
“Yes!” Rav claps his hands and briskly rubs his palms together.
Margot glances around the fire. Her eyes widen and cheeks flame when she realizes everyone’s watching her. Then a slow, deliberate smile curves her lips. “It’s really creepy though.”
A hush falls over the group, broken by the occasional crackle and pop from the fire.
“We can handle creepy,” Z says. “Give it to us.”
She shifts forward.
“No, come on up here.” Ravage slaps his hand against the thick log he’s been using as a chair. “Come take the storytelling seat.”
“You don’t have to,” I say against Margot’s ear.
“No, it’s fine. The smoke’s starting to irritate my eyes.” She flicks her hand in the air toward the smoke that’s blowing directly at us.
“All right.” I stand, hold out my hand, and pull her up off the blanket, then walk behind her until we reach Rav.
I casually thrust my palms against his shoulder, knocking him off the log. He lands in a clump of dry leaves with a satisfying thump.
“Dick.” He sits up and sweeps his hands over his cut and jeans, knocking the crinkly leaf particles loose.
“Oopsie.” I slap my hand over my mouth.
Margot bites her lip and shakes her head. I curl my hands around her waist and boost her up onto the log, then perch right next to her.
She squints into the fire, then glances out at everyone gathered in a circle. Rav climbs over the log and settles at the far end, facing us.
“So, this happened a few years ago, right after I graduated from mortuary school,” she says, her steady voice carrying over the crackling fire.