Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 132332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
“Got lots of room for renovations,” Rock says, studying the wide, paved area. He glances at each of us. “How’s everyone feel about this?”
Murphy shrugs. “Sounds like work for Teller. You’re going to be spending a lot of time here.”
“Once it’s straightened out, it’ll be fine.”
“You’re talking at least a year.”
Does he think I don’t know this? “Don’t worry. I’m not tagging you in for anything other than a visit once in a while.”
“Jiggy?” Rock prompts.
Jigsaw presses his palm to his chest. “You want my opinion?”
“You’re standing here.” Rock tilts his head. “I assume there’s a functional brain between your ears. Any thoughts?”
He glances at me, then Rock again. “I thought it would be creepier but it’s kinda homey. I get that the markups are high, but can the club really make enough bank to justify the hassle?”
“Eventually, yes,” I answer, not annoyed by the question. “But having another place—besides a seedy titty bar—to wash cash is the real draw. And access to the crematorium.”
“Yeah, that part’s cool.”
“You tell Charlotte you’re going to be doing business in her hometown?” Murphy asks.
“She grew up closer to Slater, but yeah.” My lips quirk. “She was bummed Merlin’s not around so we could rub it in his face.”
Rock snorts.
“Anyone else think his attitude toward the daughter is kinda shitty?” Jiggy gestures toward the funeral home.
“I noticed.” I shrug. “Unless it interferes with the business, it’s not our problem. We’re not here to drag him into the twenty-first century.”
“Fair enough.”
Murphy doubles over laughing. “You got a thing for blondes, Jiggy? First Shelby’s mom…”
“First”—he shoves one finger in Murphy’s face— “Shelby’s mom was most definitely not my first. Blonde or otherwise. And second”—he steps back and adopts a more moderate, almost imperious, tone— “I appreciate females of all shapes, sizes, ages, and colors.”
“You know women don’t exist to be your dick sweaters, right?” I ask.
“If they were, I’d prefer them warm and tight.”
“Enough.” Rock squeezes the bridge of his nose. “Yes, the old man’s attitude is shitty, but Teller’s right. It’s not our problem. However, Margot seemed to like you, Jiggy. If it’s all right with Z, I’d like you to help Teller with this project.”
“Wait, what?” I stop and stare at Rock. “You heard him. He’ll be asking her to try his dick on for size.”
“How crass.” Jiggy shakes his head. “You’re the one who came up with dick sweaters, not me.”
“He’s…available.” Rock glances at Jiggy. “Women seem to find him charming.”
“They really do,” Jiggy agrees.
“Fine. You’re right.” I glance at the funeral home. “It’ll be helpful for Jigsaw to keep her occupied and away from me.”
Jigsaw throws his hand up to his forehead in his dickish version of a salute.
Rock slaps my shoulder. “This went well. You feel good about it?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Good. Someone better let Sparky know we’re celebrating tonight.”
“Fuck yeah!” Jiggy punches his fist in the air and straddles his bike.
Murphy ambles over to me. “Look at us.” A smug grin stretches across his face. “Lost Kings moving into Slater.”
“About damn time.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Teller
“Time to celebrate!” I announce as soon as I walk in the house.
“Up here,” Charlotte calls.
I jog up the stairs and find her in the bedroom. “You look hot.”
She tilts her head, peering at her royal blue sweatshirt and jeans. “Really?”
“You look good in blue.” I curl my arms around her waist and slip my hands into her back pockets. “Got two perfect hand warmers if it gets chilly tonight.”
“So, tell me how it went.” She stares up at me with mischief in her eyes. “Should I call you The Undertaker now?”
“No. It was good. Jiggy’s got heart eyes for the girl who puts the makeup on the corpses.”
Her nose wrinkles. “Sounds like a match made in hell.”
“Your little matchmaking heart never quits.”
“No, that’s your sister.”
I freeze at the mention of Heidi. “The guy, the owner. He assumed Rock was my father. It was…weird.”
“The different last names didn’t clue him in? What’d you say?”
“Nothing. Rock just went with it. Murphy thought it was funny.”
She bites her lip. “You really need to tell them and get it over with.”
“Charlotte.” Frustration burns through me. I still need time. “Can’t you let me have this one thing?”
“Okay, but—”
Shaking my head, I release her. “I don’t want to talk about this tonight.”
“You need to talk about it sometime. Soon.”
“Thanks.” I stomp downstairs and outside, running straight into Carter.
“Ease up.” He flaps his hands in the air. “Where’s the fire?”
“No fire. I’m going to feed the chickens before we head to the clubhouse. You coming with us?”
He frowns and studies me like he’s peering through a microscope. “You and Charlotte have a fight?”
“No.” I push past him. “You helping me or not?”
He hustles to catch up. “I already fed them and checked for eggs.”
“They always want to eat more.”
“True.”
The hens greet us with happy clucks. They scratch at the seed mix we toss but keep watching us, as if they’re waiting for something better. “Nah, that’s Charlotte who spoils you with blueberries and shit,” I tell them.