Page 19

CHAPTER TEN

Jigsaw

As much as I wanted to get here early, Wrath insisted those of us attending Whisper’s funeral arrive together. A united front. We rode while Hope and Charlotte drove the new Escalade.

One glimpse of Margot and my lungs forget how to work. Somber. Professional. Fucking heart-stopping.

Her father smiled at me and shook my hand as soon as he saw our contingent. I couldn’t tell if he was relieved to see members of my club or actually happy to see me specifically. Either way, I caught Teller watching with wide-eyed respect.

See, I told you I wouldn’t fuck up the club’s relationship with the funeral home.

My own relationship—that’s a different story.

Margot’s working. This is her job. I can’t wrap my arms around her waist and drag her upstairs like I want to. She’s working.

Still, every time she smiles or talks to a brother wearing a Wolf Knights MC cut, I want to launch myself across the room and empty my Glock into his skull.

Doesn’t matter that most of them are closer to her father’s age than hers.

Age doesn’t stop them from eye-fondling her, touching her elbow, or worst of all, calling her sweetheart.

I never knew I’d turn out to be such a possessive motherfucker.

Margot’s nothing but professional. Pride and awe beat around in my chest. That’s my woman. She put all of this together. Up until last night she was probably freaking out. Worried everything wouldn’t come together in time. But now, she’s nothing but poised and calm.

One of the attendants walks up and whispers something in Margot’s ear. Then the two of them turn and stare at me.

Fucking hell. The second my eyes lock with Margot’s, my heart stutters.

Her gaze narrows, anger simmering over her pretty face for a second before she gives me her back and continues speaking with the other woman.

Yup, I deserve that.

I was going to wait until after the service.

Be respectful. Give her space. But I can’t take another second of this self-inflicted silent punishment.

Every second she refuses to acknowledge my presence scrapes my insides raw.

This isn’t the time or place to lay out the whole story—but I have to say something to her .

Excusing myself from the conversation I’d been barely listening to with a couple of bikers from Idaho, I cross the parlor and come up behind Margot.

Part of her hair’s caught up in a silver clip, the rest flowing down her back.

Desperation to sweep her hair to the side and kiss the side of her neck pulses through me. I curl my hands into fists at my sides.

I step closer and her entire body tenses up as if she senses me looming at her back. The same kind of awareness that’s lived in my bones since the first time we touched.

I lean down, close enough to breathe her in. Citrus, vanilla, a hint of incense. “Can I talk to you for a second?” I whisper against her ear.

Her jaw clenches tight enough to crack teeth. “I’m working.”

Please, please, please, let me fix this. “Margot.”

She drops her head and takes a long, slow breath, then turns to face me.

My face must betray how desperate I am for her. The second our eyes meet, her harsh expression softens. Her fury—which I deserve—cracks enough for other feelings to flicker over her face. Confusion. Hurt. Concern.

“Where have you been?” Her soft voice comes edged in steel. Like if I lie or give her some weak-ass excuse, she’ll never give a shit about my whereabouts again.

Damn. I glance around the room full of bikers loudly reminiscing about past road trips and talking about what a shame it is Whisper died so soon. This isn’t the time or place for us to have such a personal conversation. “I’ll explain. Later, I promise.”

She tilts her head and runs her gaze over me again. I pull my shoulders back and try to dial back the desperation.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

I blow out a breath, my heart thudding like it’s been trying to claw its way back to her this whole time.

“I am now.” I hate how much that sounds like a line when it’s one hundred percent true.

Even though a funeral’s going on around us, the second I stepped into her orbit, the heaviness that’s been surrounding me for days lifted.

Why didn’t I just come back the other night and tell her what happened?

“Margot?” her dad calls from the doorway. “They’re about to start.”

She turns and nods. “Okay.”

After he leaves, she reaches out and squeezes my arm. “I have to?—”

“I know.”

“We’ll talk later.” She raises her eyebrows as if it’s a question.

“Thank you.”

A small, but genuine smile curves her lips. “I’m happy you’re okay.”

I don’t know how to respond to that. She takes off before I come up with an answer. Should I follow or stay put?

The silence she leaves behind is deafening.

A few seconds later, movement ripples through the room. Everyone starts drifting toward the double doors across the hall.

I need a minute.

I grab a golden cookie off the tray and bite into it. It’s dry and flavorless, like sawdust on my tongue. I pour a cup of coffee to wash down the world’s worst cookie.

Get it together.

I step into the hallway and slip into the viewing room through the back entrance, the one farthest from the casket.

Wrath’s standing against the back wall, arms crossed over his chest, expression unreadable. I take up the empty space next to him and he turns to nod at me.

I turn my attention to the front of the room where Ulfric’s speaking.

“Whisper was formed by the grit of the gutter and the dust of the highway.” Ulfric glances at the coffin. “Despite his intimidating appearance, he spoke quietly, in a way that commanded your attention and respect. That’s how he got his road name…”

News to me. Since many bikers have a twisted since of humor and hand out road names as jokes, I always assumed it was because Whisper was a loudmouth when he was younger.

“He was a stealthy fucker too,” Wrath whispers to me. “I think that’s actually how he got his road name. Could break into buildings without anyone hearing a thing.”

“Probably not the best thing to mention at his funeral,” I say out of the corner of my mouth.

He snorts. “Give it five minutes. Someone’ll bring it up. Probably Merlin.”

At the podium, Ulfric steps aside to make room for Whisper’s daughter. She sidesteps him, avoiding the embrace he clearly planned to give.

I lean closer to Wrath. “Margot was right about the friction between them.”

“Yeah, he didn’t talk about his family much. I figured there was some tension there.” His gaze scans the room. “That’s the difference between us and a lot of other clubs. They make the club their family and ignore their actual family.”

“Whereas we suck our loved ones into our vortex until there’s no escape?” I question with two innocently raised eyebrows.

Wrath rolls his eyes. “Sure.”

One by one, Wolf Knight brothers step up to say a few words about their ex-president. Then neighbors, friends, and other people who knew him.

While a middle-aged, teary woman’s recounting all the ways Whisper helped her reach her fitness goals, one of the brothers slips through the door and stops beside me.

I glance over long enough to clock a vaguely trusted face—Hudson. Around my age. Patched member of the Wolf Knights. Not someone I’d go out of my way to share a beer with.

“You mind if we talk for a sec?” Hudson asks under his breath. “In private.”

I know Hudson but not well enough for private chats. His urgent tone sets my radar humming. I glance at Wrath but his attention’s locked on the woman still speaking.

“Uh, yeah, sure.”

We weave in between different guests clustered in the hallway.

My gaze ping-pongs, searching for a quieter, less crowded location.

I find a spot near the staircase—by the hallway that leads to the prep room.

It’s far enough from the main rooms to talk without drawing attention, but still visible to anyone walking by.

No shadows. No doors. Just enough privacy.

I turn to face him. “What’s on your mind?”

“You seem to know the place well.” He gestures toward the parlor. “Ulfric mentioned the funeral director’s daughter is your ol’ lady.”

I cross my arms over my chest and stare him down. “Do we know each other well enough for you to be prying into my love life?”

He blinks, then his face settles into granite. “Didn’t realize it was a secret.”

After the world’s shortest staring contest he blows out an annoyed breath. “I wanted to ask if your club’s recruiting.”

We very much need to grow our numbers but I’m not about to share that with someone wearing another club’s patch. “Why? You know someone who wants to prospect?”

“Yeah, me .”

I let that sit for a beat, then drop my slow, sarcastic gaze to the flash stitched on the patch on his chest— Road Captain . I drag my eyes back up to his face. “You already have a club.”

“I got my president’s blessing to ask, so don’t think I’m a traitor to my club.

Truth is, Wolf Knights are probably disbanding my charter soon.

I don’t want to move to another state. Again.

” He sighs, jaw ticking. “Honestly, I’d really like to move back home.

I grew up in Slater and even though the winters fucking suck, my mom, my sister and her kids are all here.

I’m tired of missing birthdays and holidays with them. ”

“You grew up in the Wolf Knights, right? That’s how you know Teller’s ol’ lady?”

“Yeah, our dads patched in at the same time. Charlotte and I hung out a lot when we were kids.”

“So, why ask me instead of Teller?”

He tilts his head and widens his eyes to a cocky degree while staring at my own road captain patch. “RC to RC, I guess.” He shrugs. “Besides, I don’t know if Teller would be cool with it. He seems to be under the impression there’s more history between Charlotte and me than there actually is.”

“No offense, but I doubt he gives you much thought at all, bro.” Teller’s way too cocky to see anyone else as competition. “He and Charlotte are tight.”