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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Jigsaw

The cold morning wind cuts through my flannel and cut as I ride through the quiet streets of Pine Hollow.

Margot was still asleep when I left—one arm flung across the bed, golden light spilling over her shoulder. Part of me wanted to stay. But my asshole side won, and I snuck out of the apartment and out the back door like a burglar.

She knew I had church today so it’s not weird that I left. Never mind I’ll be four fucking hours early. At least I didn’t leave a shitty goodbye on a Post-it Note this time. I’ve got that going for me.

I slept like shit. Serves me right for shutting down when she asked a simple question about Cain.

Why am I still being such a coward about this?

When she prodded me to go visit my sister, everything turned out fine. Jezzie and I actually had a good day together. Talked to each other like adults.

Margot’s never met Cain.

Still, Margot has good instincts. She knows people and understands all sorts of fucked-up family dynamics. Am I actually worried Cain’s a threat? Or do I just want to hide from the truth of how I abandoned him?

I roll to a stop. No traffic in either direction. No one behind me either. Right will take me to the highway. Left will take me into the small city of Johnsonville. Wrath said he’d talk to Sully about giving my brother a job, but I’d rather know for sure that Sully’s good with it.

I turn left.

Fifteen minutes later, I pull into the lot behind the strip of businesses along Main Street, stopping behind Strike Back Studio. Through the glass door, the place looks dark.

Shit. Are they even open this early?

I kill the engine and get off my bike.

Farther down the parking lot, a family’s hauling big black garbage bags and bottles of detergent into the back door of one of the businesses. The scent of dryer sheets drifts in the wind. Another back door is propped open with a large, white trashcan.

I pull on the wide metal handle of Strike Back’s door and it swings open. That’s a good sign.

Cool air and the sharp scent of industrial cleaner mixed with sweat and rubber mats hits me first. Ahhh, the comforting stink of hard work and discipline. Shiny hardwood floors stretch down a long hallway, leading to an open area with the front desk.

Muffled grunts and a repetitive clink of metal echoes from the other side of the wall.

Otherwise, it’s quiet. No music cranking through the system for motivation or background noise.

I continue down the long hallway, stopping outside Sully’s office.

The door’s ajar. I tap my knuckles on it, then push it open. Empty.

Weird. Every time I’ve stopped by to work out, either Sully, his brother Jake, or Sully’s fiancée Aubrey are here. I wander toward the reception desk by the front door and peek around the corner leading into the workout area.

As I pass the men’s locker room, the door swings open. Sully steps out, arms full of neatly folded white towels. He stops short when he sees me, surprise flashing across his face.

“Jigsaw? What are you doing here at this hour?” He recovers quickly and jerks his chin toward the front desk. “C’mon.”

“I was in the neighborhood. Wanted to talk to you if you’ve got a minute.”

“Yeah, sure.” He drops the towels into a basket beside the desk and turns to face me.

The gym’s quiet—just one guy across the room grinding out pull-ups, back to me, face tilted toward the ceiling.

“You working solo this morning?” I ask.

He scrubs a hand through his dark brown hair and huffs out a breath. “Yeah, Aubrey’s at the house with my mom waiting for a furniture delivery.” He casts a quick glance at the front door that looks out on Main Street. “And who knows where Jake is.”

“Furniture delivery? You know, like, twenty bikers in the immediate area, why didn’t you just ask us for help?”

He huffs a laugh. “It’s a whole new bedroom set for my daughter—she’s coming to live with us. I thought it’d be easier if the store delivered it but so far, not so much.”

He runs his hand through his hair again, clearly stressed. I feel bad wasting his time with this, but I guess Wrath was right and he could use an extra set of hands. “So, what’s on your mind?”

“Did Wrath talk to you?”

“About your brother? Yeah.” He nods. “As you can see, I need the help.”

“Okay. Good. Thanks.” To a clean-cut family guy like Sully, what I’m about to say will sound shitty as hell but I need to get it out. “Look, I don’t know how much he told you but we’re only recently back in touch. I, uh, don’t know him that well, yet.”

He stares at me for a few beats, no judgment, just calm understanding. “You’ve met my little brother, right?” He lifts his eyebrows. “Jake’s still a handful. I get it.”

Our situations aren’t even remotely similar, but the thought’s nice. And now I’ve said what needed to be said.

Something buzzes and he slips his cell phone out of his pocket. “It’s Aubrey. Let me grab this.”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

He walks a few steps away toward his office. It’s impossible not to overhear him, though. “What do you mean? Of course, they’re supposed to carry it inside. Put him on the phone.”

I walk over and tap Sully’s shoulder. “You want me to go have a chat with ’em?” I knock my fists together to demonstrate the kind of conversation I have in mind.

He shakes his head quickly, lips twitching like he’s not sure if I’m joking.

I glance around the near-empty gym. This isn’t all that different from the laundromat, right? I can man the desk. Shouldn’t have to talk to too many people.

“Go.” I wave toward the back door. “I’ll watch the place.”

Sully freezes mid-step, eyebrows pulling tight like I offered to babysit his firstborn. “Uhhh…”

“I’m house-trained.” I shrug. “I’ve run our club’s businesses.”

“Hold on, Aubrey.” Sully lowers his phone and studies me. “You sure?”

“How much damage can I do?” I deadpan. His incredulous expression doesn’t shift so I drop the dickish attitude. “I’m not gonna torch the place or scare your customers away. Promise.”

He watches me for another second, then lifts the phone. “I’ll be there in ten minutes, baby. Don’t let them leave.”

They hang up, and he flashes a relieved smile. “Thank you.”

I glance at the clock above the front desk.

“Really, I won’t be that long. Jake should be here soon. No classes until eleven, and it’s usually quiet,” he explains in a rush. “Aubrey’s got the desk set up tight. If anyone calls, there’s a binder with answers.”

Shit. Maybe I’m in over my head. We don’t have a binder at the laundromat. “I’ll figure it out.”

He runs his gaze over my jeans, boots, flannel, and leather cut—not exactly gym gear. “There’s a cabinet in my office with clean sweats and stuff. Borrow anything you want. You can hang your cut in there. It’ll be safe.”

He makes the offer with quiet respect—like he understands I wouldn’t hang my club’s colors just anywhere. Not because he’s uncomfortable having a biker repping his gym.

“Thanks. I got this, really. Go scare the piss out of those delivery guys.”

He growls an unhappy sound and rushes out the back door. “Thanks,” he calls over his shoulder.

I push my way into his office and hang up my cut on a hook behind the door. I take one look at the stack of nerdy polo shirts with the embroidered Strike Back logo on the chest pocket and decide my jeans and flannel will do just fine.

On my way out, I close the door behind me, then take a slow lap around the place. The guy who’d been busy doing chin-ups before has moved on to knocking out a brutal set of push-ups.

Sully’s upgraded some of the equipment in one of the rooms. I check out the new stuff, then return to the front desk.

The quiet’s almost suffocating. Allows my brain too much room to gnaw on the fact that I dipped out of Margot’s place before she woke up, and that I’m avoiding my brother. I have to fix one of those problems before I attempt to repair the other.

I pull out my phone and shoot off a quick text.

Me: Can we get together this afternoon?

He responds right away, like he’s been gripping his phone, waiting for me to reach out.

Cain: Yeah. Any time.

I send him a time and offer to meet him at the hotel—figuring I know this area better than he does.

He answers with a thumbs-up emoji.

Typical . Setting aside my annoyance at an emoji response—he’s seventeen, after all, I toss my phone on the counter and scrub my hands over my face.

I’m flipping through the local paper and stop at an article on the second page.

Man Wearing Clown Mask Arrested After Jewelry Store Robbery in Johnsonville

Clown mask. I blink. No way that’s real.

But it is.

JOHNSONVILLE, NY — A 34-year-old Long Island man was arrested Thursday afternoon after allegedly robbing Sandfire Family Jewelers while wearing a rubber clown mask.

Police say the suspect entered the store around 2:15 p.m., brandished a hammer, and smashed several display cases before filling a backpack with jewelry. Witnesses reported the suspect fled on foot.

Officers located the man hours later at the Sunset Taproom, less than two blocks away. He was still wearing the same clown mask pushed up on his head, according to multiple witnesses.

“He ordered a drink like nothing was wrong,” one bartender said. “We thought he was just a weird dude.”

Several pieces of jewelry matching the store’s inventory, worth thousands of dollars, were recovered from the suspect’s backpack. Police also found multiple baggies containing substances believed to be methamphetamine and fentanyl as well as hundreds of dollars in small bills.

The suspect is currently being held at the Johnson County Jail pending formal charges.

At first, it’s amusing—another case of criminals doing dumb shit. But the drugs and cash? Not as amusing.

Sounds like a dealer. And no one should be running that shit through our territory. He’s probably just a dumbass, not a major player. But he has to answer to someone.

I tear the article out, fold it into a square, and tuck it in my pocket.

Might as well bring it up at church later.