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Murphy frowns. “Wait, who was the patch holder you used to ‘hang out’ with?”

“Bro, he’s obviously desperate and full of shit,” I say.

Wrath sniffs the air with exaggerated disgust. “Smells like he took a shit, too.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rock groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

““S…sh—Shade?” the guy stammers. “I think it was Shade. Or maybe Shadow—something like that. Shadow, yeah.”

“So, way back in the day.” I laugh.

“We’re not gettin’ anything useful here.” Rock stands and dusts off his gloves. “Let’s take him to our friend’s house.” He slants a pointed look my way.

Cedarwood’s.

My internal fuck no alarm clangs.

I don’t want to involve Margot in our business more than she already has been. Not to dispose of some low life scumfucker.

“Shouldn’t we leave him somewhere he can be found? Send a message to whoever sent him,” I suggest.

Rock tilts his head and studies me, then turns to Wrath and Murphy, like a judge waiting for arguments to be made.

Wrath shakes his head. “Guy’s gotta have a record.

A long one. But if anyone knows he was in our territory, and he just disappears, they might question us.

” He pauses, lips twisting into a cold grin.

“But I also kinda like Jiggy’s thinking.

If it’s New Jersey Vipers testing the waters—we need to send a stronger message than just makin’ their guy vanish. ”

He lifts his hand, fingers wiggling in the air like a magician— poof.

“You wanna hang him from a bridge like we’re in fuckin’ Juárez?” Murphy says with a dry laugh. “I thought that was the whole point of having the Death Palace on speed dial.”

He cuts a glance at me, grinning like the smartass he is.

When I don’t respond to the dark humor, his smile fades. “What’s wrong? You don’t want us asking your girlfriend for favors?”

I could fuckin’ punch Murphy right now. “I didn’t say that.”

Rock’s steely glare swings my way.

Great.

When I don’t elaborate, he finally asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I force a smirk that tastes like ash. “Margot will be more than happy to fire up the oven for us.” I glance at Wrath. “It’s like I said, we haven’t had any issues in our territory for a while. Maybe we should make an example of this guy.”

“He’s a low-level tweaker,” Murphy points out. “No one’s gonna give a fuck what happens to him.”

We all glance over at the guy, who’s suddenly silent.

He’s unconscious.

Wrath slides his gaze to the door Remy and Griff exited through. “That’s a good point about not having any issues in this area…”

“Don’t even go there, bro.” Murphy takes a step closer to Wrath, voice dropping. “Griff’s mom is the addict. He’s got no control over that. Trust me. You heard him, she’s not even living around here anymore.”

Wrath’s punisher expression dials down a few degrees. “Yeah, okay.”

“All right,” Rock says, his tone final. “While I agree with you to a certain extent, Jigsaw, I think it’s better if we don’t call more attention to this guy than necessary.”

Fair enough. At least Rock considered my suggestion before shooting it down. “I’ll call Margot. Make sure we’ve got privacy. They’ve been slammed this week.”

Rock nods. “Thank you. That’s good to know. We’ll wait until dark.”

I step away from the group and fish out my phone.

Margot answers on the first ring. “Is everything okay?”

Damn, even when I’m about to make myself an accomplice to murder her voice still tickles my ears and turns my chest cavity all gooey.

“Yeah,” I murmur. “Things still busy there?”

“No. Dad’s at the church. Paul’s helping me grab a few things, then he’s heading out.” She pauses. “He has a date,” she adds in a cheerful tone.

Go, Paul.

“How do you feel about us baking some fresh bread tonight?” I ask, hoping she understands the us is my club and the bread is a body.

She pauses long enough to suggest she hears what I’m asking. “That sounds good. Let me pre-heat the oven so it’s ready when you get here.” Her voice finishes on a questioning lilt.

“That works.” I glance back at the guys. “We’re, ah…not too far from your place.”

“Great. See you in a bit.”

We hang up and I tuck the phone back in my pocket.

“Bread, huh?” Murphy’s ginger-bearded face breaks into a grin. “That’s a good one. She knows we’re bringing a body, though, right?”

“I’m ninety-nine percent sure she understood my code.” I reach out and pat his cheek a few times. “But thanks for asking, Ginger Yeti.”

“Stop fucking around and get this asshole loaded in the van,” Rock orders.

Wrath jogs over the garage floor like a jolly Viking heading to battle.

Margot. Damn, she was so steady and calm. Understanding my code—willing to “preheat the oven” for us on a moment’s notice. Sure, it’s the deal her dad made with my club, but she didn’t even hesitate.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to push out the image of Margot flipping switches and prepping the crematorium—like she’s preparing to host a bake sale for demons.

It isn’t right.

Dragging her into our mess. Making her dispose of our garbage.

I shove that thought away. She can handle this. She’s handled way worse. On her own. Griff’s her mechanic. She likes him a lot. She met Molly at the party and loved her. Once Margot knows this guy tried to hurt them, she’ll be more than happy to help us toss his worthless body in the fire.

Wrath lifts the guy as if he weighs nothing more than a few bags of salt. The tweaker wasn’t that out of it. He squirms and struggles, snapping his teeth at Wrath’s wrist.

“Ow! Fuck!” Wrath flings him into the back of the van and stares at the red crescent marks denting his skin. “I better not get rabies from you, fucker.”

“Let’s move,” Rock barks, slapping my shoulder. “We’ll all go in the van. Less noise at the Cedarwoods.”

Good. The fewer people who see us there or hear us rumbling through their parking lot, the better.

“I’ll drive.” Wrath plucks the keys from Murphy’s hand. Rock returns to the passenger side.

“Whatever,” Murphy grumbles. “Guess we’re riding in the back with this prick.” He jumps into the cargo area.

I follow, ducking my head as I step inside.

The back of the van’s clean and organized, probably how Dex keeps it.

A couple of heavy-duty tarps are folded and strapped down along one wall.

A shiny, neon green toolbox sits secured behind the driver’s seat—probably a few things in there we could use to make this guy disappear.

No benches back here. Murphy and I take the floor, backs to the wall, sitting across from the prick who thought he could terrorize friends of my club.

The van growls to life; its low rumble thrums in time with the unease churning in my chest. The garage door hums and rattles as it rises.

We sway with the motion of the van as it rocks onto the road. Wrath’s up front, bitching about his wrist while he guides the van toward Margot’s place. I lean back and close my eyes for a second.

The tweaker mumbles and mutters to himself. We should’ve put his fucking gag back in.

Snick. Snick.

A grunt of effort. The unmistakable scrape of metal against metal.

My eyes snap open.

The tweaker lunges at me like a rabid vulture out of a fucking horror movie.

“Shit!” I twist to the side.

A flash of silver.

Something sharp and cold punches into my thigh.

White-hot pain sears through my leg.

“Motherfucker!” I roar, grabbing his wrist too late to stop the blade from plunging into my flesh but fast enough to keep him from twisting it deeper.

Murphy launches forward, slamming him against the wall of the van. “You stupid son of a bitch!” He knees him in the gut, driving him to the floor.

“What the fuck’s happening?” Wrath shouts.

The van fishtails, gravel spitting underneath us.

“What the fuck?” Rock’s voice booms from the front.

“We’re fine,” Murphy answers, struggling to subdue the guy. “Just get us there.”

“We are not fine,” I seethe through my clenched jaw. “That fucker stabbed me.”

“Fuck.” Rock turns. “Jiggy. You all right? Where?”

Hot, wet blood soaks through my jeans.

“My leg,” I groan.

“Stabbed you with what?” Wrath barks, already flooring it. “How’d he get loose?”

I shoot a glare at Murphy. “That’s an excellent question. Where was your situational awareness, jackass?”

He winces. “This.” Murphy holds up a short, stubby blade. “He sawed through the ties at his ankles and wrists. Lucky he didn’t snap the one under his knees.”

Fuck , this burns like hell. A deep, searing throb that pulses with every single bump in the road.

Murphy shoves the bloody knife in his pocket and wraps his arm around the guy’s neck. The tweaker struggles and fights but Murphy finally chokes him unconscious.

“You good?” Murphy tosses his knit cap to me. “Put pressure on that.”

“Thanks.” I grunt, pressing my palm against the wound. “Fucker got me good, but I don’t think it’s that deep.”

Just another fucking scar to add to my collection.