Page 59

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Jigsaw

Wrath yanks a long roll of towels free and hands them to Margot.

The rest of us stand there staring.

Margot’s confused gaze slides from me, to Rock, then Murphy.

“What?” She lifts the scalpel, blood still dripping. “I’m the one who knows how to make precise incisions. You didn’t want to spray blood everywhere.”

“Uh, I was going to just snap his neck.” Wrath shrugs and waves his hand at the body. “But this works. Dead is dead.”

He’s finding this way too fucking amusing.

Am I hallucinating?

I’ve lost a lot of blood.

Did she really just slit a man’s throat in front of us?

Demons below, how did I get so lucky?

If I didn’t have so much blood seeping from the hole in my leg, it’d probably be going straight to my dick.

That’s my woman. Holy fuck. She did that because the guy attacked me .

A wave of lightheadedness knocks me sideways.

There’s a clatter and scuffling. Something soft touches my elbow.

“Jensen,” Margot’s low voice pleads.

I blink and she’s at my side. “You’re really pale.”

“No shit.” I sway, my vision tunneling for a second.

“You need to sit down and let me look at your leg.”

“Rooster’s coming with supplies,” Murphy says. “We didn’t know what you might have here.”

He must be talking to Margot. My eyes are closed again.

“I can suture the wound.” She hesitates. “But I don’t have anything to numb the area…”

Because she’s usually stitching up dead people. Who don’t need numbing.

“Help me get him inside the house,” Margot says.

Oh, man, the thought of those three flights of stairs to her apartment is brutal.

“Jigsaw.” Something not so gentle taps my cheek. “Stay with us,” Rock says.

“I’m here.” I blink and Rock’s right in my face.

“Come on. We need to get you inside,” he says. “Get you off your feet. Take a look at that hole in your leg.”

“That sounds great.” I grin at him. “Margot takes my pants off.”

He blows out an irritated breath and slings my arm around his shoulders, locks his arm around my waist, and barks at Murphy to get my other side.

“I got this,” Wrath says from behind us. “Go.”

“Jesus Christ.” Murphy huffs. Another arm wraps around my middle, flings my arm over his shoulder and helps take the pressure off my leg. “You’re heavier than you look.”

“All muscle.” I bear as much weight as I can on my uninjured leg, and we start the long journey across the parking lot.

“We got you,” Rock says. “Come on. Few more steps.”

My eyes open, tracking Margot hurrying ahead of us.

Then headlights sweep around the side of the house.

Shit.

The four of us freeze.

What looks like a station wagon jerks to a stop. The driver’s side door flings open.

“What the fuck happened?” Rooster’s heavy footsteps thunder over the pavement.

I lift my chin. “The fuck you driving?”

On my left, Rock shakes with laughter. “It’s Hope’s car. Told him to take it. Thought it’d attract less attention out here.”

“We need to get him inside,” Margot says. “Get him on the ramp.”

“Where’s he hurt?” Rooster asks, marching alongside us.

“Thigh. Fucker stabbed me in the thigh.” I side-eye Murphy. “I’m kicking Griff and Remy’s ass for not searching that dude better.”

He lets out a strained laugh. “I’m sure you will.”

“Murphy can you…?” Rock’s voice trails off. “Rooster, get his other side.”

Murphy transfers my right arm to Rooster.

I turn my head. “Hey, buddy.”

“Come on. Let’s go,” Rooster coaxes. “I brought all sorts of stuff to make you feel better.”

“Margot’ll make me feel better.”

He chuckles. “I’m sure she will.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Margot says in a strained voice.

Something clicks. Metal on metal screeches.

Finally, we’re inside. I flick my gaze at the long staircase in front of me. “I don’t know guys…”

“Where do you want to stitch him up, Margot?” Rock asks.

Margot bites her lip and stares at me with apologetic eyes. “The best place would really be…”

Realization of what she’s suggesting hits hard.

“No way.” I struggle to free myself from Rock’s iron grip and almost crumple to the floor. “No. You are not putting me on the table where you…no.”

“It’s sterile. The lighting. The right height for me to work and see what I’m doing,” she pleads.

“She’s right.” Rooster starts turning me to the left. “Unless you want to sprawl your big ass on that narrow little couch in there and bleed all over the furniture.”

“Wait.” I try to dig my toes into the carpet, but these two big fuckers keep right on moving. “What about the kitchen counter?”

“We could…” Margot hesitates like she’s considering it. “But it’s not really big enough.”

“Come on.” Rooster grips me tighter, lifting me higher. “Let’s give Margot the best conditions possible to work with. You don’t want her to accidentally stitch your nutsack to your leg.”

Rock’s body jerks with laughter.

“Why do you hate my nuts so much?” I ask Rooster, then turn to Rock. “He wished ticks on my balls the other day.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rock mutters. “Keep moving, chuckles.”

Blinding light sears my eyes as we cross the threshold into the large, white room full of cabinets and four separate metal tables.

“This one,” Margot says. She presses a button. A motor whirs and the table lowers.

“Guys, really don’t—" I protest.

“Got everything,” Murphy says, barreling into the room, holding up a large black duffel bag.

“I grabbed whatever I thought might help from the clubhouse, then stopped at the pharmacy for the rest,” Rooster explains. “Sparky sent a bag of weed gummies and cookies for you.”

“Perfect,” I mutter. The backs of my legs hit something solid.

“Come on, sit down,” Rock encourages, slipping my cut off my shoulders and handing it to Murphy.

Another wave of dizziness threatens to take me out. I sit on the metal table, then lie down, stretching out on my back. The spinny sensation slows and I exhale a long breath. “That’s better.”

“Good.” Rock squeezes my shoulder.

Three grim faces stare down at me like I’m already stretched out in a casket.

“Where’s Margot?” I rasp.

“Right here,” she calls out, though I still can’t see her. “This is good. Thank you, Rooster.”

She comes to my side. “I’m going to raise the table.” She rests her hand on my shoulder. A second later the motor whirs and the table jerks under me, rising, rising, rising .

My stomach lurches and horses tap dance inside my skull again.

“Can you guys get his boots?” Margot asks.

Rock and Murphy move to my feet and start unlacing my boots.

Margot reaches for my belt. I wrap my hand around hers. “You know damn well you don’t know how to work that buckle.”

Her shoulders shake. “Then hurry up.”

She watches my hands in a detached, clinical way while I work the buckle loose, then arch my back and pull the belt free and hand it to Rooster. “We’re burning these jeans,” I explain.

Margot nods and unties the bandage around my thigh. I bite back a scream from the pain. Then she carefully unbuttons and lowers my zipper.

I roll my head toward her. “This isn’t very arousing.”

Margot flicks her finger against my side. “It’s not supposed to be.”

She unfolds a small, white sheet and drapes it over my groin before carefully easing my jeans down my legs. So professional.

I hiss a pained breath as the denim scrapes over the wound. She’s gentle as she peels the sticky material away from my skin, doing everything not to cause more pain. Cold metal chills the backs of my legs and feet.

“How’s he doing?” Wrath’s big voice echoes in the room.

Margot turns her head. “Haven’t quite gotten there yet. He’s still cracking jokes. I think that’s a good sign.”

“It’s something,” Rooster mutters.

I close my eyes again.

The sharp snap of rubber breaks the air. Then another. Soft fingers press into the meat of my thigh. I flinch but try to stay still.

“I need to irrigate this. See how deep it is.” Margot’s voice—low, clinical, but shaking at the edges.

“Need one of us to help?” Rock asks.

“If you don’t mind scrubbing up and putting on gloves, sure.”

Water runs. Plastic rustles. Rubber snaps again and again.

“Hand me that,” Margot says.

A second later, something cold and sharp blasts over the burn in my leg.

“Fuck!” My body bows off the table. White explodes behind my eyes.

Strong hands clamp down on my shoulders.

I crack open one eye. Rooster. Murphy. “Your beards are even uglier from this angle.”

Rooster applies more pressure to my shoulder. Murphy just snorts.

I swing my head toward Margot. She’s not looking at me. Her eyes are on Rooster. Wide. Focused. She gives him a tight nod.

He sets a firm palm on my chest like I’m a deer about to bolt into the woods.

“What’s—”

“I’m going to sterilize this. It might burn,” Margot says. “Keep him still.”

Might? Oh, that definitely means it’ll burn. Every muscle in my body tightens.

Rock steps in and plants both hands on my good leg. Not pushing yet. Just waiting.

Fire licks my side.

“Fuuuck!” I twist, muscles spasming, trying to get away.

“Stop.” Her voice wraps around me.

The pain fades. Or I black out. Hard to say.

I drag in a breath. Blink hard. Margot comes into focus through the heat and static buzzing over my skin.

A single tear cuts a clean track down her cheek.

“You know I’d never hurt you on purpose, Jensen,” she whispers.

I nod. Quick and jerky. Can’t form words.

She leans over me again, fingers returning to my leg. Searching. Face blank, except for another tear sliding from the corner of her eye.

“If this had been six inches in the other direction, he would’ve hit something vital,” she murmurs.

I can’t tell if she’s referring to my dick or my femoral artery. Either way, it sounds like good news.

“The tissue’s angry,” she murmurs. “But not gaping. I think I can close it.”

“Goody,” I mumble.

“Relax,” she says in a calming tone. “I promise I’m good at this. Dad started having me suture any visible wounds. Says I make them look like nothing ever happened.”

I meet her eyes again. “I trust you.”

No ER doc would give a fuck about getting this right as much as she does.