Page 66 of Scatter the Bones (Lost Kings MC #26)
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Jigsaw
By the time I land in Vegas, my leg’s mostly healed. Still twinges if I twist the wrong way, but nothing I can’t handle. I didn’t come here to whine.
I came to watch Griff’s back—before, during, and after the fight.
Then I’m getting my ass home to see my girl.
Until then, I check into my fancy-ass room in the hotel where all the fighters are staying. Unfortunately it’s in a suite, with Griff and Molly in the room next to mine. Ella and Eraser are on the other side, and Remy’s room is next to theirs.
Great. Two couples and a hound dog that likes to jump on everything in sight. These fancy-ass walls better be thick.
First thing I do—before unpacking, before even sitting down—is call Margot.
She answers on the first ring.
“Hey,” she answers, all soft and almost sleepy sounding.
Fuck, I needed to hear her voice.
“Hey, little lady death.”
A soft laugh rustles over the line. “Did you land okay?”
“Yeah. Just got to the hotel.”
“How is it?”
“Nice. Real fuckin’ nice. Glad I’m not the one paying for it.”
Another bit of laughter, then hesitation. “How does your leg feel after all that walking?”
“Fine. Little sore.” I ease back against the stiff hotel chair, stretching my leg out. “I miss you already. Really wish you’d been able to come with us.”
“I miss you too,” she answers, a bit clipped. “How was the private jet?”
“Fuckin’ nice. Kinda sucks ‘cause I think I have to fly back commercial.”
“Awww, you’ve been spoiled.”
“You miss me?”
“Of course,” she answers immediately. Matter-of-fact. No hesitation. Even though I’d been a bit of a dick, pestering her to take the time off and come with me to Vegas.
“Miss you too.”
“I really do wish I’d been able to go with you guys,” she says softly. I picture her curled up in her lounge chair with Gretel in her lap and a stack of books next to her. “You know that, right?”
“I know. Sorry I’ve been a prick about it.” I need to get it through my head, not everyone can just fuck off to Vegas for a week whenever they feel like it.
Silence hums for a beat. Did she hang up?
“It’s okay,” she finally says.
“How was your day?” I ask.
She sighs. “Helped a cantankerous family plan a memorial service. Handled two cremations with Paul and probably have a pickup later tonight.”
Jesus, that’s grim. “Sorry.”
“It’s what we do. But I feel better now that I’ve heard your voice.”
Damn that fucks me up. “Me too.”
“Be careful. I know you’re there to watch Griff’s back but?—”
“Honestly,” I hope this will ease some of her concern, “it sounds like I’ll be tagging along with Rooster, Shelby, and Molly so the girls can do some dress shopping.”
She breaks into giggles. “How fun for you. Well, tell the girls to send me pics.”
My chest squeezes. No jealousy. Margot knows I belong to her.
“I will.” We talk for a few more minutes, then hang up.
I sit there and stare at the screen.
I roll my shoulders, crack my neck, and grab a bottle of water from the stocked fridge.
The ache in my chest won’t go away.
Probably won’t until the next time Margot’s in my arms.
A few nights later, I’m missing home more than ever. This isn’t my kind of city. Too loud, too bright, too many annoying fucking people.
I miss Margot, my club, my bike, the open roads and trees of upstate New York—hell, I even miss Gretel.
The guy Griff is fighting, Mike “Magic” Everson, is every bit the asshole I expected. Every presser he’s made nasty, out of line comments to Griff, trying to get him to throw some punches. Griff’s handled it like a pro. I’m starting to think the club bettin’ so much money on him to win was smart.
At least scaring the shit out of “Magic” and his annoying entourage after the press conferences has been entertaining. For me, anyway.
I told Margot I’d be careful, not that I wouldn’t have a little fun while I’m here.
But it doesn’t fix the pit in my chest that’s been growing since the second I stepped off that plane.
Every slinky, half-naked girl with a fake smile and dead eyes reminds me how far from home I am. How far from her I am.
Margot.
My little lady death.
Tonight, I’m at a diner with most of our crew. Jammed into a booth with everyone. Shelby got wedged between Rooster and me. Griff, Molly, and Remy are packed in tight on the other side.
Under the table, I slide my phone out of my pocket and fire off a quick text.
Me: You up?
It’s almost ten here, but back home it’s later. Doesn’t stop her from texting back three seconds later.
Little Lady Death: On call. You okay?
Fuck. I love that she always asks me that first. Not what are you doing , or where are you . She hasn’t cracked any what stays in Vegas jokes . She trusts me completely.
Me: Miss you.
The dots appear immediately.
Little Lady Death: Miss you too.
Little Lady Death: Where are you?
Me: Out with the whole crew.
Shelby nudges me and peers over my shoulder. “Are you texting Margot?”
“Who else, songbird?”
She holds her phone out and snaps a quick photo of Rooster, herself, and me. She flashes the screen my way.
Jesus, I really do look like a serial killer.
“Would it kill ya to smile?” she teases.
“Would it kill you to warn a guy?”
She taps her fingers over the screen. “There. Sent it to Margot.”
I side-eye her. “She knows she can trust me.” Something worse occurs to me. “Wait, did she ask you to…keep tabs on me?”
“No!” She slaps my arm. “I just know you won’t send her any pics.”
How wrong you are, songbird. I’ve sent Margot dozens of pics while we’ve been here.
Little Lady Death: Cute pic.
I had sent a check-in text to Jezzie and Cain earlier today. Both of the little shits answered back with emojis.
Looking at their messages, one after the other, twists a knife of guilt in my chest. When I get back from Vegas, I need to have my sit-down with Jezzie and have her meet Cain. It’s time.
“Molly, you speak this age range, what the fuck does this mean?” I lean over the table and flash the screen with Jezzie’s straight-faced emoji, dramatic-sigh face, and heart.
Molly flicks her gaze between the screen and my face, her lips forming a small “O.”
That can’t be good.
“My sister’s telling me to fuck off, isn’t she?”
Molly snort-giggles. “No.” She sits up straighter and tosses her long, shiny brown hair over her shoulder, like she’s preparing a presentation.
“Given the context of your text to her , I think she’s responding with, ‘I’m exasperated with you checking on me all the time, but I love you.
’” She nods, quickly, like she’s confirming her interpretation. “Yup. That’s it.”
I glance at the screen again. Maybe? “What’s the emoji combo for ‘you’re a pain in my ass?’”
Remy leans sideways over Griff. “Eye roll and donkey. You’re lucky. All Molly sends me are middle finger emojis.”
Molly playfully slaps his arm. “Only when you’re being a jerk.”
“So, all the time?” I add, helpful as ever.
Remy laughs but Molly gives me a mild stink eye.
How cute. She doesn’t like anyone else making fun of her big brother.
Remy leans back and stretches his arms across the back of the booth. “Saw your brother at Strike Back last week, Jigsaw.”
My spine goes stiff.
“Cain?” I say stupidly, just to make sure he doesn’t mean someone from my club.
Remy nods. “Kid’s quick. Showed him how to roll out of a choke. He picked it up fast.”
Pride flashes hot through my chest before I can stomp it down. “Glad he’s got good instincts,” I mutter.
“He’s a funny kid. Kinda quiet. Shy at first.” A flicker of a smile cuts across his face. “Totally opposite of your sister.”
Something twists so hard in my chest, my ribs might snap.
I smooth my expression, even though my jaw’s grinding behind it. He doesn’t know our history. All the shit we’ve been through. And if he thinks he’s ever dating—or whatever the fuck he does—my sister, he’s dead, fucking wrong.
“Different moms,” I say in a tone designed to shut him up.
He’d have to be suicidal to pull at that thread with me.
He nods quickly and shifts his gaze to Griff. “You’re out way past your bedtime, Stonewall.”
Griff, bleary-eyed and heavy-limbed, nods. “Yeah, I think we’re heading back now. Coach’ll kill me if I’m draggin’ ass tomorrow.”
The three of them slide out of their side of the booth, collecting phones, wallets, and half-finished drinks.
Wrath and Trinity stop Griff and Molly, talking about logistics for tomorrow’s afternoon press conference.
Griff? He’s barely present—arm draped around Molly, eyes fixed on the door like he’s already halfway out of it.
Remy hangs back, drops into the booth across from me. “Hey, Jiggy.”
I raise my eyebrows, not fond of him shortening my road name. “Yeah?”
He cuts a quick look toward his sister. “Griff’s worried Molly might freak out at the fight. If he…”
“Starts bleeding all over the canvas?” I offer.
“Yeah.” His mouth twists with annoyance. “Will you help me hustle her out of the arena if I have to?”
“Maybe she shouldn’t go?”
He tilts his head. “Yeah, I’m not even gonna try to stop her.”
The girl did take a crowbar to someone’s leg. “I think she’ll be fine. But yeah, you got it. Just say the word.”
“I’ll have her sit next to me, Remy,” Shelby offers. “She’s dyin’ to see Magic get knocked on his ass after all the trash he’s been talkin’ this week.”
“I know.” Remy nods. He knocks his knuckles against the table and stands. “Thanks, Jiggy.”
“No problem.”
Why does Remy bug me so much? I respect him—he works his ass off. He’s a damn good fighter. He’s loyal to his friends and his family.
My gaze lands on his sister, Molly. Talk about spirited. She reminds me a lot of Jezzie, except unlike my sister, Molly actually seems to like her brother. Worships the big goof, really.
Maybe that’s what bugs me? They had a shit family too. I don’t know details, except Remy was out of his dad’s house and living with his grandparents by the time he was fifteen or sixteen. After they passed, Molly moved in with him instead of staying with their alcoholic father.