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CHAPTER FORTY

Margot

“You think they stayed up all night, catching up?” I ask Jigsaw as I finish slipping a rainbow-striped cardigan over my black T-shirt with a picture of a cute, fluffy kitten licking blood off its paws. Underneath the kitten, Feminine Rage is written in a loopy, cursive font.

Jigsaw’s mouth quirks as I walk into the living room. “If that isn’t the most perfect shirt for my little lady death.”

“Isn’t it cute?” I tip my head down and smile.

He steps closer, eyes dropping to my chest. “Sexiest threat I’ve ever seen—stretched across the most perfect breasts.”

“Oh, you’re just full of compliments tonight, aren’t you?”

“Yup.” He holds out a small white box. “I saw this today and thought of you.”

“Really?” I squeal, not even caring what’s inside. I pry the lid off and find a glossy red enamel pin—heart-shaped lollipop, devil horns, smug little face, tail curled sweetly around the stick like it’s not planning to stab anyone. A ribbon banner across the middle reads: Sweet as Hell.

“This is so cute. I love it.” I work the clasp loose and poke the sharp end of the post through my sweater, right over my heart. “I needed one to replace my fuckboy repellent pin.”

Jigsaw scowls as he helps me fasten the back of the pin. “Why are you replacing it?”

Puzzled, I frown up at him. “I don’t need it anymore.”

He stares at me.

Heat rushes over my cheeks. “I only bought it to express my frustration with you .” I cough and glance away to cover my embarrassment.

“Oh.” He lets out a short huff of laughter. “Yeah, but you still need it to repel other fuckboys.”

I reach up and press my hand to his cheek, smiling sweetly. “Why, when you’re mean-mugging at every man we run into is so much more effective?”

He scrunches his face into a silly version of his get-away-from-my-woman expression. “Excellent point.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” I say, not sure if he deliberately avoided it or didn’t hear me. Jezzie said she wanted to stay at Cain’s place last night, instead of here. “Do you think Jezzie and Cain stayed up all night, catching up?”

He shrugs, the levity in his expressing vanishing.

“Are you upset she wanted to stay with him?”

“Not really. I get it.” He hesitates, his gaze flicking away for a second. “I was more worried she might’ve hurt your feelings. Not wanting to stay here, I mean.”

“Oh!” I step closer and wrap my arms around him.

“You’re so sweet for worrying about that.

But I’m fine. It crossed my mind for a second, yeah—but even if that was the reason, it’s okay.

” I pull back and look up at him. “But honestly? I really think it was more about wanting to spend time with him.”

He nods slowly. “You’re probably right.”

“Well then,” I smile, “are we going to pick them up?”

“I think he wanted to ride his bike there,” Jigsaw says. “But yeah—we’re going to get Jezzie.”

The scent of gasoline, scorched rubber, and fried food hits my nose the moment I step down from Jigsaw’s SUV.

Cain’s bike glides to a stop beside us, sleek and nimble, the neon accents gleaming under the overhead lights.

“That’s looks so much more nimble than his Harley,” I say, nodding at Jigsaw.

Cain unleashes a grin as he climbs off the bike. “That’s ’cause Harleys are sluggish and built for old dudes.” He rests his helmet on the seat and pulls up his baggy pants.

Jigsaw laughs, sharp and amused. “Careful where you speak such blasphemy, kid.”

He loops an arm around my shoulders, dragging me close, his heat searing through my sweater and jeans. “Why you out here startin’ trouble?”

“I didn’t realize I was,” I laugh.

Jezzie pulls Cain toward the track, and we fall in behind them.

Near the bleachers, a tall figure lifts a hand in greeting.

“That’s Rooster.” Jigsaw picks up the pace.

Jezzie stops to give Rooster a quick hug.

“Hey, Jezz.” He pats her back, then turns to Cain.

“Cain, this is my friend Logan,” Jigsaw says. “Everyone calls him Rooster.”

Rooster lifts an eyebrow, like he’s waiting for Jigsaw to tack on something obnoxious.

Cain dips his chin. “Hey, Logan. I remember you.”

“I remember you too. Glad you found your way here.”

Cain’s mouth curves—not a full smile, but close.

“Did Shelby come with you?” Jezzie asks.

Cain’s eyebrows rise. “ He’s the one engaged to Shelby Morgan?”

“Yeah, I told you that,” Jezzie says.

Rooster’s jaw shifts like he’s fighting off a laugh. “Yeah. She’s over by the picnic tables with the girls.” He nods to Cain. “She’s looking forward to meeting you.”

The five of us head toward the track. Rooster drifts closer to Jigsaw, the three of us walking just behind Cain and Jezzie.

“Everything all right?” Rooster asks in a low voice.

“Yeah, I think so.” Jigsaw tilts his head, studying his friend. “You?”

“Not really. Torch brought this guy—Buck? He’s gettin’ sloppy drunk. Mouthy with some of the girls. Pax says if he keeps it up, we’re tossing him.”

Jigsaw squeezes my hand, the pressure a silent order. “Stay with me.”

I nod. “You know if he says something to me, I’ll give him the tongue-lashing of his life, right?”

“Yeah, but he might like that.”

I snort and roll my eyes.

A group’s gathered around one of the food trucks at the edge of the track. Some guys I recognize from the club and a handful of people I’ve never met. One of them saunters toward the picnic tables. He plops down at a table where Heidi, Ella, Shelby, Molly, and some other girls are sitting.

“Looks like a guy-free zone he just crashed without an invite,” I mutter under my breath.

“Noted,” Jigsaw growls beside me, his eyes narrowing as he tracks the guy’s every move.

Griff approaches with his hand out, still sporting the bruised evidence of his recent win. The dark blotches on his cheekbone and jaw make me wince.

Jigsaw grips his hand, pulling him in for a rough hug and clap on the back. “How you feelin’, bro?”

Griff’s whole face lights up. “Sittin’ on top of the world, honestly.”

“Yeah, you are,” Rooster adds, tugging him in for a quick bro-hug.

Then Griff’s gaze lands on me and drops to where Jigsaw’s hand is firmly wrapped around mine. He blinks, mouth parting like he’s trying to recalibrate what he’s seeing. His expression flickers—shock, disbelief, maybe a trace of awkward amusement.

Jigsaw notices the hesitation. His friendly smile flattens fast.

Griff seems to shake it off. “Margot Cedarwood. Yellow Thunderbird.”

“That’s me.” I tip my head in acknowledgment.

His eyes dart back to Jigsaw. “How the hell did you two get together?”

Jigsaw growls low in his throat, the sound warning and dangerous. “What’s that tone implying, son?”

“I’m not implying anything,” Griff says, all swagger and sunshine. “I’m outright asking,” he says with all the confidence of a man who just won his first pro fight after everyone said he didn’t stand a chance.

Jigsaw works his jaw from side to side, probably deciding where to punch Griff first.

I jump in before testosterone starts flying. “We met at a wedding,” I offer, keeping it simple. “I accidentally ate a pot brownie. It knocked me on my butt and Jigsaw was kind enough to watch over me.”

Griff shakes with laughter. “Had to be Teller’s wedding and Sparky’s brownies, right?”

“That’s the one.”

Griff glances at Jigsaw again. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you.”

“You’re about two seconds from getting the last surprise of your young life,” Jigsaw mutters, voice low and flat.

Griff rolls his eyes. “I came over to thank you for having my back in Vegas, but I’m starting to rethink my gratitude.”

Jigsaw’s shoulders lose a fraction of their tension. “You’re welcome.”

Griff reaches out and clasps Jigsaw’s shoulder. “Seriously.” He flicks his gaze to Rooster. “Both of you. Thanks for sticking with Molly while I was busy training. Appreciate it.”

Jigsaw nods. “Not a problem.”

“Griff!” someone shouts.

“Come on. Join the party.” Griff waves and jogs toward the picnic benches.

“Why are you so hostile to him?” I ask after Griff’s out of hearing range.

“Who?” Jigsaw lifts both eyebrows, the picture of mock innocence. “Me?”

“Yes, you.”

He shrugs. “Told you—I’m not a nice guy. Only one I’m nice to is you .”

Rooster bobs his head in agreement. “And Shelby. You’re definitely nicer to her than you are to me.”

“Shut your bearded piehole.” Jigsaw clamps a clawed hand over Rooster’s face.

“Proving my point.” Rooster flings his arm out, knocking Jigsaw’s hand away.

Shaking my head, I slip my hand from Jigsaw’s and march ahead, lifting a hand to wave at Shelby.

Heavy footsteps slap over the asphalt behind me.

Two seconds later, thick arms lock around my waist, hauling me off the ground. I squeal as he spins me in the air.

“Where do you think you’re going, little lady death?” he growls against my ear, voice rough with laughter.

I kick and squirm, laughing too hard to put up much of a fight, even as his iron grip keeps me caged against his chest.

He sets me down and pats my ass, taking my hand again.

Still laughing and only a tiny bit embarrassed everyone saw me shrieking like a nutjob, I follow him into the closed-off patio area.

The table Shelby’s sitting at is full, so I say hi to everyone, then join Jigsaw at the next table. Shelby extracts herself from the picnic bench and slides into the space next to me, slinging her arm around my shoulders. “How are you?”

“Good.”

“Jezzie introduced me to Cain,” Shelby says to Jigsaw in a low voice. “He seems real nice. Kinda shy.”

“I think that’s because you’re famous,” Jigsaw whispers.

“Oh. No.” She frowns as if she’s having trouble making sense of her fame.

“I have officially listened to my first country album,” I say to her. “And loved it.”

She blushes a fierce shade of pink. “Ya don’t like any country music?”

I don’t want to hurt her feelings and tell her what I always thought about country music. “No, but you changed my mind.”

Across from me, Rooster huffs a laugh. “Same. I hated it until I heard her sing.”

“You like Dawson’s music now,” Shelby says.

“Ehhh.” Rooster lifts one hand in the air, wobbling it from side to side. “It’s tolerable if there’s no other options.”

“Logan!” She slaps the table, laughing too hard to sound genuinely offended.

“I won’t say that to him,” Rooster promises.

“I will,” Jigsaw deadpans.

“The heck you will,” Shelby mutters. “I still owe his record label a bunch of songs.”

Remy stops at our table, gives Shelby and me a quick hello, then leans down to murmur something into Jigsaw’s ear.

“Yeah.” Jigsaw nods. “Where?”

“Behind the last food shack.”

Jigsaw jerks his head toward Rooster.

“We’ll be right back,” he promises.

Shelby and I watch them swagger off toward the edge of the track, disappearing behind a row of squat white buildings.

“What do you think they’re up to?” I ask.

“Lord only knows.” She exhales slowly and shrugs. “Probably better not to ask.”