Chapter 24

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Margot

Teller said he'd be here in two hours. Two hours to fret over whether or not I'm going to see Jigsaw.

Just in case he is one of the bikers who shows up, I run upstairs and add another pin to my sweater. To anyone else, they'll either seem odd or won't even be noticed.

But Jigsaw will notice and get the message.

The deafening roar of more than one motorcycle riding through the neighborhood twists my stomach in knots. It's a rare sound in our area. Most likely the Lost Kings are here.

I hurry downstairs, my hand gripping the banister the whole way. The fluttering in my stomach won't stop. The rumbling engines seem to cease at the front of the house. Good. That must mean it's not Jigsaw. He always parks in the back.

But when I finally reach the first floor, voices and footsteps over the back porch indicate we have company.

I swing the door open before either of them knocks or rings the bell.

The tall, older biker, Dex I think is his name, has his hand poised to ring the doorbell. His jaw drops for a second, then he smiles.

Jigsaw's leaner frame peeks out from behind Dex's bulkier one. His heated gaze travels over me so fast, my skin tingles.

I force the warmest, fakest smile possible and hold the screen door open wider. "Afternoon, gentlemen. Thank you so much for coming over."

Dex sweeps his gaze over me, not in a gross way, like most men, just observing. His eyes land on my pins. The corner of his mouth curls up and he snorts.

Our eyes meet and I wink at him. Looks like Jigsaw isn't the only man who gets my sense of humor.

"Come in." I wave them over the threshold, although I'd really rather slam the door in Jigsaw's face.

He stares at the pins and frowns. Ha! Good.

I spin away from them, leading them down the long hallway to our left and the door to our storage and initial prep room downstairs.

Damn, I'm being rude. They did ride a long way to do a pretty basic chore for my family and arrived in under two hours. I shouldn't let Jigsaw's behavior get under my skin.

This is what he meant by our involvement leading to trouble, isn't it?

I face Dex and give him a more sincere smile.

"Thank you so much for coming all the way out here. I know it's a long ride for you both."

"Not a problem, darlin'," Jigsaw drawls in the most obnoxious way possible and slaps his hand on Dex's shoulder.

Dex flicks an irritated glare at his brother.

"Margot, you remember my brother, Dex, right?"

Two can play the obnoxious game.

"Oh yes . Dex," I coo, drawing his name out in a way that I hope sounds seductive but probably comes out a bit unhinged. "Of course. I'd never forget such a handsome face with such excellent bone structure." I reach up and cup his bristly chin. "Just excellent."

Dex stares at me like I've lost my mind. Maybe I have.

"Yeah." Jigsaw nudges Dex with his elbow. "My brother's very vain. He's had a lot of plastic surgery and Botox."

Oh my God. Is he really that jealous of some harmless flirting? He's the one who's ghosted me .

"I can tell that's not true. Don't be jealous." I reach up and pat his cheek like he's nothing more than an annoyance. "Your bone structure is lovely too."

Dex has had enough of our back and forth. "Lovely." He snorts. "Clearly you haven't spent a lot of time with him."

Not lately.

Jigsaw

Punishment has never been my kink. Taking Margot's verbal barbs, though, is kinda fucking hot. She's pissed. As she should be. But she's still polite for Dex's sake. I think if I'd come alone, she would've slammed the door in my face.

My greedy gaze sucks her in. She's so fucking perfect. She's even wearing some of her cute little pins today.

One looks like a bottle of glass cleaner? That's odd.

I squint at it, trying to read the tiny print. Fuckboi repellent.

The fuck?

She trots down the stairs ahead of us. I grab Dex to stop him.

"What's wrong?" Dex asks.

"Did one of those pins on her collar say fuckboy repellent ?" I whisper.

His lips twist into a smirk. "Yeah, she must've worn it just for you."

How dare she. I told her from the beginning I didn't do relationships. What exactly did she think that meant? "I'm not a fuckboy."

Dex scowls like he can't believe we're having this conversation. "You're the literal definition of a fuckboy." He shoves me through the doorway.

"Nooo," I protest, loud enough for Margot to hear me. "A fuckboy is self-absorbed and even though he has lots of sex, he's bad at it. And, this part's important, he also fucks with a woman's emotions." I start down the stairs but glance over my shoulder to make sure Dex is listening. "I'm sensitive to a woman's needs, stellar in bed, and always honest about my intentions…to never see them again."

I jump off the last step, startling Margot who's waiting for us with an irritated expression wrinkling her pretty face.

She glares at me.

I glare right back.

Fuckboy, huh? I shift my gaze to the pin again. Actually, it reads Fuckboi repellent , which is even worse. It's offensive to me and the English language.

I resent the fuck out of this little inside joke. And I have no doubt she wore it for my benefit. She's way too professional to wear that at work for funsies.

Dex groans. "With the amount of brainpower you've spent on this, you could've ended world hunger, Father Fuckboy."

"Your dissertation on fuckboys was enlightening." She taps the pin on her collar and gives us a smug chin lift, like she's accomplished her mission. "I'm pleased one of my pins sparked such a fascinating discussion."

I bet you are.

I glance at the other pin. All men are cremated equal. Which is probably her way of saying she'd like to toss me in the retort and roast me alive.

"Come on." She waves her hand over her shoulder and marches forward. Lights blink on as we walk through the cavernous storage area. Just how big is this fucking house?

"Back here," she calls out.

We find her standing next to a huge black-and-silver casket.

"Now, that's a biker's casket." I nod at the big, fancy tomb. "If I didn't want to be cremated and tossed in the ocean, I'd want my carcass to spend eternity in something like this ," I joke.

Margot suddenly looks like she's going to cry. "Don't say that."

I'm sorry.

I really wish Dex wasn't here.

"Anyway." Her back-to-business tone buries the awkward moment. "Would you mind moving this upstairs for me?"

She leads us to the freight elevator. How the fuck does this house have a fucking freight elevator in it? My stomach churns. I hate elevators. Especially ancient rickety ones in creepy, surprisingly large, old houses.

She rolls over a trolley for us to set the casket on.

Dex lifts his chin at me, indicating he wants me to pick a side.

"Yeah, I got this end." The casket has big silver handles on it, and even though it seems abnormally large, it's easier to lift than I expected. "Why is this so big?"

"It's an over-sized one for our larger customers," Margot explains like a perfect salesperson. "They're becoming more and more popular."

Oversized caskets? Seriously? "They make special caskets for big bastards?" I blurt.

"Please don't speak like that," Margot scolds. "We treat all of our customers with dignity and respect."

Fuck. I know how damn serious she takes all of this. "Sorry," I mumble. For so many things. "Just took me by surprise."

We ease the trolley and the casket into the elevator which is bigger than it looks but still a steel death-box as far as I'm concerned. It's not even well lit. Dex ends up pressed against the back wall. Better him than me.

Reluctantly, I step over the threshold. My hip bumps into the edge of the casket and I wince. Then a worse thought occurs to me than being trapped in an elevator.

Bring trapped in an elevator with a dead body.

The doors slowly slide closed. "Wait." I slap my hand against the door, holding it in place. "There isn't a body in here, right?" I point to the casket.

The smile Margot gives me is downright evil. "Maybe, maybe not."

The door slides shut, almost snapping my arm in half.

This is my worst nightmare.

Margot

The stark-naked fear on Jigsaw's face when the elevator doors close sends guilt arrowing straight through my heart. I shouldn't have teased him about the casket having a body in it. That was rude and unprofessional.

Maybe he's claustrophobic? Lord knows, I've had a couple of experiences with that elevator, including getting stuck in it when I was a kid. To this day, I use it as little as possible.

I pull the door next to the elevator open and jog up the narrow stairway. The elevator isn't soundproof, so bits of Dex and Jigsaw's conversation follow me up the stairs.

"Bro, if I tell you something, you promise not to laugh?" Jigsaw's strained voice sounds like it's coming from inside a tin can.

"I'll do my best." Dex's tired annoyance comes through his voice.

"And if you bring it up once we're outside this box, I'll fuckin' punch you," Jigsaw warns. So low I barely make out the words, he adds, "This is my absolute worst nightmare."

How could I do this to him?

It would've taken me five seconds to reassure him it was a brand-new, empty casket.

Dex seems to calm him with some deep-breathing exercises. That doesn't alleviate my guilt, though.

I'm standing in front of the elevator doors when they finally open. "We're going that way," I say a bit more professionally.

I lead them to the showroom that's full of other caskets and urns. Jigsaw casts a look around and shivers.

He's probably thinking he dodged a bullet by shaking me loose now. I just wish he'd told me he didn't want to see me anymore. Ended things cleanly. At least that would've made this situation a lot less awkward.

"What do you do for fun, Margot?" Jigsaw asks.

None of your business . I'm not his problem anymore. "Go to bars, pick up strange men, and bring them here for sex." I wave my hand toward a white casket with pink lining. "The lucky ones get to go home when I'm done with them."

Count your lucky stars, fucker.

I spin on my heel and walk out of the room. The guys follow me to the front of the house. I open the door wide, indicating I'm not in the mood for chitchat.

Manners. "Oh! I need to pay you something. I'm so sorry." I should've stopped by my father's office to grab some cash instead of letting Jigsaw's presence work me into a snit.

"We're not taking money from you." Dex holds up his hands.

"But it was a long drive."

"Ride," Jigsaw corrects. "And we're good. Thanks for the offer, though."

I open my mouth to protest but they slip past me. Jigsaw slows his steps, his arm brushing against my side. He gives me a look that's full of longing or sorrow, I can't tell.

Or maybe it's just my wishful thinking.

I quietly close the door. For reasons that have nothing to do with being professional, I can't bring myself to slam it in his handsome face.