Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 121578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
“I don’t have to tag along to dinner with you two,” he protests.
“Bro, I’ve literally third-wheeled it with you and Shelby multiple times. Across the country.” I spin my finger in the air like a bus wheel. “Shared tight quarters in the RV.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“You can at least have dinner with us.” I pull my sad puppy face and lower my voice again. “Then I’ll ride home with you.”
“Why?” He frowns. “I figured you’d be staying here.”
“Don’t want you riding home alone.”
He stares at me, a completely puzzled expression twisting his big, bearded mug. “You know I’m a grown-ass man who rides by myself all the time, right?”
“Yeah, but it’s late. You’re not used to these roads the way I am.”
“You mean the giant highway that runs from here right through Empire and downstate? What are you worried about? This is all our territory now. There’s no issue flying colors here at night or any other time.” He grabs a cookie and chomps it in half.
Crumbs fly off his fingers as he munches on the cookie. I pick up a napkin and hand it to him.
“You seem awfully cozy here,” Rooster says in a low voice, making it hard to figure out if he’s pleased or concerned by his observation.
Gretel leaps onto the end of Margot’s chaise lounge and meows loudly.
“Sorry, are we ignoring you, girl?” I walk over and rub my knuckles over the top of her head. She purrs louder and leans into the petting.
“Ahh, is this where you snapped the picture of Wrath’s book?” Rooster asks, moving closer to Margot’s bookshelf.
“It’s not Wrath’s book.” I scoff. “It’s a book his chin to navel happens to be on the cover of.”
“Whatever.” His lips quirk. “Did you tell Margot?”
“No, I’m waiting to see if she puts it together.”
“Puts what together?” Margot reappears, wearing purple jeans and a bright black, purple, and pink sweater that hangs off one shoulder. Her long hair now flows loose and freely over her shoulders.
“I was saying, you have a really nice place here.” Rooster quickly changes the subject.
“You didn’t think I lived downstairs with our clients, did you?” Margot teases.
Rooster’s lips twitch into a guilty smile. “Not exactly. As we were coming up all those steps, it brought Cinderella in the attic to mind.”
I chuckle because I’d had a similar thought once upon a time.
Thankfully, Margot isn’t insulted. She beams at Rooster.
Gretel chirps with impatience and thumps her front paws against Rooster’s leg. He jerks back, then smiles down at her and gently scratches behind her ears.
“Gosh, I had no idea she was such a little hussy,” Margot laughs, wrapping her arms around me. “She’s hidden from every other person who’s been in my apartment besides Jigsaw.”
Gretel hops off the chair and rubs herself against Margot’s leg, then throws herself on the floor and rolls onto her back, showing off her tummy. Margot squats down to pet Gretel for a few seconds. Then Gretel springs up and hurries into the kitchen, stopping to turn her head as if she’s checking to see if Margot’s picking up the hint or not.
“Oh, someone’s hungry. Give me a minute.” Margot returns to the hallway and Gretel races after her.
“She has like a theater room and kitty city down there.” I point in the direction where Margot just disappeared.
He nods once. “You want to go to Remy’s place for dinner? Kill two birds and all that?”
“Yeah, that’s fine.”
“I’ll head home from there.” His lips curl into a smirk. “Then you don’t have to worry about me riding so far alone, Dad,” he finishes with a sarcastic head bob.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Margot
The morning after dinner out with Jigsaw and Rooster, I’m barely awake when I sense someone staring at me. By the feel of his body and the sound of his breathing, I know it’s Jigsaw.
“What’s wrong?” I whisper.
“Nothing.” The weight in his voice strips away the last bit of sleep clinging to me. I roll to my side to face him.
His gaze is heavy, his features carved from stone—no teasing smirk, no playful glint in his eyes. Just quiet intensity that tightens the space between us.
“Why aren’t you sleeping?” I ask.
He reaches over and brushes hair off my forehead. “You’re my very own Sleeping Beauty.”
“So, why didn’t you kiss me awake?”
“You seemed peaceful.”
I shift closer to him, my leg brushing against his. “That’s because you’re here. Why can’t you sleep?”
A flash of pain creases his forehead but he doesn’t answer. Just keeps his steady gaze on me.
I brush my fingers over the sheet draped over his hip. “Is there something I can do to help you sleep?”
Instead of answering, he captures my hand and presses it to his chest, halting my exploration.
Okay, so he’s not up for early morning sex. What has him so tense?
“What is it?”
“Can I ask you something?”