Page 119 of Collect the Pieces

“Not a problem.” I bend down and kiss her cheek. “Where will I find your planner? And what does it look like?”

“Um, it’s blue with a clasp. Next to my lounge chair in the living room. You’re sure you don’t mind?”

“Not at all.” I flick my gaze toward Daniel and her father. “You want me to wait a minute?”

“No.” She tilts her head toward the hallway. “I’ll be in the service room. I need to check on the flower arrangements.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back.” Without another glance at her dad or her ex, I jog up the stairs like I know my way around the funeral home and I’m perfectly at ease here.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Jigsaw

LeavingMargot when I know her slimy ex is slithering around the house sends my heart into freefall—like it’s trying to exit my body and get back to Margot.

That dread follows me to the upstate clubhouse.

She’ll be fine. People will be in and out of the house all day for the service. Her dad’s there. Her cousin. Other people who work for Cedarwood.

Except, no one else knows how shitty he treated her. Hell, I don’t evenknow. I’m only guessing based on stuff Margot said. Based on the ways she reacted when we first started our “lessons.”

She won’t be alone with him.

No matter what excuse my brain throws at me, my heart smacks it away.

I should be with her. Protecting her.

As I back my bike into a spot along the fence, Z and Rock step out from the path leading into the woods. Z lifts a hand in greeting and both of them stop a few feet away from me.

Great, just what I need, both presidents in my face. Where the fuck is Rooster when I need him?

I take my sweet-ass time, shutting off the bike, taking off my helmet, placing it just so on my seat, adjusting my cut—anything I can think of to stall. But they stay where they are.

“Prez.” I greet Z first, then force a smirk onto my face. “Prez.” I nod at Rock.

Z narrows his eyes and stares at me. Rock tilts his head ever so slightly.

“Everything okay?” Rock asks.

“Yeah, why?” I frown and jam my hands in my pockets.

“You look all pinched and squinty,” Z says, still staring at me like a target at the end of a rifle scope. “And not in your normal, healthy serial killer way.”

“I don’t even know what to say to that, Prez.”

The buzz of an ATV interrupts our bizarre conversation. Has to be Teller arriving. He’s the only one who uses an ATV to ride through the woods connecting his property to the club’s. I inch toward the front door of the clubhouse, but Rock’s hand shoots out to stop me.

“Stay put,” Z orders.

What’d I do now?

Teller parks next to my bike and joins us. “We meetin’ outside now?”

“No, knucklehead,” Rock grumbles.

Teller punches my shoulder lightly. “What’s up, brother?”

“Nothing.” I lift my chin toward Z. “Prez says I’m not looking serial killer enough today.”

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