Page 14 of Collect the Pieces

Margot

I never expected to be having this conversation with Jigsaw so soon. After he told me what he did to his father, I knew I’d be able to trust him with my own secrets one day—just not today.

Yet, here we are.

The weight of fear I’d been carrying slowly evaporates, replaced by calm settling over me. I squeeze him tighter, rubbing my face against his shirt.

“You don’t have to give me details about the others,” he says, his words rumbling beneath my cheek. “But were they pedophiles too? How’d you…”

I sigh and pull away, meeting his gaze. He seems more relaxed now, curious even. Not the man who almost bolted from my closet earlier. But what if his calm curiosity morphs into judgment? Will he rescind his acceptance if I say no? Some men don’t think rape is a big deal—certainly not execution-worthy. Although, if he is that kind of man, it’s better I find that out now, isn’t it?

It doesn’t matter. I’m in too deep. I promised to answer his questions, and I will.

“No. One was a professor who raped one of his students.” Pain blunts my tone as memories of other students I spoke to at the funeral return. “We handled her funeral. I prepped her body.”

He drags his hands through his hair and staggers backward, bumping into the counter. “Have theyallbeen connected to you in some way?”

“I didn’t know her before she passed,” I explain.

“That’s not what I mean.” He throws one arm wide, gesturing toward my front door. “They’ve all been connected to the funeral home in some way? That’s risky as hell, Margot. Someone could easily piece that together.”

“Why should they?” I shrug, although I’ve worried about that myself. Many, many times. “We handle most of the funerals in the area. Of course I would’ve come into contact with them.”

“Margot.” He lets out a pained huff of air and takes my hands.

“It’s only four people.” I scoff. “Four vile criminals that the justice system didn’t punish sufficiently, if at all. No one’s going to dig too deeply into their deaths, because secretly everyone’s relieved they’re gone.” I slap my hands together like I’m dusting off remnants of ashes.

“My opinion of law enforcement couldn’t be lower,” he continues in that maddeningly patient tone that suggests he’s about to disagree with me. “But some zealous detective might start sniffing around one day. And a prosecutor eager to make a name for themselves might think putting the ‘cute blonde mortician who secretly murders bad guys’ on trial would make a hell of a story.”

“Wouldn’t it, though?” I widen my eyes, allowing a hint of crazy to slip out. “Can you imagine lil’ ol’ me on the stand, testifying about all the horrible things I’ve witnessed and how it drove me insane?” I twirl a finger around my ear in a chaotic loop. “And my lawyer could argue that I’ve inhaled so many embalming fumes, they must’ve impaired my judgment?”

He stares at me. Shocked I’ve given it so much thought? Rethinking our relationship? Thinking we’re soul mates? I can’t tell.

“When the jury learns about the horrible things those men did to innocent women and children, do you really think they’ll convict me?” I ask, my tone sharpening to force a response from him.

“The system is broken, yeah. Itcouldgo that way.” His serious expression remains. “But a soulless prosecutor couldalso argue you’re a privileged woman who decided to seek vigilante justice against men who’d already done their time.”

“My version’s better,” I counter.

His lips quirk with frustration. “It is.” His expression hardens to stone. “But please join me here in the real world for a minute. Realistically, they’d probably go at you with everything they can. To make an example of you. To stop any other would-be vigilantes from following your path.”

“Jury nullification exists, you know,” I argue, crossing my arms over my chest. “All I’d need is a few mothers on that jury to hear what that monster did to Hoyt, and I think they’d set me free.”

He exhales another long, slow breath. “Or maybe they’d feel self-righteous and want to punish you because you had the strength to do what they couldn’t.”

That’s too scary to dwell on. “They found a mountain of evidence at Gade’s house.Thatwas all over the news. They didn’t talk about his missing eye. Just all the child abuse media that was found and the investigation into where it came from. The assumption was that one of the other victims’ fathers killed him.”

I’d been a little insulted, actually, that they assumed a man killed Gade.

He nods faintly yet his skepticism seems to linger. “Makes sense, but still…”

I need him to understand that these weren’t rash, emotional decisions I made in some hormonal fog. Every choice was well-thought-out and rational.

“Every time, I ask myself,is this one worth me potentially ending up in prison for the rest of my life?So far, the answer has been yes.” I stand taller, my voice growing steadier. “A woman who killed pedophiles, rapists, wife beaters, and baby killers would probably be treated okay in prison.”

He stares at me for the longest time and as the silence stretches, I brace myself for the worst.

Finally, he exhales a long, slow breath. “You might be right about that last part. But I don’t like the risks you’ve taken. Forget going to prison. What if you get hurt while you’rehunting?”

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