Page 157 of Collect the Pieces

No need to disclose anything to Ulfric, now.

I flash a brittle smile. “Hi.”

Jigsaw turns to Ulfric and extends his hand.

“Ulfric,” he greets smoothly, his grip firm. The kind of handshake that carries the weight of respect. “Long time.”

Ulfric studies him for a second before clasping his hand. “Jigsaw, right?” His gaze flicks to me.

Is that disappointment on his face?

Annoyance?

My entire body clenches with anxious embarrassment.

“Well, no offense to Ms. Cedarwood,” Ulfric says, his voice rough as weathered stone. “But visiting a funeral home isn’t usually under good circumstances.”

“Sorry to hear about Whisper, brother.” Jigsaw’s smooth tone carries the weight of understanding and respect. “Everyone I know always had a lot of regard for him.”

Ulfric’s shoulders and posture relax a fraction. “Thank you. The Cedarwoods have all the details. I hope you’ll be at the service.”

That sounds more like a command than an invitation.

“You know it,” Jigsaw says. “Wrath wanted me to tell you not to hesitate to reach out if you need anything. We built a new clubhouse down in Empire. Next to Crystal Ball. If you’ve got brothers coming in from out of state who need a place. We have some extra rooms there.”

Ulfric stares at him for a few seconds, then nods. “That’s generous. Appreciate the offer. I’ll keep it in mind.”

I can already picture it. A gathering of bikers drinking whiskey and telling stories about Whisper in the middle of a strip club, half-naked dancers weaving between them while they mourn.

Barely containing my eye roll, I fold my arms over my chest as Ulfric swings a leg over his bike and starts the engine.

As soon as he’s out of sight, I step back, slipping free of Jigsaw’s hold.

“Do you remember when I told you the funeral business was kind of conservative?”

A furrow forms between Jigsaw’s brows. “Yeah.”

My voice sharpens with frosty precision. “Please don’t walk up and stake your claim on me in front of a client like that again.”

He clenches his jaw and stares at me as if he’s debating my seriousness. Annoyed—at himandmyself—I turn and head up the sidewalk. I hate conflict. I see enough of it at work.

“Hey.” Jigsaw’s hand closes around my shoulder, halting my escape. Before I can shake him off, he moves in front of me, cutting off my path.

I glare at the hand still resting on my shoulder and he backs up a step, lifting both in the air. “If I hadn’t known who he was, I wouldn’t have done that. I would’ve assumed it was a client and waited until you were finished.”

A bit of my fighting flame dims, and I relax my shoulders.

One corner of his mouth turns up, but I don’t think he’s amused. More like he’s trying to mask his own annoyance. “You also need to understand, inmyworld a biker standing that close to someone’s ol’ lady is asking for trouble.”

My temper shoots from mild annoyance to outrage. “Well we’re inmyworld and he’s a client of my family’s business.”

He sweeps one hand through the air between us as if he’s the oh-so-reasonable one here. “Did you see me punch his teeth down his throat?”

“Oh, be serious! He’s old enough to be my grandfather.”

“I’m dead serious.” He slides his gaze over me. “You’re a beautiful young woman.”

Ignoring that I press my hands to my hips and glare at him. “I’ve stood closer to some of your brothers, and you didn’t punch any of them.”

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