Page 16 of Collect the Pieces

“Yeah.” Upset isn’t how I’d describe her. Despondent and lifeless would be more accurate.

She explains the vicious beating that ended her client’s pregnancy only a few weeks before the baby was due.

Acid rolls through my stomach. An ex-brother did something similar to Serena—a club girl at the time. Only none of us knew the full extent of what that piece of shit put her through untilwell after we’d buried him for other offenses against the club. Before we put him down, I learned about the horrible shit he’d done to his wife, andthathad been heavy on my mind when we took the vote to strip his patch and put him in the ground. It stillhauntsme that we shared a patch with Shadow and none of us knew what a monster he really was.

“When I found out this was thesecondtime she’d lost a baby because of him…” Margot shrugs. “That’s when I knew he had to go.”

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, my voice full of raw frustration. “I wish you’d told me. I would’ve helped you…or something.”

“It was a delicate situation.” She runs her gaze over me, her lips tugging into a half smile. “You don’t blend in well. You’re very…recognizable.”

“What are you talking about?” I run my hands over my hair, probably forcing it to stick up in every direction. “I’m a tall, blond-ish white dude. There’re hundreds of guys walking around that look like me.”

“No.” She reaches up, curling her fingers around my wrist and tugging my hand away from my hair. “You’re quite striking and memorable.”

That warm, shivery sensation I only get when Margot’s hands are on me tingles along my spine. “You’re only saying that ’cause you kinda like me,” I tease.

“I more than like you.” She peers up at me with shiny eyes. “I don’t want…I don’t want to lose you,” she finishes in a whisper.

The vulnerability in her voice and expression cracks me wide open. “I’m not going anywhere.”

How could I ever leave her now? Margot’s already my dream woman. That she dabbles in a little murder now and then? Just icing on the Margot cake.

CHAPTER SIX

Jigsaw

The stillness wakesme the next morning. I’m not used to waking up in a place this quiet. No rumble of bikes. No background noise of brothers shouting or girls moaning. No strumming of Shelby’s guitar somewhere in the background.

Just silence, broken by the occasional creak of the old house, the soft hum of the refrigerator, or birds chirping outside the window.

It’s…peaceful.

How can I feel peace after everything she confessed last night?

Margot sleeps curled up on her side, her face turned toward me, her breathing soft and even. She looks so small, so damn fragile, it’s hard to reconcile this woman with the one who calmly admitted to planning and executing four murders.

Not that I have room to judge.

If anything, I’m impressed.

I’ve seen darkness before. Hell, I’ve lived it. But Margot’s is different. Her darkness isn’t a choice. It’s a calling. A fight against the horrors in her small corner of the world.

I watch her for a long moment, trying to untangle what I’m feeling. Protective, sure. Drawn to her more than ever, yup. But there’s something else. Something I can’t quite name.

Awe.Knocked-on-my-ass kind of awe.

My brothers have sent plenty of fuckers to the demon’s dinner table. Hell, we eliminated half of the South of Satan MC a few months ago. Before that, we offed a few of their associates and a college kid who went after Murphy’s ol’ lady. With the help of our Virginia brothers, Rooster and I rescued Shelby when she’d been kidnapped by one of her crazy stalkers. Rooster let me go at the guy’s fingers with the garden shears, but we had to turn him over to the cops, so I couldn’t kill him like I wanted. None of that violence was done on a whim. We were reacting to the situations we found ourselves in.

Margot, though. Shechoosesher “projects” carefully. Her targets don’t even know they’re on her radar. They never see it coming. My own tiny, curvy blonde angel of vengeance.

She stirs, her fingers curling into the pillowcase.

I should stop staring at her like a goofy fanboy and let her rest.

The door creaks and cool air drifts over my shoulder. I turn my head toward the widening bedroom door. Gretel pokes her nose inside, then pushes it open wider and stalks across the room. Ah, here comes the black, fuzzy alarm clock.

This morning, she’s quiet, though. No warble to announce her arrival. She gracefully leaps onto the bed, landing light as a feather.

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