Page 44 of Collect the Pieces

Margot uncaps the bottle of Coke in my cupholder and hands it to me. I take a long swig and hand it back to her. “Thanks.”

I hit a jagged piece of road and from the corner of my eye, catch Margot bracing herself against the door.

Shit.

My sour mood about the truck roars back to life.For fuck’s sake, she’s going to think the only kinds of vehicles I like are death traps. “Sorry.” I tighten my grip on the wheel. “The suspension is kinda stiff. Gonna be even bumpier when we reach the clubhouse.”

“I’m fine.” She bounces once in the seat, testing it like it’s an office chair she plans to bring home. “Don’t forget, I’m used to my tiny classic car. It’ll rattle your teeth on rough roads sometimes.” She leans forward, staring straight ahead. “Besides, I really like how high up this sits. I don’t feel like a bug some monster truck could drive right over.”

She’s just being nice, but her words take the edge off of my frustration.

After that our conversation dwindles down to not much. It’s not the usual comfortable silence we’re able to share. It leaves me tense and itchy. I glance over at Margot a few times. Her hands are clenched tight in her lap and she’s staring out the window with a grim expression.

“You all right?” I ask, reaching over and resting my hand over hers.

She slowly unclenches her fists.

“Margot, what’s wrong?” I try again.

“Are you sure you want to take me to your club?”

Why is she asking me that now?

“Uh, yeah.” I wave one hand toward the windshield. “We’re literally halfway there. Why would you even ask? I thought you were excited?”

“I mean, now that you know what I am…about myside hobby.” She draws out the words for emphasis, as if I can’t figure out her meaning.

If only she could understand how well she’ll fit in. “What you are is a deeply compassionate person with a strong stomach and even stronger sense of justice. You’ll be right at home.”

“Can I ask you something?”

Anyone else posing that question would clang my danger alarm. Not Margot. “Anything.”

She hesitates for a few beats as if she’s rethinking her question. “The night your club came to—borrow the facilities—who went into the retort? Were they random club enemies or was it more…personal?”

We’re already inthatcrime together, so I don’t hesitate. “Both. But what sealed their fate that night was that they kidnapped Charlotte’s brother and chopped off his toe.”

“Holy hell. Really?”

“Yup. Sent it to Charlotte in a fucking box.”

“Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he’s a tough little dude. But I’ve overheard Charlotte say it was bothering him for a while, he just didn’t want anyone to know.”

“That’s awful.” She’s silent again. Probably debating if the loss of a pinky toe was worth killing over.

“They were also holding a girl, June, hostage and did some pretty heinous stuff to her.” I glance down and frown, brushing my hand over my side. “They stabbed Rooster…”

“Wow.” She blows out a breath. “I read about motorcycle clubs and how a lot of disputes stem from petty beefs over territory or perceived insults. But that’s a lot more than riding through town wearing your colors and not calling ahead.”

Pleased she remembered that bit of protocol, I nod. “That’s an interesting way to put it. You’re right. Some clubs aren’t very level-headed and beef over dumb shit.” I consider my words more carefully. I want Margot to feel comfortable in my world, not live in fear that we try to murder each other. But I also want to be honest with her. “My first charter could be that way sometimes. It’s gotten them into trouble more than once over the years.”

“Is that the reason you and Rooster left?” she asks. “Bad decision making?”

I nod once, then let out a dark laugh. “That, and the old president wanted to pump him full of lead for dating his daughter.”

“You’re kidding.”

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