Page 160 of Scatter the Bones

A tired smile curves his lips. “Exactly.” He touches his finger to his temple and then mine. “I love the way you just get me.”

“Oh, I get you.”

He nods slowly, almost like he’s not quite paying attention.

The door nudges open and Murphy pokes his head in. “Jiggy, you wanna…?”

He shakes his head quickly. “I’m fine.”

Wrath shoulders Murphy out of his way, pushing the door open wider. “Is this ready, Margot?”

“It should be soon.” I turn away and walk over to check out the controls.

From the corner of my eye, something rust-colored sticks out.

I freeze. Roll my shoulder forward to peer down at my arm.

A sticky red smear on my biceps. “What the…?”

“Oh shit, Margot. Sorry.” Jigsaw limps to my side.

He reaches for me, brushing at the flecks of dried blood on my arm with the back of his gloved hand—already dark with a reddish sheen.

My gaze drops to his jeans.

A dark circle blooms around his upper thigh. Black fabric, a torn T-shirt maybe, wrapped around his thigh, tied tight. Also dark and damp looking.

“Jensen! Oh my God.” My voice comes out sharp, too loud, too full of panic. “You’re bleeding?”

He grits his teeth and lies, “I’m fine.”

My stomach drops. I sway on my feet, but I don’t look away.

He’s not fine. He’s bleeding!

“I’m fine.” Jigsaw’s voice is slow and calm. “We’ll be done soon, and I’ll get cleaned up.”

“How? Who?” I stammer.

He cocks his head toward the door. “Fucker had a knife stashed in his boot. Stabbed me.” His lips twist in a wry laugh. “Lucky my reflexes are so good, he was aiming for my throat.”

Everything narrows. My breath comes fast. A high-pitched whine buzzing in my ears.

“Margot?” Jigsaw sounds a thousand miles away. “I’m okay.”

Murphy pops his head in again. “I don’t think we’re gettin’ anything else out of him.” His gaze shifts between Jigsaw and me. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Jigsaw shakes his head and gestures toward his leg.

Wrath elbows Murphy out of his way and kicks the door open wide. A second later, he drags their prisoner inside—the man’s bloody fingers clawing at Wrath’s arm around his neck.

Jigsaw’s blood.

White-hot, stomach-knotting, heartbeat-screaming rage explodes through me.

“How’re we doing this?” Murphy asks. “We can’t just toss him in.”

“I’ll help you there.” I dig the scalpel out of my pocket and quickly cross the small space.

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