Page 183 of Scatter the Bones

“I will.” We talk for a few more minutes, then hang up.

I sit there and stare at the screen.

I roll my shoulders, crack my neck, and grab a bottle of water from the stocked fridge.

The ache in my chest won’t go away.

Probably won’t until the next time Margot’s in my arms.

A few nights later,I’m missing home more than ever. This isn’t my kind of city. Too loud, too bright, too many annoying fucking people.

I miss Margot, my club, my bike, the open roads and trees of upstate New York—hell, I even miss Gretel.

The guy Griff is fighting, Mike “Magic” Everson, is every bit the asshole I expected. Every presser he’s made nasty, out of line comments to Griff, trying to get him to throw some punches. Griff’s handled it like a pro. I’m starting to think the club bettin’ so much money on him to win was smart.

At least scaring the shit out of “Magic” and his annoying entourage after the press conferences has been entertaining. For me, anyway.

I told Margot I’d be careful, not that I wouldn’t have a little fun while I’m here.

But it doesn’t fix the pit in my chest that’s been growing since the second I stepped off that plane.

Every slinky, half-naked girl with a fake smile and dead eyes reminds me how far from home I am. How far from her I am.

Margot.

My little lady death.

Tonight, I’m at a diner with most of our crew. Jammed into a booth with everyone. Shelby got wedged between Rooster and me. Griff, Molly, and Remy are packed in tight on the other side.

Under the table, I slide my phone out of my pocket and fire off a quick text.

Me: You up?

It’s almost ten here, but back home it’s later. Doesn’t stop her from texting back three seconds later.

Little Lady Death: On call. You okay?

Fuck.I love that she always asks me that first. Notwhat are you doing, orwhere are you. She hasn’t cracked anywhat stays in Vegas jokes. She trusts me completely.

Me: Miss you.

The dots appear immediately.

Little Lady Death:Miss you too.

Little Lady Death: Where are you?

Me: Out with the whole crew.

Shelby nudges me and peers over my shoulder. “Are you texting Margot?”

“Who else, songbird?”

She holds her phone out and snaps a quick photo of Rooster, herself, and me. She flashes the screen my way.

Jesus, I really do look like a serial killer.

“Would it kill ya to smile?” she teases.

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