Page 186 of Scatter the Bones

Rooster slides out next. “I can’t wait to be done with this,” he says against my ear.

“Same, bro.”

Fight night can’t come soon enough.

MARGOT

Am I really going to the clubhouse by myself?

Jigsaw promised tonight was strictly family. Then Lilly called early in the morning to make sure I was coming. She offered a guest room in their cabin on the club’s property so I wouldn’t have to drive all the way home after the fight ends.

Older or not, Jigsaw’s 4Runner handles better than my Thunderbird. Especially up the steep driveway leading to Upstate’s secluded clubhouse.

The parking lot’s full. Big trucks. SUVs. Motorcycles.

Seeing all of them makes me miss Jigsaw even more.

I pull my phone out and send him a quick text.

Me: At the clubhouse.

Sparky greets me as I step down from the truck. A big grin on his placid face. “You made it.”

“I did. I can’t believe I found the place without Jigsaw.”

He holds up a thin, brown paper bag. “Treats for the fights.” His forehead scrunches. “Fights are really bloody. You might want to be high to watch.”

I take the bag and slip it into my purse. “I don’t know if I’m falling for that again.”

Last time I ate one of Sparky’s THC-laced masterpieces I had Jigsaw to protect me while I floated in and out of consciousness at Teller’s wedding.

He nods solemnly. “That one was, uh, nuclear. This? Just a little kick.” He waggles his hand. “Maybe save it for when Jigsaw’s back, just in case.”

I squint at him. “Define ‘little kick.’”

He shrugs, already turning toward the clubhouse.

Laughing to myself, I open the back door and pull out the long Tupperware container of THC-free black and white cookies I made.

The low thump of bass and muffled crowd noise from the big-screen TV hits me first. The clubhouse living room’s been transformed—extra recliners, beanbags, blankets spread out on the floor, all angled toward the massive flat screen on the wall. Snacks and drinks at the bar by the door.

On the screen, two men are circling each other inside a cage. One’s already bleeding, a red river streaming down the side of his face.

“Wait, did I miss it?” My voice comes out more anxious than I intend.

“Oh, Margot!” Hope appears like the fairy godmother of the clubhouse—graceful, composed, and welcoming. A warm smile lights up her face as she hurries over and pulls me into a soft, reassuring hug. “I’m so glad you made it.” She waves a hand at the television. “No, this is one of the early fights. They’re going all day. Griff’s is last.”

“If you want something more mellow, let me know,” Sparky says to me, then wanders over to a nest of blankets piled on the floor with a couple of the other brothers I vaguely recognize. He flops down flat on his stomach like a teenager at a sleepover. His gaze locks on the screen, already half-lost in the action.

Hope throws a fond smile his way and shakes her head, her dark red hair sliding over the shoulder of her cozy purple sweater.

I hold up the container in my hands. “I brought black and white cookies.”

Her green eyes light with genuine interest. “Oooo.” She rubs her hands together. “Thank you. I only got to try one at the bonfire. They were so good.”

She takes the container, nudging aside a few items on the bar to make room. Without hesitation, she plucks a few cookies out, setting them on a napkin.

Warmth shoots through me. Silly as it is, now I’m ridiculously proud I remembered to make them last night. At least I brought something one person will enjoy.

---