Jigsaw (Hell's Handlers MC 3)

Kind of like she did at that moment.

Krista lifted the next page and scrunched up her perfect nose. “Oh, my God.” She giggled. “Look at this thing. It’s gross. What the hell is wrong with you Izz—”

Without putting an ounce of thought into it, Isabella pulled her arm back and rammed her fist into Krista’s nose. Crushing pain like she’d never experienced shot through her knuckles all the way up to her elbow. But it was a good pain. A satisfying pain. A powerful, life-changing pain. And the feeling only intensified when she looked up and saw blood gushing from Krista’s mangled purple nose. Eyes wide and horrified, Krista shrieked and started balling. “You crazy fucking bitch,” she screamed in a nasal voice, then started spitting and gagging as her mouth filled with blood.

Paula and the other girl looked as horrified as Krista and started backing away. So much for the bonds of friendship.

That’s right, bitches.

Izzy stared down at her aching hand as she flexed and extended her fingers. She glanced back up at the popular crew and smirked.

Never again.

Never again would she be bullied.

Never again would someone take something from her.

Never again would someone leave her alone and lonely.

Never again would she allow her heart to break.

She’d become strong both physically and mentally.

She’d harden her heart and learn to fight because it felt damn good to be the one on top. To be the one inflicting the pain instead of receiving it.

JIGSAW JUNE, 2012

Lincoln Miller couldn’t keep the grin off his face as he navigated the packed street in front of his townhouse, searching for an empty parking spot. It seemed like he’d been a student his entire life and, well, he pretty much had. Twenty-six years old and he’d been enrolled in school in some form since he’d been four. Well beyond the majority of his years.

But it was finished. Over. Tomorrow he’d officially be dubbed Dr. Lincoln Miller. His internship would morph into an actual job title, pay would increase from crumbs to a healthy slice of the pie, and he’d finally be able to move his family off the busy street full of college partiers.

But the best part of the entire experience would be watching his wife’s face as he received that Ph.D. diploma. As she did for his bachelor’s degree, she’d beam with pride and love for him. Heck, he should probably hand the certificate straight to her because without her support, encouragement and, above all, patience, he’d be nothing more than a brainy peach farmer following in his father’s footsteps back in Georgia. Not that he harbored any ill will for the farming industry and his family’s legacy; it just wasn’t what he envisioned for himself.

At seventeen, he’d been so head over heels for his high school sweetheart, Callie, he hadn’t wanted to leave her or Georgia. He’d convinced himself peach farming was the way to go despite dreams of an academic future. But when the letter arrived from the University of Alabama alerting Linc to his acceptance in the physics program, Callie encouraged him to attend in that soft and gentle way she’d had. Two years later, she’d transferred from Georgia Tech to Alabama herself, and they married at the young age of twenty.

Too young according to their families, but six years and one daughter later, they couldn’t be happier or more smitten with each other.

They showed everyone that young love was real and could last.

He was still as devoted to that woman today as he was the day he married her. Probably more so. No other woman had even turned his head. Why would they? Callie appealed to him on every single level: physically, mentally, emotionally. Tender and small, he’d always felt like a man in her presence. Callie needed him to provide for her, protect her, care for her. Not in a money-grubbing way—certainly not with the pennies he made—but in a loving way a wife needs her husband. And he needed her particular brand of sweetness just as much. They were a perfect match.

Finally, he found a tight spot and maneuvered his ten-year-old Corolla between two parked cars with the skill of someone who parallel parked on the daily. Grabbing the bottle of wine and dozen roses he’d picked up on his way home from work, he started the trip along the cracked sidewalk to his humble home.

Sure, he was the one who’d earned the Ph.D., but his wife went crazy for roses, and he pretty much used any excuse to buy her some. The clock read five after eight, which meant Mary, their two-year-old, would be well on her way to dreamland. They could crack open the wine and celebrate his accomplishment in his favorite way.

Naked.

Excitement surged, and his cock hardened just at the thought of what lie ahead of him. Callie was the sweetest woman he’d ever met. A true southern bell. Born well-to-do in the south, she’d been a debutant at fifteen, and he’d met her at her ball. One look at her shining blue eyes, platinum hair piled high on her head, and the sparkly pink dress that made her look like a feminine present, and he was gone, never to glance at another girl again.