Jigsaw (Hell's Handlers MC 3)

He was turning into a creeper.

“It looks bad,” he said. “Sounds worse.”

“You calling me ugly?” she asked with her usual snark, but some of the effect was lost due to the ruined voice.

“Tell me,” he ordered.

For a moment, she looked like she was going to throw her usual sass, but she sighed and let her head fall back on the pillow. “Bruising, tweaked muscles, all surface stuff. No permanent damage. Voice should bounce back in a few days. I’ll scare small children for a bit, but that’s the worst of it.”

It was bullshit, and they both knew it. She’d be sore as fuck once whatever meds they’d given her wore off. But it was clear she didn’t like to show weakness, so he let her think she was pulling one over on him.

“Never should have let you leave without a shadow. This is on me.” Thankfully, she’d closed her eyes so he didn’t have to see any disgust or hatred directed his way.

One eye popped open, and she gestured toward the chair before closing it again. “Guessing you’re planning to stick around for a while. Have a seat. And don’t be stupid.”

He chuckled as she threw his words from the gym back at him. “We got shit going on with the club. Got constant eyes on all the women attached to us. I’m sorry we didn’t take care of you.”

Her pretty face twisted into a scowl that was sexier than it should have been. “First of all, bubba,” she croaked, “I take care of myself. Me. Numero uno. Got it?” When he nodded, she went on, “And I’ve been to one party at the club. How the hell were you guys supposed to know they’d come after me? You can’t watch every woman who’s ever been to the clubhouse. I hear there have been millions.”

She was right, but he’d carry the guilt a little longer. They’d spent a lot of time together over the past two weeks, and the reality of it was she was more to him than a sparring partner.

Or even a piece of ass.

Her eyes narrowed. “I’m serious, Jig. Don’t take this on.”

They held each other’s gazes for a few seconds, the air between them crackling and popping. How she could be bruised and in a hospital gown yet still look sexier than any other woman, he’d never know. But Izzy did. It was just her. The confidence she wore. The comfort in her own body. And what a body it was.

“All right,” he said. A small lie wouldn’t hurt. “No guilt. They gonna let you go tonight?”

“Think so. Just waiting on someone to read the X-ray of my ribs. I don’t think they’re broken, and if they’re not, I’m free to go.”

Free to go, but not alone. No way, no how. He didn’t make the same mistake twice. He’d work her into the protection rotation for the upcoming days. Jig nodded just as the curtain opened and Copper stalked in like he owned the place. Pretty much how he moved through life. “Hey, killer,” he said. “How you feeling?”

Izzy smiled. “Not too terrible. They gave me the good stuff.”

Resting his hand on the footboard, Copper loomed over the bed. “Think you can go over what happened with me? We need to nail these guys as soon as possible to keep the rest of the club safe.”

Izzy had no loyalty to the club. She wasn’t an ol’ lady, wasn’t a Honey, wasn’t even someone who frequented the parties. Jig wouldn’t blame her if she told them to fuck off and leave her the hell out of their problems. But Izzy was a fighter, so he shouldn’t have expected her to back down.

“I was leaving the gym when two guys grabbed me,” she said with a small scoff. “Coulda taken either of those losers one on one, but then there was a third, so I didn’t stand a chance.”

As she filled them in, Jig focused on the words and their impact on his club instead of on what happened to Izzy. He had to or he’d go tearing out of the hospital on a rage-filled murder mission. Listening to her talk about Lefty’s men putting their hands on her was almost more than he could handle. He might be able to keep his ass in the chair, but it didn’t stop him from wanting to permanently end anyone associated with Lefty.

“You recognize any of them? Seen them anywhere before? Any distinguishing marks?” Jig fired one question after another until Izzy held up her hand.

“Geez, Jig. You sound like a cop.” She sighed. “Oh, uh, no and no. Didn’t get that great a look at the two guys holding my arms. The guy who choked me was young. Twenty? Maybe not even that old. Not very bulky. Muddy colored hair. He had quite a few tats as well. Two I recognized as prison tats.”