Jigsaw (Hell's Handlers MC 3)

“Um, excuse me,” a timid voice cut through their very public screaming match.

Both she and Jig whipped their heads around and stared at a slim man in a blue vest with a name tag that read Horace.

“We’ve had some complaints. I’m going to have to ask you to take this outside. I’d hate to have to call the cops.”

Izzy threw up a hand. “Not necessary. I’m leaving.” She tromped down the aisle then turned when she was halfway to the end. “Hope it was good for you because you’re sure as fuck not getting inside me again.”

Boom. Mic drop.

Izzy left a fuming Jig standing in the lumber aisle. She ignored the curious gawks and whispers from the other patrons as she practically ran to her car. Once inside, she cranked the ignition and pulled out of the lot, flipping off LJ as she passed.

Never had a man brought that kind of unfiltered reaction from her. The urge to strangle Jig had her fingers clenching the steering wheel, as she imagined it was his neck. House vandalized, a man making demands of her, her own jumbled feelings about that man, it was too much for one day. Shit, she needed a fight to deal with all this emotional garbage and didn’t have anything on the horizon.

Going straight home was out of the question. If she saw the state of her house in the mood she was in, she was bound to lose the last threads of her sanity.

For the next forty-five minutes, Izzy drove the mountain roads of the Great Smokies. With each curve of the winding roads, her anger ebbed and faded until she was well and truly mortified by her behavior in the store.

Jig was right. She was a stubborn fool. Thing of it was, she had no idea how to ask for help. How to lean on people. How was she supposed to know who to trust? What if she put her faith in Jig and his brothers, only to have that ripped from her in a crushing disappointment?

Been there, done that. The T-shirt wasn’t worth it.

With the loss of anger and adrenaline came profound fatigue. As she rolled to a stop at a red light, Izzy banged her forehead on the steering wheel. The energy to fix up her house was long gone, and now she wished she’d had someone help her with it. Looked like she’d be crashing in a motel for the night.

A steady rumble pulled up next to her. LJ was crazy for still riding his bike in this cooler—actually, it was downright cold—weather. A bit of guilt topped off her embarrassment. Here she’d been leading the poor guy on a wild goose chase through the mountains when he had to be freezing his ass off. He flipped up his face shield and raised an eyebrow.

She nodded. Yes. She was going home to grab some stuff, then she’d hit a motel.

As she pulled into her driveway for the second time that day, she received the second shock of the day. At least six guys milled about, hammering wood over her windows, sweeping up glass, and tossing trash in the back of a pick-up.

After killing the engine, she swallowed a golf ball-sized lump in her throat. Never had anyone done something like this for her. No one had ever jumped in and taken care of a problem without a word from her. And to do it after she’d been such a bitch?

That just didn’t happen.

She owed Jig one hell of an apology.

LJ opened her door and bent to eye level. “You pull your head out of your ass? You ready to give in yet?” he asked.

“Give in to what?” She kept her gaze on the house, scanning for Jig.

“To the fact that you’re one of us, woman.” He rapped his knuckles on her roof then winked and wandered off to help his brothers.

One of them. A terrifying thought. For the past thirteen years, Izzy had closed herself off to any relationships deeper than acquaintances. Even then, she’d been burned a time or two. At this point, she wasn’t sure she possessed the ability to let people below the surface.

But she had to try, at least a little bit, because the fact was they were here, going out of their way to help her. Anything else would make her an ungrateful shrew. And maybe she could work on letting Jig in a little more, too. Not deep enough to pierce her heart, that would be a suicide mission, but she’d shared some with him the other night and hadn’t died from it. Maybe she could do it again.

Her gaze caught him as he emerged from the house. She followed his movement down the three steps of her porch and onto her lawn where he crunched over a layer of glass. He said something to one of his brothers then made his way straight to her.