Jigsaw (Hell's Handlers MC 3)

When he disappeared into the restaurant, she dug out her phone. Time to call in the steel cavalry.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“OF COURSE, IT’S fucking pouring,” Jig grumbled as he sprinted from the clubhouse to Zach’s idling truck. Cold rain, sharp as shards of ice, bounced off his leather jacket and bombarded his face in a shower of stabbing pricks.

When he reached the truck, he yanked the door handle, only to find it locked.

What the…?

With a scowl, he peered through the dripping truck window into the cab of the truck and at Zach’s shit-eating grin.

Asshole.

Pounding his fist on the window, he yelled, “Open it the fuck up, shithead. It’s colder than a witch’s tit out here, and I’m fucking soaked.”

Zach glanced over his shoulder to the back seat where Rocket was laughing like a loon. His brothers were a bunch of sadistic cockwaffles.

“What?” Zach lifted his hands and shook his head. “I can’t hear you,” he mouthed.

“Open. The. Fucking. Door.” Jig gripped the handle and pulled with all his strength as though he could just rip the damn thing off the hinge. But what’d he’d apparently missed was Zach unlocking the door, which now flew open, sending Jig stumbling back, nearly to his ass.

Both Zach and Rocket were so hysterical they could barely speak.

“Can we go please?” Jig reached out and cranked Zach’s heat. The other two could sweat their nuts off for all he cared.

“Oooh,” Zach said as he tried to calm his hilarity. “That was fucking good. Hey! Don’t drip all over my new leather interior. If I gotta ride in a cage, I want it to at least be in good condition.”

Jig finally smiled. “Should have thought of that shit before you locked me out in the rain, asshole. Let’s get moving. Copper will skin us alive if we don’t follow up on this lead.” Rocket had gotten some intel on where Lefty was hiding out. Today’s mission was to scout it out, see if there was a chance the info was good. Possibly a long-shot, but worth the trouble if it got them what they needed.

As Zach pulled out onto the road, Rocket leaned forward over the center console. “You know,” he said, facing Jig. “Two months ago, we couldn’t have pulled that shit on you.”

Jig’s eyebrows drew down. “What do you mean?”

“You were such a grumpy motherfucker that it wouldn’t have been any fun. You’d have just walked away or some shit. You’re actually not a dipshit now. What the fuck’s going on with you?”

With a laugh, Zach steered onto the highway. “Pussy, brother. Our man Jig is getting it from all angles from his sexy fighter girl. You should try it.”

“Huh.” Rocket sat back against the seat. “Guess that explains it.”

With a roll of his eyes, Jig said, “I’ve always had pussy. This is no different.” Even as the words left his mouth, they felt dirty. And his balls shriveled a bit at the thought of what Izzy would do to him if she’d heard that.

“Ha,” Zach said, slapping the steering wheel. “No different, my ass. That’s the biggest crock of shit I’ve ever heard.”

Jig was beyond over this conversation but, apparently, he was to endure the idiocy of his brothers a little longer.

“Quality pussy, my man. There’s a difference, and you fucking know it,” Zach said like he was some authority on women.

That statement caused Jig to grunt. Yeah, he knew precisely what Zach was referring to. Everything about Izzy was quality. Maybe he should just man-up and admit it. Just as he was about to open his mouth, his phone rang.

“Speak of the she-devil,” Zach said with a smirk.

“You’re like a giant five-year-old,” Jig said as he checked the screen. Sure enough, Izzy. “Hey, babe,” he said.

Izzy didn’t bother with a greeting but launched into a panicked rant he could barely understand. Cold fear washed over him. Nothing scared Izzy. Nothing riled her so much she couldn’t be understood. What the fuck had happened?

“Shit, babe, slow down. I can’t catch what the fuck you’re saying.” Unease tightened his gut. “You in trouble?”

“No. Sorry, I’m a little freaked out right now. Okay, this guy, a kid really, came into the shop for a tat. I refused him because he was about sixteen and had the worst fake ID I’d ever seen. Rip backed me because he was obviously—”

“Babe, the point?” Jig cut in because he sensed she’d have gone on for a while before getting to the meat of it.

“Oh, God, sorry. Shit, I need to calm down.” Her deep inhalation and slow release were audible through the phone. “Damnit, there he is. Okay, I’m putting you on speaker so I can follow him again.”

Red flags were flying all over the place, and Jig’s fuse was lit. “Isabella, what the fuck is going on? And why the fuck are you following someone? Swear to Christ, if you don’t tell me now…”