Jigsaw (Hell's Handlers MC 3)

Izzy smiled at the attractive bartender. She couldn’t stop her lips from curling in delight. Some of the party vibes in the air were rubbing off on her. Plus, what woman didn’t love compliments about their body? “Well, considering I did kick some serious ass tonight, and I am the proud owner of this…” She twisted her right hip forward and slapped her own ass while winking. “Looks like you found the right person.”

“Whooo!” All the women chorused while hooting and clapping.

“Shit, Izzy, you’re gonna fit in here just fine,” Toni said.

“Jesus,” the bartender muttered. “I’m LJ, and I’ve been instructed to keep your glass full of whatever you want all night. On the house. President’s orders. Apparently, Zach bet on you for him, and you won him a decent chunk of change.”

Well, far be it for her to buck the president’s order. “Thank you. Bourbon, please. The good stuff.”

LJ sent her a panty-scorching grin. “Nice choice.” He grabbed a bottle off the shelf and poured her a double. “Holler if you need anything, babe,” he said before moving down the bar.

“So when did you move here, Izzy?” Toni asked.

The bourbon slid its way to her stomach in a perfect combination of burn and soothe. She took a quick second sip then addressed Toni’s question. Gave her something to do besides scan the room for Jig. Before she arrived, she made herself a promise she would not seek him out. “About four weeks ago. Moved from New Orleans. Just looking for a slower paced life.”

Toni laughed. “So you came to a Handlers’ party?”

“Seriously,” said the woman named Jazz. She had chin-length, shiny black hair with pink streaks hiding throughout the bottom layer. She seemed a little quieter, more reserved than the others. Maybe for the fact she was new in town as well. What did these ladies do, adopt all the newcomers?

Izzy pointed at Stephanie and mock scowled. “Yeah, I tried to go home, but Steph wasn’t having it.”

Steph just shrugged. Whatever tension she’d sensed between Shell and Stephanie seemed to be gone tonight, or at least put on hold. Or at least drowned out by the free-flowing alcohol.

“Is it true you’re the new tattoo artist Rip hired?” Toni asked.

“That’s me,” Izzy said. “He trained me years and years ago and has been trying to get me to move here ever since. I finally had enough of city life and took him up on the offer.”

“I’ve wanted a tattoo for a while, and I know exactly what I want,” Shell said. “Maybe I’ll book an appointment with you.”

Izzy swallowed another healthy sip of her drink. Already, the smooth bourbon was loosening her muscles, putting her at ease around all her new-found friends…errr, acquaintances, she meant. Friends had the power to hurt you, acquaintances did not. “Why haven’t you done it yet?”

Shell’s face pinked, and Toni burst out laughing. “Because she happened to mention it in front of Copper, and he flipped his shit. Told her there was no way in hell Rip was touching any part of her body.”

Staring down at her beer bottle like she could somehow disappear down the neck, Shell waved her hand. “You guys know him. He’s just overprotective about stuff.”

Izzy’s forehead scrunched. “Wait, are you two—” A sharp elbow to her side had her huffing out a breath. “Shit, Steph, you hit harder than The Razor did.”

“Damn straight.” Steph chuckled then gave a quick shake of her head.

Message received. Talk of Copper and Shell was off limits. Toni changed the subject, bringing up some changes they were implementing at the diner now that Jazz was on staff and taking over many of the managerial duties.

Izzy followed the conversation until heat bloomed across the back of her neck. All the little hairs rose to attention and a shiver so in contrast to the warmth coursed through her. For about thirty seconds, she ignored it, until the sensation grew too intense to dismiss. As subtly as she could manage, she peeked to her right and locked gazes. He sat across the room, alone at a table, nursing a drink and staring at her with laser focus.

She felt the weight of that stare in her bones. In her nipples. In her long-neglected pussy. Damn, the man was potent. He had this whole pissed off, don’t-fuck-with-me, I-hate-the-world vibe, and for some insane reason, her body wanted all that angry passion directed her way.

Typically, she went after easygoing guys, guys she could boss around, pushovers. In bed, Izzy had no problem directing the show. She’d tell them what she wanted, get hers, and send them on their way. A dominant man wouldn’t put up with that. A dominant man might try to get under her skin or into her life. No chance of that with a man who took a back seat to her control.