Jigsaw (Hell's Handlers MC 3)

Shit, he probably needed years of therapy. He knew he was fucked up, so that had to count for something, right?

“Good fight?” Rocket asked as he took an empty seat at Jig’s table. Rocket wasn’t much of a talker, which had always been a positive in Jig’s view. Unless the man was blitzed, then his tongue loosened. Like tonight, apparently.

“Not bad. Won before the second round was over.” Jig sipped his drink and tried to keep his focus on Rocket instead of stealing glances at the warrior woman fucking with his head.

“Good deal. What the fuck you doing sitting over here like some loser at a high school dance drooling over the prom queen?”

An innocent enough question, but Rocket had no idea how it sliced into Jig’s gut. His wife had been prom queen. And he’d been prom king. Lifetimes ago, it had been the most perfect night of his life. He’d taken her virginity, given her his, and thought she’d be the only woman he’d ever sleep with. She’d be fucking disgusted if she had any idea how many women he’d fucked and didn’t give a single shit about. The him of years ago would be just as disgusted, but now, dead inside, he didn’t give a shit.

“Fuck off, Rocket.”

“That’s all you got? Thought you were supposed to be the smart one.”

“What’s up with you? You’ve been in a shit mood for weeks. Ever since you pulled that chick from the motel and brought her to the hospital.” A few weeks ago, Rocket had rescued a woman Lefty kidnapped and planned to sell to the highest bidder. She’d been in piss-poor shape when Rocket found her, and something had been off with him ever since.

“I’m fine. Worry about your own shit, Jigsaw. Like why you can’t seem to get off your ass and go after that sexy as fuck woman who has your dick all twisted up.”

Jig drained his glass and grunted. Fuck, he needed a few more drinks to properly dull his mind. “If I wanted her, I’d go after her. Not interested.”

“Here”—Rocket slid his nearly full glass across the table—“I’m done for the night. Don’t want her, huh? So you good with all the puppy-dog looks LJ’s sending her way?”

Fuck. So, it hadn’t been his imagination. LJ had a hard-on for the sexy tattoo artist. “LJ’s a fuckin’ child. He doesn’t stand a chance.”

Rocket’s lips quirked. “He may be young, but gossip around the club is he’s swinging ten inches at the ladies.”

“How the fuck do you know that? He’s a prospect. Honeys are off limits to him.” Handlers’ Honeys were the girls who hung around the club, offering their vast services to the members. Club whores for lack of a more accurate description. Only full patched members were allowed a crack at them.

“Didn’t hear it from a Honey. He can go after whoever he wants as long as it’s not a Honey.” Rocket lifted a hand. “All chicks talk.”

After running a hand through his hair, Jig downed Rocket’s drink in three gulps. “You wanna tell me why we’re sitting here talking about a prospect’s dick?”

With a shrug, Rocket smirked. “Because I figure you’d rather talk about that than why you’re only interested in punishment-fucking women who resemble your dead wife.”

Despite the pulsing music and partying crowd, the silence that descended between the two men seemed to overtake the room. Jig sent his brother a cold, deadly stare. Rocket had some balls on him, that was for sure. No one, not even Copper, ever broached the subject of Jig’s family. It was off limits, untouchable unless someone wanted a trip to the local ER.

But Rocket, the fucker, didn’t know the definition of fear. Nothing intimidated him, and he said whatever the fuck he wanted. Apparently, tonight he wanted to rake Jig over burning hot coals.

“Leave it, brother,” Jig said, his voice like ice.

Another shrug was the only reaction he got in return. “Tired of everybody pussy-footing around the subject. You ain’t the only one with shit in your past. You ain’t even the only one with seriously fucked-up shit in your past. But you are the only one letting that woman slip through your fingers.” He pointed to Izzy who was now dancing with the rest of the women.

The minute his eyes landed on her, his cock sprang to life. She moved gracefully, sensually, pure sex in tight denim. As she moved, she raised her arms and tipped her head back, lost in the beat and perhaps a little drunk. The ends of her braid swished back and forth across the top of her very tight ass.

Jig was struck with a visual of Izzy, bent over the arm of his couch, her hair wound multiple times around his fist, a low moan leaving her lips as he tugged, and a very visible Jig-sized hand print across that bitable ass.