“You can’t go without a guard, Shell. Shit, uh, stuff’s changed.” He flicked a glance at an oblivious Beth who was tracing the scar on his face with her delicate little fingers. Every touch was a combination of innocent child softness and the tearing pain of the knife slicing into his face.
“You got a boo-boo,” she said.
“Jig, I’m running late. If I wait for someone to come with me, I won’t have time to drop Beth at Mama’s V’s.” Shell worked two jobs. In the mornings, she waited tables at the diner Toni owned, and cleaned offices in the evening. Mama V watched her daughter most evenings and refused to take a single dime from Shell, which bugged the independent woman to no end.
“Copper,” Jig bellowed, making Beth giggle.
“You loud,” she said. “Want a princess Band-Aid for your boo-boo?” she asked unaware of the adult tension and discussion.
“No, squirt, I don’t need a Band-Aid.” He managed to keep any tremor out of his voice. Shell would pick up on it for sure and then feel terrible for pawning Beth off on him even for a moment. “You save it for next time you fall down.”
“What the fuck you shouting for, Jigsaw?” Copper ambled out of his office, his entire demeanor changing when his gaze landed on Shell and Beth.
“Uncle Copper!” Beth dove from Jig’s arms and beelined toward the prez. The instant she was gone, Jig was able to breathe fully once again.
“Hey, princess,” Copper said as he scooped her up. He and Zach had spent hours with their captive in the box, but none of those horrors showed on his face when he held Beth.
The false grin wasn’t fooling Shell, though. Concern marred her face, but she’d been part of this club her whole life and would have known not to push for answers, especially not in front of Beth.
“Put someone on your woman,” Jig said, ignoring Copper’s scowl.
“Fu—udge,” Copper said. The club sure sucked at curbing their language around Beth.
Shell rolled her eyes. “I’m good, Copper. Just dropping her at Mama V’s then heading to work.”
“Not by yourself, you’re not. LJ’s in my office. He’ll be done in five, then he’ll tail you.”
Shell’s blond curls bounced as she shook her head. “I won’t have time to drop Beth off.”
“I got her,” Copper said. “I’ll take her to Mama’s. My truck is out back, and you know I have a seat for her.” Beth rubbed her small hands on his beard like she was trying to lather it up with soap.
Shell’s lower lip curled in. Jig could see the argument forming, but she kept it inside. She was independent, but knew her limits. Or rather knew Copper’s limits. “All right,” she finally said. “Thank you.”
Copper nodded and disappeared into his office with Beth.
Shell followed, grumbling about bossy bikers and pigheaded men.
Jig smirked, imagining Izzy in Shell’s situation. She’d have probably told Copper to shove his head up his ass and left on her own.
Why that thought made him smile, he had no idea.
Maybe it was just the image of her pert ass twitching as she angrily marched out the door. Well, shit. Now he had to go roll around with her at the gym.
Sporting a rock-hard boner.
CHAPTER TEN
JAB. CROSS. UPPERCUT. Hook. Cross. Jab. Hook.
Jab. Cross. Uppercut. Hook. Cross. Jab. Hook.
“Come on, champ, thirty seconds left. Don’t puss out on me now.”
Izzy growled and picked up her speed as she pounded out the combination.
Puss out.
Please.
Why did men always think her vagina was going to make her turn tail and puss out?
Just as she was about to give him the tongue lashing of a lifetime, Jig winked. Actually winked. The bastard was playing with her. He knew just what to say to get under her skin and motivate her to push harder. She just didn’t realize he could be playful.
Every muscle in her body burned with the delicious ache of exertion and power. For the past two hours, she’d been pushing herself to the max. Each time her gloved fist connected with Jig’s punch mitt, beads of sweat jumped from her body, sometimes landing on his straining biceps, his rounded shoulders, or the smooth expanse of his chiseled chest.
Ninety-five percent of her focus was concentrated on precisely landing each punch and speeding through the combination, but that rogue five percent couldn’t keep from imagining other ways their sweat could mingle. Maybe with direct skin on skin contact. Or perhaps she could drag her tongue over the damn ridge of the Adam’s apple that teased her every single time he swallowed.
“Pick it up, woman.” Jig barked out the order, snapping her back in the game.
Jab. Cross. Uppercut. Hook. Cross. Jab. Hook.
Jab. Cross. Uppercut. Hook. Cross. Jab. Hook.
Just as her muscles reached the point of exhaustion, Jig called out, “Time,” and she slackened her arms, letting them flop to her sides.