Jigsaw (Hell's Handlers MC Book 3)

by Lilly Atlas

  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.

  He almost laughed out loud. As if Izzy would tolerate that kind of fucking. She was way too brassy for what he required. Probably needed the upper hand during sex. Hmm, maybe he needed to use her personality to his advantage. A few times of hanging out with her and her ball-busting ways and his dick was bound to lose interest.

  “Good pep talk, brother,” Jig said as he rose to his feet.

  Rocket watched him through narrowed eyes. “What are you up to?”

  “Nothing for you to get your panties in a twist about. Besides, you seem to know everything. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Jig rapped his knuckles against the table. “Later.”

  Just as he started toward Izzy, LJ moved in behind her and placed his large hands on her hips. She peeked up and over her shoulder, smiling as she realized it was him.

  A hot flash of jealousy stabbed at his gut.

  “Hey, Jig,” Rocket called after him.

  “What?” he barked.

  “Church tomorrow morning at nine.” Any traces of fun, teasing, or levity were gone from Rocket’s expression.

  “Shit.” The air in Jig’s lungs felt like it was being sucked out. “He get another girl?” Fucking Lefty. The prick had been warned the Handlers would rain hell down on him if he continued trafficking women.

  “Think it’s worse than that, man. Got some chatter from the streets about a place he’s housing them.”

  Them? Jig’s stomach rolled. Could Lefty have a stash of women they weren’t aware of? The thought was sickening. “I’ll be there.”

  Rocket nodded. “Good luck, brother. Better hurry before she’s swooning over those ten inches.”

  Flipping his brother the bird, Jig made his way toward Izzy and LJ. “Fuck off, prospect,” he said when he was a foot behind them.

  They stopped dancing and turned. LJ’s hands fell from her waist and were replaced by her own hands and a pissed-off look. Yes, this was precisely what he needed. The woman to give him sass and attitude. Nothing would kill his dick’s interest faster.

  “She ain’t a Honey, Jig. Not off limits to me.” LJ clearly had a thing for her. How could he not? A light sheen of sweat dotted her forehead, and her chest rose and fell in a gentle pant. Minor exertion from dancing.

  “Ain’t cockblocking you, brother. Just need to talk to her for a second.” That little half-truth would stay between Jig and the alcohol he’d consumed.

  LJ rolled his shoulders and glanced at the ceiling before returning his gaze to Jig’s. “Five minutes,” he said, then pressed a kiss to Izzy’s cheek. “I’ll be back, darlin’,” he said. “Don’t let this moody asshole push you around.”

  Izzy snorted out a laugh. “He could try.” When she raised an eyebrow at Jig, he felt a fist squeeze around his cock. What the fuck?

  “Hey, prospect,” Jig called as LJ strode away. “I’ll take all the fucking time I want. Remember your place. Don’t see a patch on your back yet.” In reality, LJ was one of, if not the best, prospect they had. He was set to patch in soon, and short of betraying the club, nothing would keep that patch off his back. Still, it was fun to remind him he wasn’t quite there yet.

  “Did you have to do that?” Izzy asked. “Wouldn’t it just be easier to whip it out and compare lengths?” Her tone was harsh, but a teasing sparkle lit her eyes.

  Of course, her question reminded him of Rocket’s comment on LJ’s dick size. Jig was no slouch but, come on, ten inches? That was the stuff porn stars were made of.

  “Would have, fighter-girl, but I didn’t want to shock all you lovely ladies in here. It’s not something everyone’s used to seeing.”

  “Ha! I’m sure it’s nothing I haven’t seen before, stud. You should see some of the cocks I’ve put my mark on.” She winked and folded her arms across her body in a defiant stance. “Ink-wise, of course.” There it was. Ball-busting. And he hated it. Perfect.

  “One time—” she continued, apparently not letting it go.

  “Want to train tomorrow?” he said just to end her cock tirade.

  “Huh? What?”

  Finally, he’d stolen the advantage. “Train. At the gym. Tomorrow. MMA.”

  “I get what you meant, bubba. Just didn’t expect the offer from you.”

  He shrugged. “Zach’s been on my case about sparring more. Told me you needed to as well. Figure I’ll be at the gym, you’ll be at the gym, we might as well work together.”

  She wasn’t very good at hiding surprise and was standing still in the middle of the dancing crowd. “Oh, um, sure. Okay. That sounds good. I get off work at eight and usually head straight there. Zach’s kindly kept the place open late a night or two for me.”

  “Good. See you a little after eight, then.” Jig nodded and started to back away. “Want me to send your little boy-toy back over. That puppy is dying for a good belly rub.”

  Izzy threw her head back and let out a throaty laugh that had his dick thickening once again. “Please,” she said with a wave of her hand. “The boy’s cute and a fun dance partner, but I’m not looking for a child,” she said. Then she winked and played with the tail end of her braid. The combination of the buzzed sides, tight braid, and smooth exposed neck made his mouth water. “I’d eat that boy alive.”

  Perfect comment. Jig had no desire to be consumed by a man-eater. If anyone was going to do the eating, it was him.

  “See you tomorrow night,” he said, giving her a two-fingered salute.

  CHAPTER NINE

  JIG LEANED BACK in his chair and propped his right ankle on his left knee as he waited for Copper to speak. A black cloud had followed the prez into the chapel, and every man in the room was eerily quiet. Whatever news Copper had, it wasn’t going to be good. Calling church for nine am after an epic party when ninety percent of the guys were hungover and over-fucked? That never happened.

  Until it did.

  Copper tracked to the head of the table and planted his giant hands flat on the smooth surface, allowing his head to drop between his shoulders. “Sorry about the early hour,” he said without looking up. “Guess you all figured out I wouldn’t have called you here this early if it wasn’t serious.” He raised his head and studied his men, mouth flat, eyes troubled.

  Dread slithered through Jig’s gut. Images of his wife, broken and bleeding on their kitchen floor came at him in a barrage of misery. She hadn’t been raped, but the violence against women in their little slice of the world was bringing back all kinds of horrific memories.

  As it often did when shit was about to go down, the scar on his face burned as though a fresh slice. It had become a sort of barometer for bad news. Resisting the urge to rub away the phantom pain, Jig bit the inside of his lower lip, transferring the discomfort elsewhere.

  “We had prospects rotating through a watch of the clubhouse’s perimeter all night. About halfway through the party, Rocket went outside the gate and did a wider border search. Caught two of Lefty’s guys in the woods. He took one down and dragged him back. We got him down in The Box. The other ran off, probably straight to his boss.”

  “Fuck,” Jig spit out. That must have been right before Rocket spoke with him last night. No wonder his brother seemed off.

  “Yeah, fuck’s a good word for it,” Rocket said, all business. “The one that got away had a sniper rifle, and the guy I tagged had a hand grenade. I think we’da spotted him before he got too close, but he still could have done some damage. Tossed a grenade in one of the towers or taken out a section of fencing.”


  “So Lefty isn’t rolling over,” Mav said. He had a particular hatred for Lefty since he’d sent some of his goons after Stephanie a few weeks ago.

  “No,” Copper said. “He’s actively looking to take us down.”

  Zach slapped his hand on the table. “Doesn’t make any fucking sense. He doesn’t have the manpower to take us out. Is he just stupid?”

  “I think his ego’s just bigger than his brain.” Copper leaned back in his chair. His green eyes were flat with dark smudges circling under them. He probably hadn’t gotten a lick of sleep the night before. Like the heavy weight of running the club was pressing down too hard on his massive shoulders. He might be a big man, but everyone had their limit, and the club had been under immense strain for the past few months. Copper took every damn thing that happened to his club personally and made it his mission to remedy it.

  “I want the women covered,” he said. “At all times. I don’t think we need to be on lockdown just yet, but I want your ol’ ladies guarded. Screw, you get with Zach and work on schedules and assignments for protection as well as getting more eyes on Lefty.”

  “You got it, prez,” Screw said. He sat a little taller in his chair. It was reassuring to see the kid taking his first official duty as a patched brother so seriously.

  “No parties for a while. Don’t want the Honeys around here either. If you think any of the regulars need to be shadowed, let Screw know. We’re not taking any chances with lives here. Lastly, I think we should close the bar to the public as well.” He turned to Jig. “How’re we with cash?”

  For the past three years, Jig had been serving as treasurer. He had a way with numbers, and the club had been thriving since he’d taken over the books. “We’re good, Cop. More than good, actually. Loan business is bringing in a ton of green these days. Closing the bar for a stretch shouldn’t impact our bottom line. Fuck, we give out so much free booze, that bar is not our moneymaker.”

  A huge sigh heaved Copper’s chest, and he tugged at his red beard before saying, “We need to end this shit before someone we love is hurt…again. And before Lefty gets his hand on any more women. I want to know his schedule, who he associates with. I want his life turned inside and out. We won’t be leaving any loose ends. I’d like to avoid a bloody war if possible. We’re gonna start small, fuck up his drug deals, try to turn guys against him. That doesn’t work, we’ll step it up, but let’s see if we can do this without too much bloodshed.”

  The men murmured their agreement. Part of Jig wanted to argue. Lefty needed to be stopped and stopped permanently, as in six-feet-under, but he got it. War meant loss of life on both sides. Jailing of club members, women left without their men, and maybe even harmed themselves.

  War would be a last resort.

  Copper rose from his chair. “Zach, you’re with me in The Box. Fifteen minutes.”

  The Box was a basement room, probably originally meant as a storm shelter of some kind. Basically, a boxy room the Handlers used for…sensitive matters. Like extracting information from enemies hellbent on destroying the MC. Jig didn’t envy the man waiting on Copper and Zach’s company.

  “Looking forward to it, Cop.” Zach may be a fun brother with pretty-boy good looks who was head over heels in love with his woman, but he could be the meanest sonofabitch when crossed. And Copper? Well, within Copper lay a beast no one wanted to let out. Ninety-five percent of the time he kept his wild temper under control but, fuck, that five percent stuck with a man after he’d seen it in action.

  “All right, we’re done here. I want all you fuckers safe. Got me?”

  “Got it,” chorused the group.

  Jig left the chapel and headed for his office, a small room next to Copper’s office where he managed the club’s finances and ran the loan shark business. Since his focus had been on assisting with the clubhouse security the past few weeks, he’d lagged on the bookkeeping. It took him all fucking day, but he updated, balanced, and organized everything he’d been putting off. Really, he didn’t mind. Numbers made sense. Numbers were logical. A puzzle he could easily solve. And it kept him distracted from any messy emotions or thoughts of sexy tattoo artists.

  By the time he finished, it was almost seven, an hour until he was set to meet up with Izzy.

  With no reason to head to his house and no reason to hang around, he made his way toward his bike. The air was no longer chilly, but downright cold. Time to put away the bike and roll the truck out of the garage. Always a sad time of year.

  As he was walking out the door, rapid footsteps came flying up behind him. “Uncle Jig! Uncle Jig!” Beth, Shel’s three-and-a-half-year-old daughter, flung herself at him with a high-pitched, “Catch me!”

  Automatically his arms reached out and captured the energetic bundle, but not before his heart clenched with the force of a vise, as it did every time he laid eyes on the adorable strawberry-headed kid.

  “Sorry, Jig,” Shell said as she rushed toward them. “Beth, get down. Don’t bother Uncle Jig. He doesn’t really like you hanging around. Oh, I mean, sorry that was rude.” For a second, her eyes grew glassy then she cleared her throat and all seemed normal. “I’m just frazzled. We’re late getting to Mama V’s and I have to work.”

  Jig blinked and stared at Shell. “No, it’s okay. I’m, uh, glad she didn’t fall. Glad I was there.” His heart pounded so loud he could barely hear his own thoughts. Though the little kid couldn’t weigh more than twenty-five pounds, the weight of her in his arms felt astronomical. Sweat broke out along his hairline. If he didn’t get her out of his arms, he was going to have a panic attack and probably traumatize Beth for life.

  “Oh, you don’t mind?” Shell stopped trying to pry the boa constrictor grip Beth had from around Jig’s neck.

  Beth fit in his arms just as he remembered a three-year-old fitting. And it hurt so bad he couldn’t draw in a full breath. Beth beamed at him, and somehow he found the strength not to lose his shit. It wasn’t fair to take out his issues in front of the kid. She had no idea what monsters lurked in Jig’s past.

  “Mind keeping a hold of her for a minute while I find my keys?”

  “You got a brother going with you?” Jig asked, focusing on Shell rather than the wiggling bundle in his arms. Hell would freeze over before Copper let Shell drive anywhere alone.

  “I’m going ten minutes away, Jig. Nothing to worry about.” She probably had no idea of the increased danger. Copper should have told her. Even though it wasn’t true and might never be true, most of the guys considered Shell Copper’s woman. They steered clear of her and differed to him when it came to her safety. What was he thinking not setting her up with a shadow?

  “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 pr
ez. 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