Jigsaw (Hell's Handlers MC Book 3)

by Lilly Atlas

  “What the hell do you think I’ve been doing for the last thirteen years, Jig? Actually, for my whole life. I’ve managed just fine this far without any big bad bikers standing between me and the world. I think I’ll be good going forward. I don’t need anyone else.”

  “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” he shouted. “Everybody needs someone else at some point.”

  “Why do you give a shit? Because you fucked me?” She was yelling as loud as he was and had now crossed from irate into irrational. Part of her brain was aware of it, but her mouth kept running forward, out of control. “You have no say in anything I do Jig. Get used to it.”

  “Um, excuse me,” a timid voice cut through their very public screaming match.

  Both she and Jig whipped their heads around and stared at a slim man in a blue vest with a name tag that read Horace.

  “We’ve had some complaints. I’m going to have to ask you to take this outside. I’d hate to have to call the cops.”

  Izzy threw up a hand. “Not necessary. I’m leaving.” She tromped down the aisle then turned when she was halfway to the end. “Hope it was good for you because you’re sure as fuck not getting inside me again.”

  Boom. Mic drop.

  Izzy left a fuming Jig standing in the lumber aisle. She ignored the curious gawks and whispers from the other patrons as she practically ran to her car. Once inside, she cranked the ignition and pulled out of the lot, flipping off LJ as she passed.

  Never had a man brought that kind of unfiltered reaction from her. The urge to strangle Jig had her fingers clenching the steering wheel, as she imagined it was his neck. House vandalized, a man making demands of her, her own jumbled feelings about that man, it was too much for one day. Shit, she needed a fight to deal with all this emotional garbage and didn’t have anything on the horizon.

  Going straight home was out of the question. If she saw the state of her house in the mood she was in, she was bound to lose the last threads of her sanity.

  For the next forty-five minutes, Izzy drove the mountain roads of the Great Smokies. With each curve of the winding roads, her anger ebbed and faded until she was well and truly mortified by her behavior in the store.

  Jig was right. She was a stubborn fool. Thing of it was, she had no idea how to ask for help. How to lean on people. How was she supposed to know who to trust? What if she put her faith in Jig and his brothers, only to have that ripped from her in a crushing disappointment?

  Been there, done that. The T-shirt wasn’t worth it.

  With the loss of anger and adrenaline came profound fatigue. As she rolled to a stop at a red light, Izzy banged her forehead on the steering wheel. The energy to fix up her house was long gone, and now she wished she’d had someone help her with it. Looked like she’d be crashing in a motel for the night.

  A steady rumble pulled up next to her. LJ was crazy for still riding his bike in this cooler—actually, it was downright cold—weather. A bit of guilt topped off her embarrassment. Here she’d been leading the poor guy on a wild goose chase through the mountains when he had to be freezing his ass off. He flipped up his face shield and raised an eyebrow.

  She nodded. Yes. She was going home to grab some stuff, then she’d hit a motel.

  As she pulled into her driveway for the second time that day, she received the second shock of the day. At least six guys milled about, hammering wood over her windows, sweeping up glass, and tossing trash in the back of a pick-up.

  After killing the engine, she swallowed a golf ball-sized lump in her throat. Never had anyone done something like this for her. No one had ever jumped in and taken care of a problem without a word from her. And to do it after she’d been such a bitch?

  That just didn’t happen.

  She owed Jig one hell of an apology.

  LJ opened her door and bent to eye level. “You pull your head out of your ass? You ready to give in yet?” he asked.

  “Give in to what?” She kept her gaze on the house, scanning for Jig.

  “To the fact that you’re one of us, woman.” He rapped his knuckles on her roof then winked and wandered off to help his brothers.

  One of them. A terrifying thought. For the past thirteen years, Izzy had closed herself off to any relationships deeper than acquaintances. Even then, she’d been burned a time or two. At this point, she wasn’t sure she possessed the ability to let people below the surface.

  But she had to try, at least a little bit, because the fact was they were here, going out of their way to help her. Anything else would make her an ungrateful shrew. And maybe she could work on letting Jig in a little more, too. Not deep enough to pierce her heart, that would be a suicide mission, but she’d shared some with him the other night and hadn’t died from it. Maybe she could do it again.

  Her gaze caught him as he emerged from the house. She followed his movement down the three steps of her porch and onto her lawn where he crunched over a layer of glass. He said something to one of his brothers then made his way straight to her.

  Izzy climbed out of the car and squared her shoulders. Time to put on her big girl panties and apologize. It was the least he deserved.

  His long stride ate up the distance between them, and within seconds, he was mere feet from her. “Jig,” she said, looking him straight in the eye. “I owe you an ap—”

  “Save it.” He wrapped his long fingers around her upper arm and steered her down the driveway then onto the grass. One of his brothers had parked a sizeable black work van on her lawn. The back doors were open, but the van was empty. Must have been used to haul all the wood. Something she hadn’t considered on her little solo trip to the hardware store in her Accord.

  Jig dragged her behind the van, spun her, and shoved her up against the side. She hit with an oomph. “Jig, what are you doing? I was trying to—”

  Once again, he cut her off, this time with his lips on hers. The kiss was harsh, a punishment of sorts if she had to guess, but it fired her blood in an instant. Izzy met his tongue stroke for stroke and gave as much as she took. They devoured each other for long seconds. Jig smelled faintly of sawdust, sweat, and leather. The combination tickled her senses and only made her want him more.

  Without breaking the kiss, Jig’s hand slithered between them and went to work on the button of her jeans. He had it open almost before she could register what was happening and the zipper down one second later. And then his hand was in there, long fingers shoving their way into her panties, brushing her clit and sinking deep inside her. Izzy sank her teeth into her lower lip to keep from crying out. Half his club brothers were just twenty feet away.

  “Fuuck,” Jig whispered against her lips. “You just walk around this wet all the time?”

  Izzy chuckled, but it turned into a gasp when Jig grazed his teeth over the muscle running the length of her neck. She tilted her neck to the side as she said, “Nope. Only when you have your hands on me.”

  A grunt rumbled out of him. “Good answer.”

  He sucked the spot he’d just bitten, keeping up a slow, lazy pace with his finger in her pussy. Enough to feel damn good, but not enough to get her where she needed to be. And that was coming. Coming hard and coming soon.

  Jig must have sensed her desperation because he inserted another finger, then one more. Izzy moaned, and he pressed a quick, firm kiss to her lips then drew his head back. His thumb brushed her clit as he fucked her with his fingers, hard and fast.

  On a mission now, Izzy rocked against his hand, her clit bumping his thumb with each forward rock. Lefty, her windows, the Handlers, even her own internal bullshit faded to the background as she gave herself over to Jig’s skilled fingers.

  Izzy’s lips curled into a smile, and her eyes fluttered shut as her head bumped against the van. This was gonna be one hell of an orgasm.

  “Eyes on me,” Jig said on a growl, increasing the pressure of his fingers. Izzy whimpered and opened her eyes to find herself staring into his burning hot gaze. If she didn’t know
better, she’d swear the man was about to eat her alive.

  She kept the eye contact as he worked her to a panting frenzy. When his thumb circled her clit then landed on it with consistent pressure, her knees buckled, and she grabbed the back of his arms for support. A smug grin curved his mouth. He knew the power he had over her at that moment and loved it.

  “Shit, Jig, I’m gonna come.”

  “Do it,” he bit out, his fingers moving impossibly faster. His gaze still drilled into hers, daring her to look away. She didn’t. She let herself have a moment of vulnerability and kept her gaze locked with his.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she whispered as her pussy latched onto his fingers and her stomach clenched and released. Her mouth dropped open, and she breathed through the orgasm, forcing herself not to scream. It was a monumental effort because the pleasure was a harsh attack on her system. Just five minutes ago she’d been devastated, embarrassed, and frazzled, and now she was riding a high that nearly catapulted her over the mountains.

  The whole thing started and ended so fast, she was left with a spinning head and turbulent emotions.

  Jig’s hand stilled, but he kept it inside her as he leaned forward and laid a soft kiss on her lips. “Feel better?” he asked.

  Izzy spared a second to take stock of herself. And yes, she did feel better. Relaxed, less embarrassed, not nearly as worried or angry. Maybe psychologists should start getting their patients off. Could be the cure for all kinds of ails.

  Sure worked for her.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  JIG SLOWLY WITHDREW his hand from between Izzy’s legs. It was soaked, covered in her juices. Her sated eyes flared as she watched him bring each of the three fingers to his mouth and lick them clean. Her sweet flavor exploded on his tongue, and the only thing that kept him from turning her around, yanking down her pants, and burying his rock-hard cock in that wet pussy was the gaggle of club members working at her house.

  He’d have to wait until later.

  But it would come later. Rather, he would come later.

  Looking like she could melt into a pile of goo on the ground, Izzy reached for the button of her jeans. Those damn things were so skin tight, it’d been an effort to get his hand in there. He swatted her fumbling hand away, zipped her up, then returned the button to its intact state.

  “Ready to go see what the guys have been up to?” He held his hand out to her. An olive branch. Honestly, he wasn’t sure what he was doing or why he was doing it. A relationship wasn’t in the cards for him, but there was a connection with Izzy. She was as reluctant to form any deep entanglement as he was, maybe even more so.

  The one thing he did know was the sick feeling of rage that overtook him when he received Copper’s call. Someone had violated her privacy, messed up her safe haven, and destroyed something she’d worked so hard to achieve on her own. And then he’d realized Copper calling meant Izzy hadn’t come to Jig on her own. Either she hadn’t trusted him to help her, or he just didn’t blip on her radar.

  Either option sucked. He just wasn’t entirely sure why he cared. So he’d overreacted and screamed at her in the middle of the hardware store. Christ, had he yelled something about his cock and her pussy?

  Way to get her to trust him. Somewhere between her fleeing the store and his calling in the cavalry to repair her home, he decided to just go the fuck along with it. He liked her. He enjoyed her company. He loved fucking her.

  Enough said.

  Once he’d calmed down, he was able to reason it through. Her lack of trust in his friendship wasn’t personal. It was born of years of negative experiences and abandonment. Railing at her in the store couldn’t have been a worse way to handle it. When she walked out of that car and gazed at her vandalized home, she looked one stiff breeze away from snapping in half. The woman needed to relax.

  And he’d gotten that job done gladly.

  Izzy slid her palm over his, and he curled his fingers, keeping her captive. As he tugged her forward, she resisted, and he raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry,” she said. “That was not—”

  Jig pulled again, this time harder until she fell forward into his chest. He kissed her once, deep and slow, making her melt against him. Her mind might be resistant to him, but her body was fully onboard.

  “Not necessary,” he said when he ended the kiss. “Don’t need that shit. Just let my brothers fix your house. Okay?”

  She studied him for a second, probably gauging his sincerity or deciding whether or not to risk it. He almost reassured her there was no way in hell he’d let her down, but he kept his mouth shut. She needed to come to that conclusion on her own. Needed to learn to trust her instincts and read on people. Jig might be an asshole to most, but he didn’t welch on those few he gave a shit about.

  With a nod, she said, “All right,” but her expression read, “You get one chance.”

  She let him lead her away from the car, and he slung an arm around her shoulders as he guided her toward the house. “The glass is fucking everywhere. We’ll get to that next. Wanted to get the windows boarded up first since it’s getting cold at night now.”

  Five of the windows were already covered with slabs of plywood.

  “Hey, Iz, you’re looking more relaxed than you were a few minutes ago,” LJ said as he carried a long board over his head toward one of the uncovered windows. When he strutted past them, Jig just swore LJ flexed his massive biceps a little extra for Izzy’s benefit. Then he flashed her that grin one of the Honeys had described as “lube in a smile.”

  He had to remember to knock a few of LJ’s teeth out later. See how many ladies he reeled in leering like a jack-o-lantern.

  Izzy rolled her eyes and flipped LJ off, saying, “Bite me, LJ.”

  A laugh burst out of Jig. So much for her being impressed by the prospect.

  “Where should I order the windows from?” Izzy asked. “Any recommendations?”

  “It’s taken care of already. They’ll be here tomorrow.”

  “What? Seriously? How is that even possible?” Izzy’s face lit up. “It’s end of day.”

  “Rocket is a contractor.”

  Rocket, who was just emerging from the house with a heavy-duty trash bag full of broken glass slung over his shoulder, must have heard his name. “What’s up, brother? You need me?” He stopped a few feet from them. “Hey, Iz, sorry about all this shit.”

  They all called her Iz and freaking loved her and accepted her as one of the crew. It was a slippery slope.

  “Thanks, Rocket. It sucks”—she shrugged—“but it is what it is. I appreciate you guys dropping everything to take care of this for me.”

  “I was just telling her about the windows.” Jig tightened his hold across her shoulders and tucked her to his side. She gave him a curious look, and Rocket chuckled. Shit, he was acting like a lovesick moron, trying to hide her from every male in town.

  “Oh, yeah.” Rocket adjusted the hold of the bag. “Let me throw this heavy fucker away first.” He strode toward the dumpster and deposited the load, then jogged back over. “I gave my glass guy a call as soon as I got here and took some measurements. He’s gonna be able to get them to me tomorrow. It’ll probably be pretty late in the day so we may not get them installed until the next day.” He shrugged. “Still pretty good turnover.”

  “Pretty good? That’s amazing. I thought I’d be windowless for weeks.” She broke free from Jig’s hold and threw her arms around Rocket. “Thank you so much for doing that.”

  Rocket shot Jig a shit-eating grin that had him itching to rearrange his brother’s face. Holding her just a little too tight for a little too long, Rocket said, “Nothing more than a few phone calls, babe.”

  And that was about enough of that. Jig snagged her by the elbow and pulled her back against his chest, wrapping his arms around her. She stiffened in his hold before letting herself settle against him.

  “Give us an hour, and we’ll have most of the glass cleaned up, and the guys will get out of our hair,�
�� Jig said against her ear. The short hairs on the shaved side of her head tickled his face.

  “Our hair?”

  “Yeah, I know you’re gonna hate the fuck out of this, but I’m not leaving you alone tonight. A boarded-up house is just an invitation for trouble.”

  She sighed, and he knew she was battling it out internally. Her need for independence, fear of accepting help and friendship, versus an intelligent idea. Izzy wasn’t stupid and would know she shouldn’t be alone. She might be a kick-ass fighter, but as she’d learned the other night, three men on one woman wasn’t ever good odds. “You’re right. I do hate it.”

  He chuckled. Guess that was her way of agreeing without actually having to agree. “How about we order some pizza? You’ve gotta be starving. Then we can watch a movie and fuck like rabbits. Might take some of the sting out of having an unwanted houseguest.”

  Izzy’s body shook in his arms as she laughed, that pert little ass rubbing all over his cock. He focused on one of his brother’s whacking a nail into the plywood over and over, trying to will his cock down.

  “You find me a pizza place that delivers all the way out here, and you got yourself a deal, bubba.”

  Jig gave her a squeeze and rubbed his scarred cheek against the smoothness of her face. She giggled and squirmed as his facial hair tickled her skin. “What the hell do you think prospects are for, woman?”

  “You’re gonna make LJ go get us pizza?”

  Jig snorted. “Damn straight.” It was the least that flirting asshole deserved.

  “You’ll order enough for him, right?” She peered up at him, eyes dancing. “We could invite him to join us. I was a bit of a jerk to him earlier.”

  Okay, now she was just fucking with him. “Fuck no! He’s off shift after he gets us some grub. Another prospect will take his place. LJ can go eat all the pizza he damn well pleases after that.”

  Four hours, one large pepperoni pizza, and one hundred and sixteen minutes of action-packed superheroes later, the credits rolled across Izzy’s large-screen television. After the guys left, she and Jig got along like they’d known each other for years, eating and teasing. He’d regaled her with stories of stupid shit his brothers had done throughout the years and she spoke about the most ridiculous tattoos she’d ever worked on.