Jigsaw (Hell's Handlers MC Book 3)

by Lilly Atlas

  JIG STARED AT the harsh ruby-red lights of the emergency room sign as a familiar feeling of dread coursed through him. Nothing scared him anymore. Not a single blip of fear in over six years. But Zach’s call sent terror through every cell in his body.

  A woman had been hurt. A woman he knew. A woman he…liked.

  Not again. This could not be happening again.

  He hadn’t even been able to admit to himself that he felt something for her. With her sass, her ball-busting, and her strength, she was the complete opposite of every woman he’d ever gone for, but somehow she snuck in. Now she was lying in a hospital bed because he’d treated her as an outsider. He’d made sure Copper protected Shell, but never even considered protecting Izzy. The years after his wife’s death were spent honing his skills so he could protect himself, his brothers, and anyone else in his world. But he hadn’t protected Izzy like he hadn’t protected his wife and child.

  Sickness rolled in Jig’s gut, but he couldn’t force his ass to move from the cab of his pickup. The scar on his face prickled more than ever before, and he was dying to rub it, but denied himself the simple comfort.

  Why the fuck hadn’t he waited to follow her out? Why hadn’t he had a tail on her? In his defense, he hadn’t thought she was close enough to the club to blip on Lefty’s radar. Or maybe he was just fighting the notion. Either way, it was a neglectful oversight that cost her.

  A knock at his window had him jumping out of his skin. Christ, he needed to get his shit together and remain alert before someone else got hurt. Copper stood on the other side of his closed door.

  Jig opened the door, and Copper immediately said, “She’s okay, man. You hear me? She’s gonna be fine. Nothing life-threatening. She didn’t even want to come here. Only reason Zach could get her ass into that ambulance was she wasn’t at the top of her game. Otherwise, she’d have kicked his nuts into next week. She still might once she’s feeling better.”

  Blowing out a breath, Jig nodded.

  “Hey,” Copper said, all business. “You’re good. Just old shit rising to the surface.”

  Right. Of course. So he got a stiffie every time the woman was within fifty meters? And so her brand of spit and snark was more likable than not? He could admit all that. He could even form some kind of friendship with her. That’s all it had to be. Nothing deeper. His dick would survive hanging around her and not inside her. Plenty of women more his flavor were waiting in the wings.

  “Thanks, Cop. I’m good.” Jig slid from the truck and fell in step with his prez, the two hurrying toward the ER entrance in silence.

  Silence until Copper said. “You got something going with her?”

  “Not fuckin’ her, Cop. Helping her train, end of story.”

  “Hmm.” He stroked his beard. “I like her. She’s no drama, no BS, does fantastic fucking ink—”

  “She worked on you?” She inked Copper? That was new to him.

  “Uh huh.”

  The twist in his gut had to be nerves over her wellbeing. There was no other reason. Especially not jealousy over her performing a professional service on a man who had no interest in her because he was secretly not-so-secretly in love with someone else. “What’d you have done?”

  “Ain’t your fucking business.” Copper shot him a dark look. “As I was saying, she’s tough, definitely not a piece of fluff to hang off a man’s arm. Not a woman to hang around the club and take it from any brother. Good stock.”

  Jig half-coughed, half-laughed as he tried to imagine Izzy as one of the Honeys. “Good stock? You running a breeding program now?”

  “Just trying to tell you if you ever get your head out of your ass and decide to let a woman at more than your cock, she’d be a good one.”

  Jig’s jaw tightened with the force of his bite. “All due respect, Prez,” Jig said as Copper snorted because they both knew “all due respect” was code for “fuck off.” “Don’t think you’re the best one to be playing doc-fucking-Phil, do you?”

  Copper’s features hardened as they reached the sliding double door entrance, and the conversation was dropped. Prez could go fuck himself if he thought he had relationship advice to give. With the way things were going in his life, his dick was going to shrivel up and die before it ever got sucked again. He hadn’t touched a woman since Shell returned to town almost a year ago.

  “This way,” Copper said, turning left down a busy hallway. Doctors, nurses, and aides bustled around, weaving in and around the visitors and dragging equipment along. It wasn’t long before Copper stopped outside a curtained-off area. “I’ll give you a few. Gotta talk to her about the attack, though.”

  Jig nodded as he gripped the curtain. “Sure. Whenever you want.”

  With a smirk, Copper moseyed on down the hallway. Jig knew what that smirk was. It was an “I told you so” smirk. Jig hadn’t even stepped in the room yet, and he was acting as gatekeeper. Screw that, he’d do the same for any women hurt because of their association with the club. Hell, he carried Mav’s woman out of a basement of horrors just a few months ago. Just because he wasn’t the friendliest and didn’t want to hang out with them all day long didn’t mean he wouldn’t give his life for any one of his brothers or their women.

  With a grunt, he pulled the curtain back and stepped into the small triage room. Her eyes closed, Izzy was reclining with the head of the bed elevated slightly. Next to her, Zach was sprawled out in a high-back chair with his giant feet propped on her bed.

  “You raised in a barn, asshole?” Jig asked as he shoved Zach’s feet to the floor. His brother jumped then grinned.

  “Told you,” he said to Izzy. “Teasing.” Patting her on the shoulder, he rose. “Gonna grab a cup of coffee and give Toni a call. I had to tell the prospect to sit on her so she wouldn’t come here. Need to make sure the poor schmuck’s still got both balls.”

  “Zach,” Izzy said in an exasperated tone as though she’d been saying the same thing a hundred times. “Go home to her. I’ll get a ride or call an Uber.” Something was wrong with her voice. It was raspy, gravelly, and she scrunched up her nose as if talking hurt.

  “I’ll take her home.” Jig stood at the foot of her bed and crossed his arms over his chest. An Uber? That wasn’t happening. “Go be with Toni, Z.”

  “You sure?” Zach asked, looking between Jig and Izzy.

  “Yes! Go!” they both answered at the same time. Izzy chuckled, and Jig cleared his throat to disguise his own amusement.

  Once Zach was gone and the privacy curtain was back in place, Jig studied Izzy. Her neck was dotted with at least eight purple circles. Someone had squeezed her so hard they damaged her voice. His fists curled and his body tensed. Give him five minutes alone with the men who dared to touch her. He’d snap their fucking necks with a giant smile on his face.

  “It’s not as bad as it looks.” Izzy winced. “Or sounds.” Some hair had slipped loose from her always-perfect braid, giving her a mussed, almost post-fucked look. Perfect time for his dick to join the party, when a woman was bruised and in pain.

  He was turning into a creeper.

  “It looks bad,” he said. “Sounds worse.”

  “You calling me ugly?” she asked with her usual snark, but some of the effect was lost due to the ruined voice.

  “Tell me,” he ordered.

  For a moment, she looked like she was going to throw her usual sass, but she sighed and let her head fall back on the pillow. “Bruising, tweaked muscles, all surface stuff. No permanent damage. Voice should bounce back in a few days. I’ll scare small children for a bit, but that’s the worst of it.”

  It was bullshit, and they both knew it. She’d be sore as fuck once whatever meds they’d given her wore off. But it was clear she didn’t like to show weakness, so he let her think she was pulling one over on him.

  “Never should have let you leave without a shadow. This is on me.” Thankfully, she’d closed her eyes so he didn’t have to see any disgust or hatred directed his way.

&
nbsp; One eye popped open, and she gestured toward the chair before closing it again. “Guessing you’re planning to stick around for a while. Have a seat. And don’t be stupid.”

  He chuckled as she threw his words from the gym back at him. “We got shit going on with the club. Got constant eyes on all the women attached to us. I’m sorry we didn’t take care of you.”

  Her pretty face twisted into a scowl that was sexier than it should have been. “First of all, bubba,” she croaked, “I take care of myself. Me. Numero uno. Got it?” When he nodded, she went on, “And I’ve been to one party at the club. How the hell were you guys supposed to know they’d come after me? You can’t watch every woman who’s ever been to the clubhouse. I hear there have been millions.”

  She was right, but he’d carry the guilt a little longer. They’d spent a lot of time together over the past two weeks, and the reality of it was she was more to him than a sparring partner.

  Or even a piece of ass.

  Her eyes narrowed. “I’m serious, Jig. Don’t take this on.”

  They held each other’s gazes for a few seconds, the air between them crackling and popping. How she could be bruised and in a hospital gown yet still look sexier than any other woman, he’d never know. But Izzy did. It was just her. The confidence she wore. The comfort in her own body. And what a body it was.

  “All right,” he said. A small lie wouldn’t hurt. “No guilt. They gonna let you go tonight?”

  “Think so. Just waiting on someone to read the X-ray of my ribs. I don’t think they’re broken, and if they’re not, I’m free to go.”

  Free to go, but not alone. No way, no how. He didn’t make the same mistake twice. He’d work her into the protection rotation for the upcoming days. Jig nodded just as the curtain opened and Copper stalked in like he owned the place. Pretty much how he moved through life. “Hey, killer,” he said. “How you feeling?”

  Izzy smiled. “Not too terrible. They gave me the good stuff.”

  Resting his hand on the footboard, Copper loomed over the bed. “Think you can go over what happened with me? We need to nail these guys as soon as possible to keep the rest of the club safe.”

  Izzy had no loyalty to the club. She wasn’t an ol’ lady, wasn’t a Honey, wasn’t even someone who frequented the parties. Jig wouldn’t blame her if she told them to fuck off and leave her the hell out of their problems. But Izzy was a fighter, so he shouldn’t have expected her to back down.

  “I was leaving the gym when two guys grabbed me,” she said with a small scoff. “Coulda taken either of those losers one on one, but then there was a third, so I didn’t stand a chance.”

  As she filled them in, Jig focused on the words and their impact on his club instead of on what happened to Izzy. He had to or he’d go tearing out of the hospital on a rage-filled murder mission. Listening to her talk about Lefty’s men putting their hands on her was almost more than he could handle. He might be able to keep his ass in the chair, but it didn’t stop him from wanting to permanently end anyone associated with Lefty.

  “You recognize any of them? Seen them anywhere before? Any distinguishing marks?” Jig fired one question after another until Izzy held up her hand.

  “Geez, Jig. You sound like a cop.” She sighed. “Oh, uh, no and no. Didn’t get that great a look at the two guys holding my arms. The guy who choked me was young. Twenty? Maybe not even that old. Not very bulky. Muddy colored hair. He had quite a few tats as well. Two I recognized as prison tats.”

  At both Jig and Copper’s raised eyebrows, Izzy laughed. “What? I stay current on trends. You wouldn’t believe how many requests we get in the shop asking for prison tats. Little posers wanting to look tough for the big boys. Rip’s policy is that we send ’em packing. Anyway, his other ink was shitty. Definitely not from Rip or myself. Probably not from a shop anywhere. More like my-brother’s-best-friend-inked-me-in-his-garage kinda thing. Pure garbage.”

  Jig couldn’t help but laugh. Here she was all beat-up, telling an outlaw MC president about the gang leader who sent men to give her a message, and she was more worried about the shitty artistry than her own welfare.

  “What?” she asked, scrunching her forehead.

  “Nothing, sweetheart, go on.”

  Sweetheart? Where the hell had that come from?

  Izzy’s eyes widened, and she cleared her throat as best she could, though it sounded weak. “Uh, where was I? Oh right, they wanted me to tell you the clubhouse wasn’t safe despite the extra security, their business is booming, and they can get to anyone easily.” She pointed to her neck. “Exhibit A.”

  “Fuck.” Copper looked at Jig with an unspoken question in his eye and Jig nodded. They were on the same wavelength. Business was booming. Somehow, flying under the Handlers’ radar, Lefty was still trafficking women. And now they’d put their hands on Izzy. Wrapped them around her neck and squeezed hard enough to bruise. Rage bubbled in him like a pot about to boil over. Slaughtering them would be a pleasure.

  “What’s that look?” Izzy asked. “You just talked to each other with your eyes.”

  “Nothing, killer,” Copper said, and Jig stifled a laugh. He’d spent enough time with Izzy over the past two weeks to know she wasn’t gonna let that fly.

  Her eyes narrowed in what he was coming to call her oh-hell-no look. The one that said she wasn’t buying what Copper was selling.

  “What’s their business? Drugs? Guns?”

  Copper studied her for a moment, looked to Jig, then back to Izzy. “Women.”

  Her forehead scrunched. “Women? They’re pimps?”

  The prez shook his head, that red beard moving back and forth. “Maybe I should have said girls. Young, unwilling girls.”

  “Holy shit,” she breathed. “Sex trafficking?” At Jig’s nod, she said, “Well what are we going to do about it?”

  “We aren’t going to do shit about it,” Jig said. She was out of her ever-loving mind and probably needed an MRI of her head if she thought her involvement with this wasn’t over. “The club will handle it.”

  Those eyes narrowed again, dangerously this time.

  Copper cleared his throat. “We’re gonna put a man on you, Izzy.” As her mouth opened, he held up his hand. “It’s as much for our benefit as your protection. I know you can handle yourself, but Lefty apparently does too, which is why he sent three guys to take you out. I want those men.” His voice dropped to a deadly timber. “If I can catch them by tailing you, that’s what I’m going to do.”

  With a heavy sigh, Izzy stared up at the IV pole next to her bed. They’d given her some pain medication through an IV. “Fine,” she said.

  Copper nodded and patted her foot. “Thanks, Izzy. You didn’t have to tell me shit. Appreciate it. I’ll see you around.”

  He disappeared behind the curtain, leaving Jig alone with Izzy. They stared at each other in silence for a few moments before he finally shifted his gaze away. He hadn’t been in a hospital since his face had been carved up and associated them with pain, grief, and deep depression. Yet, here he was, sitting by Izzy’s side. He hadn’t had a chance to sit by his wife’s side because she never had the chance to heal from her injuries.

  Shit. He had to get his mind out of the past if he was going to survive the night. “Anything I can get for you?” he asked.

  When he saw that squinty look, he knew what she was going to say before she even opened her mouth. “Yes. Hell, yes. You can get me the fuck out of here.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  BY THE TIME Izzy let herself into the small house she’d closed on exactly six weeks and two days prior, it was almost two in the morning. The place wasn’t anything to boast about, but it was hers. With Townsend’s lower cost of living and the generous salary Rip was paying her, she’d have no problem making the mortgage payments. With tips and the occasional prize money, she’d have a surplus for the first time in her life.

  No more roommates, no more relying on others to make ends meet. No more let downs. Just
herself and her own hard work.

  “If you want a drink or something, help yourself,” she said to Jig, who’d insisted on following her into the house. Some poor kid in a truck was gifted the very mind-numbing task of sitting outside her house all night in the cold while she slept. For about ten minutes, she’d put up a good fight, but was exhausted and the pain medication took away her ability to come up with logical arguments, so she’d agreed to the MC’s offer of protection. It was either that or she feared Jig would have bribed the doctor to keep her in the hospital overnight.

  “I’m good, Iz,” he said. “Just want to make sure you get settled, then I’ll bug out and let you sleep.”

  Sleep. Oh man, that sounded too good to be true. “You sure I can’t invite that poor kid in and let him crash on my couch?” she asked for the third time.

  Jig’s expression hardened. “I’m very sure. I find out that little shit’s been in here, and he’ll never get a patch. You hear me?”

  As she walked through her den toward her couch, she raised her hands to shoulder level. “All right, all right. Don’t shoot. I just feel bad for the guy.” She grabbed the armrest and lowered herself to the couch, biting her lip to keep the cry of pain at bay. Jig did not need to know she’d lied when she told the male nurse her pain was four out of ten. Really, it probably floated at the seven, eight level, but the man would have insisted she stay the night if she hadn’t fudged the numbers a bit.

  Following behind her, Jig frowned as he watched her sit and thankfully didn’t comment on the awkward way she lowered herself to the couch. Bending wasn’t exactly comfortable. “Where do you want your meds?” He held up a brown paper bag full of all sorts of goodies.

  Her head flopped back on the cushion. “Kitchen table,” she said, pointing to the kitchen entrance off the den.

  Thirty seconds later, Jig returned with a glass full of more ice than water. “Here,” he said, holding it out to her. “Figure the ice will feel good on your throat.”

  She eyed him before taking the glass and a greedy gulp. Okay, he was right. The icy water felt terrific sliding through her abused throat. After lowering the glass, she met his assessing gaze. “What? I’m good now. You don’t have to stick around.” She wasn’t used to men in her personal space, and his presence was making her twitchy. There had to be some ulterior motive. People didn’t just hang around waiting to be needed by someone they barely knew.