Jigsaw (Hell's Handlers MC Book 3)

by Lilly Atlas

  “Hey,” she called over her shoulder, “Welcome to—oh Rip, hey. Right on time.” At least she wouldn’t have to tell Jig she’d been alone in the shop.

  He shuffled his way into the shop and straight to her station. “Yeah, I know. Wanted to talk to you about something for a few minutes.”

  A wave of discomfort washed over Izzy. That phrase was never a good way to start a conversation. Pretty much always meant some kind of bad news.

  God, was he about to fire her?

  She’d never had a customer complain about her, she worked whatever hours he requested, and she never caused drama.

  Rip chuckled and sat on a rolling stool. “Get that terrified expression off your face, kid. It’s nothing bad.”

  “Well, maybe you shoulda started with that, old man,” Izzy said as she plopped on the empty stool. She’d never admit how relieved his reassurances made her.

  “I’m moving to Montana in a month,” he said.

  Izzy blinked. “I’m sorry, what?” How was that not bad news?

  His eyes sparkled. “You heard me, Iz. I’m moving.”

  “But, but why? Are you buying a new shop?”

  “Nah,” he said. “I’m retiring.”

  “You’re fifty-two.”

  Rip chuckled. “I’m well aware of my age.” He shrugged. “I’ve got money saved from an old inheritance. I, uh…” His round face turned an adorable shade of red. “I met someone who lives out there, at a convention last year. We’ve kept in touch ever since, and I want to be closer to her.”

  What the hell was with everyone pairing off? “Rip?” she asked in a sing-song voice. “Are you in love?”

  He snorted and flipped her off. “Shut up, kid. Let me get to my point here.”

  She wasn’t sure she could take much more. One more person leaving her life. Someone she’d thought would be in her life for years to come. Add it to the tally. Swallowing, Izzy steeled her face and tried not to show the ache of disappointment. “Moving wasn’t your point?”

  “No. God, have you always been this sassy?” He stared at the ceiling and threw up his hands.

  “Yes.” Izzy laughed. “Sorry, old man. Get to it.”

  “I want to sell you the business. Can’t think of anyone I’d rather leave the place to.”

  For the second time that day, Izzy’s eyes welled. “Shit, Rip, you know I’d love nothing more than to carry on your legacy, but I’m in no position to buy a shop.”

  He held up his hand and scowled, but it was all for show. Deep down the man was as soft as a melted marshmallow. “Can you stop running your mouth and let me finish?”

  “Yeah.” She was truly going to miss her gruff mentor.

  “I’d like to sell you the place for one dollar.”

  “Rip—” Was he out of his mind?

  “I say it was your turn to speak yet?” His brusque voice was full of affection. People didn’t do things like this. Didn’t just hand over a store to someone not even a blood relative. What was it with this town? First, the bikers had jumped in to help her on more than on occasion, now Rip practically was handing her his shop on a silver platter. Of course, he was still leaving her, but somehow his wanting to make sure she was well set up eased some of that sting.

  Izzy rolled her lips inward to keep from giggling. “Nope.”

  Was the other shoe about to drop? Because people didn’t just help and give; they took and neglected.

  He grunted. “I told you I got money. Don’t need to sell this place for more of it. Thought of it closing is the only thing that makes me sad about leaving. So, you take it. Keep ’er open for me. Give good ink.”

  Arguing was pointless. Rip’s mind was made up. The determination to get his way was evident in his narrowed eyes and the set of his jaw.

  “Am I allowed to talk now?” she asked after enduring a few seconds of the stare-down.

  “Long as you don’t say some stupid shit about not deservin’ it or not feelin’ right takin’ it from me.”

  “I won’t.”

  “’Kay.” He rested his elbow on the tattoo chair to his side.

  “Thank you,” she said with a crack in her voice. “I-I’m honored, and I’ll take excellent care of your baby.”

  He stood and patted her shoulder. “Know you will, kid. Wouldn’t have given ’er to you otherwise.” With that, he disappeared into his office. That was about as touchy-feely as Rip got. For anyone else, it was the equivalent of a bear hug and vomiting feelings all over the room.

  Her shop. She glanced around the very simple and understated room.

  Her shop.

  Already, ideas for growth, expansion, and remodeling were pinging around in her head. Izzy smiled just as the bells jangled once again. “Hey, welcome to Inked. What can I do for you?”

  The potential client looked about five minutes out of puberty with a scraggly smattering of light brown peach fuzz on his chin, a few zits, and about a gallon of goop in his sand-colored hair.

  Izzy’s bullshit meter started to rise.

  “Want some ink,” he said, puffing out his chest like that would somehow make her believe he was of age.

  Folding her arms across her chest, Izzy leaned her hip against the reception counter. “Hmm,” she said. “You got any ID on you proving you’re eighteen?”

  “What?” He froze for a second then said, “Oh, yeah. I, uh, got it right here.” After a few moments of hunting in his baggy pockets, he dug out a card and handed it to her. She took one look at the Tennessee license and burst out laughing. The guy in the photo had ten years and fifty pounds on this kid. Only thing they had in common was the inability to grow a full beard.

  With as gentle a smile as she could muster when she wanted to boot him out the door for wasting her time, she said, “Sorry, kid, but there is no way this is you.” She held out the ID. “Come on back when you turn eighteen. Unless you want to bring your parents. I can ink you if I have their consent.”

  He snatched the license back and got right up in her face. Too bad he was two inches shorter than she was in her heels. And she could probably snap his twiggy neck with ease. “Listen, bitch—”

  “Hey!” Rip emerged from his office and made his way to the counter. “We got a problem here?”

  Izzy resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It was still Rip’s shop so she wouldn’t give him hell for jumping in front of her and handling her hiccups.

  “Yeah, we got a problem, old man.” Dumb kid probably thought Rip would be in on his boys’ club mentality and take his side. “This bitch won’t give me my tat.”

  Rip raised an eyebrow at Izzy. “Never known her to refuse a customer. Must be a good reason, buddy. Even better than you calling her a bitch. I’ve seen her hand better men than you their asses for less.”

  Izzy coughed to cover her laugh. “There is. He showed me the shittiest fake ID I’ve ever seen. Told him to come back with mommy and daddy, and I’d be happy to ink him. Otherwise, he’s gotta wait until he’s eighteen like everybody else.”

  Rip’s lips quirked, but he didn’t smile. Much more even keel than Izzy, he said. “Sorry, bud. Don’t be a dick to her. I’m the one who makes the rules. See you in a few years.”

  “Fuck this,” the teenager said. As he pushed through the door, his phone rang and he cursed again.

  “You good?” Rip asked.

  Izzy smiled. Sure, his overprotective attitude toward a little boy Izzy could swat easier than a fly was on the annoying side, but it was also endearing in a fatherly kind of way. “I’m good, Rip. Thanks for the backup.”

  With a nod and a wave of his hand, he headed back to his office. “You’re done for the day, right?”

  “Yeah, I’m free now. Have a good one, Rip.”

  “See ya tomorrow.”

  She grabbed her bag, popped on her sunglasses, and headed out to the parking lot. An ominous gray sky greeted her, ready to dump buckets of rain. “Guess I don’t need these,” she said as she removed the dark glasses. Digging thr
ough her purse for her sunglass case, she heard some muffled chatter and looked around, but appeared to be alone.

  “Lefty needs my help? Fuck yeah, I’m in.”

  Hand in her bag, Izzy froze.

  Confident the sound came from around the side of the shop, Izzy tiptoed as close as she dared to get a better listen.

  Lefty.

  The kid was one of Lefty’s guys? She strained her ears, trying to pick up any and every word that was spoken. The wind kicked up and made it harder to hear, forcing her to sneak closer.

  “Bring food to the guys guarding the barn? Yeah, man, I can do that. What the fuck’s the barn? What are they guarding?”

  Izzy held her breath. Whoever was on the other end was reaming him out so loudly she could hear muffled scolding through the phone.

  “No, sorry man. Yeah, I know. Don’t ask questions, just follow orders. Got it.” He fell silent for a few moments. Izzy could practically feel the waves of excitement flowing from him. He was obviously low level if he was even in the gang at all yet. An eager puppy who had far more ambition than brains, as evident by the fact he was having this conversation outside.

  “Four guys. Yeah, okay, I’ll pick up a few pizzas and bring ’em right there. You gonna text me directions?”

  The barn. Guarding someone.

  Izzy’s gut went haywire. And she’d learned to trust it after taking care of herself for years. Something was up here. Something big. A barn with guards sounded like the perfect place to stash a bunch of kidnapped girls being sold to the highest bidder.

  Her heart raced, and her fingers and toes tingled. This was it. She could feel it in her bones. This was what the Handlers needed to get Lefty off their backs.

  Not to mention the potential to rescue the women—girls—Lefty had kidnapped.

  The idea of being caught snooping wasn’t one she relished, so the moment it sounded like the kid was winding up his call, Izzy hoofed it to her car as silently as possible. After slipping into the driver’s seat, she kept her eyes on the kid but acted as though she was searching for something in her bag. Adrenaline coursed through her system, similar to the feeling she had right before stepping into the ring. Used to it, it was typically easy to channel the anxious anticipation into something productive, but today her usual methods failed her. There was far too much at stake.

  The sky opened up, dumping buckets of rain in seconds. Maybe the pelting rain would create some distraction and keep him from realizing she intended to tail him.

  The kid pulled out of the parking lot, and Izzy forced herself to count to ten before driving after him. This was her first time following someone with stealth in mind, so she just did what she’d seen on TV. No headlights despite the rain, stayed a reasonable distance behind him, avoided turn signals. After about ten minutes, he pulled into the parking lot of an Italian restaurant. Izzy drove past, flipped a U-ey, then pulled off to the side of the road within eyesight of the kid’s car.

  When he disappeared into the restaurant, she dug out her phone. Time to call in the steel cavalry.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “OF COURSE, IT’S fucking pouring,” Jig grumbled as he sprinted from the clubhouse to Zach’s idling truck. Cold rain, sharp as shards of ice, bounced off his leather jacket and bombarded his face in a shower of stabbing pricks.

  When he reached the truck, he yanked the door handle, only to find it locked.

  What the…?

  With a scowl, he peered through the dripping truck window into the cab of the truck and at Zach’s shit-eating grin.

  Asshole.

  Pounding his fist on the window, he yelled, “Open it the fuck up, shithead. It’s colder than a witch’s tit out here, and I’m fucking soaked.”

  Zach glanced over his shoulder to the back seat where Rocket was laughing like a loon. His brothers were a bunch of sadistic cockwaffles.

  “What?” Zach lifted his hands and shook his head. “I can’t hear you,” he mouthed.

  “Open. The. Fucking. Door.” Jig gripped the handle and pulled with all his strength as though he could just rip the damn thing off the hinge. But what’d he’d apparently missed was Zach unlocking the door, which now flew open, sending Jig stumbling back, nearly to his ass.

  Both Zach and Rocket were so hysterical they could barely speak.

  “Can we go please?” Jig reached out and cranked Zach’s heat. The other two could sweat their nuts off for all he cared.

  “Oooh,” Zach said as he tried to calm his hilarity. “That was fucking good. Hey! Don’t drip all over my new leather interior. If I gotta ride in a cage, I want it to at least be in good condition.”

  Jig finally smiled. “Should have thought of that shit before you locked me out in the rain, asshole. Let’s get moving. Copper will skin us alive if we don’t follow up on this lead.” Rocket had gotten some intel on where Lefty was hiding out. Today’s mission was to scout it out, see if there was a chance the info was good. Possibly a long-shot, but worth the trouble if it got them what they needed.

  As Zach pulled out onto the road, Rocket leaned forward over the center console. “You know,” he said, facing Jig. “Two months ago, we couldn’t have pulled that shit on you.”

  Jig’s eyebrows drew down. “What do you mean?”

  “You were such a grumpy motherfucker that it wouldn’t have been any fun. You’d have just walked away or some shit. You’re actually not a dipshit now. What the fuck’s going on with you?”

  With a laugh, Zach steered onto the highway. “Pussy, brother. Our man Jig is getting it from all angles from his sexy fighter girl. You should try it.”

  “Huh.” Rocket sat back against the seat. “Guess that explains it.”

  With a roll of his eyes, Jig said, “I’ve always had pussy. This is no different.” Even as the words left his mouth, they felt dirty. And his balls shriveled a bit at the thought of what Izzy would do to him if she’d heard that.

  “Ha,” Zach said, slapping the steering wheel. “No different, my ass. That’s the biggest crock of shit I’ve ever heard.”

  Jig was beyond over this conversation but, apparently, he was to endure the idiocy of his brothers a little longer.

  “Quality pussy, my man. There’s a difference, and you fucking know it,” Zach said like he was some authority on women.

  That statement caused Jig to grunt. Yeah, he knew precisely what Zach was referring to. Everything about Izzy was quality. Maybe he should just man-up and admit it. Just as he was about to open his mouth, his phone rang.

  “Speak of the she-devil,” Zach said with a smirk.

  “You’re like a giant five-year-old,” Jig said as he checked the screen. Sure enough, Izzy. “Hey, babe,” he said.

  Izzy didn’t bother with a greeting but launched into a panicked rant he could barely understand. Cold fear washed over him. Nothing scared Izzy. Nothing riled her so much she couldn’t be understood. What the fuck had happened?

  “Shit, babe, slow down. I can’t catch what the fuck you’re saying.” Unease tightened his gut. “You in trouble?”

  “No. Sorry, I’m a little freaked out right now. Okay, this guy, a kid really, came into the shop for a tat. I refused him because he was about sixteen and had the worst fake ID I’d ever seen. Rip backed me because he was obviously—”

  “Babe, the point?” Jig cut in because he sensed she’d have gone on for a while before getting to the meat of it.

  “Oh, God, sorry. Shit, I need to calm down.” Her deep inhalation and slow release were audible through the phone. “Damnit, there he is. Okay, I’m putting you on speaker so I can follow him again.”

  Red flags were flying all over the place, and Jig’s fuse was lit. “Isabella, what the fuck is going on? And why the fuck are you following someone? Swear to Christ, if you don’t tell me now…”

  “Shit, it’s raining hard. Okay, the kid got a call and took it outside, but I overheard it as I was leaving. Whoever was on the line asked him to do an errand. For Lefty. Wanted him
to pick up some food for guys out at some barn who were guarding something.”

  “God fucking damnit!” Jig slammed his clenched fist against the dash.

  Zach swerved off the road and hit the brakes. “What’s going on, brother?” Once again, Rocket leaned between the front seats, any traces of playfulness vanished.

  “Jig?” Izzy asked.

  “Babe, I’m putting you on speaker. Repeat what you just said.”

  Rocket and Zach’s reactions were just as violent as Jig’s, but they couldn’t possibly have been feeling the same rattled turmoil as he was. His woman was out there following some punk to a barn where they housed trafficked woman.

  Fuck.

  “Fuck!” he screamed again.

  Maintaining his cool, Zach put a hand on Jig’s shoulder. “Iz, where are you now?” he asked.

  “Heading west on Lamar Alexander Parkway. He just pulled out of that Italian place.”

  Zach caught Rocket’s eye in the mirror and nodded. Rocket pulled out his phone and started a low conversation. Jig shook his head then rolled his shoulders and focused on what Izzy was saying. He needed to get his shit together so he could be useful to her and his club.

  And an unknown number of abused teenage girls.

  His body zinged with an electricity he’d felt a few times before. Bloodlust. Some motherfuckers were going to pay very soon.

  “Good, Iz, that’s good,” Zach said. “We’re actually only five minutes away from where you are. Stay far enough behind him that he doesn’t spot you, though it doesn’t sound like he’s smart enough to pick up a tail. Still, be cautious. Stay on the line and navigate for us when he gets off the parkway. Okay? We should be pulling up behind you in a few minutes.”

  Zach stomped on the accelerator, and his pickup shot forward, way faster than the speed limit and way faster than was smart given the near-freezing rain, but fuck it. They had to catch up to Izzy and fast.

  “Will do,” Izzy said. Then she fell quiet, probably concentrating on the road and her mark.

  “Babe, we’re in Zach’s black F-150. He’ll flash his lights when we’re behind you. You immediately pull over and head back home.”