Jigsaw (Hell's Handlers MC Book 3)

by Lilly Atlas

  A soft snort came through the phone. “Fuck that. You’re not getting rid of me that easy, bubba.”

  Jig clenched the dashboard as hard as he could, trying to rid some of the rage-fueled tension building. “Where the fuck is your prospect?”

  Izzy cleared her throat. “I, uh, kinda told him he could go get something to eat while I was working. In my rush to follow this guy, I forgot all about him.”

  Jig looked at Zach. “He’s fucking dead. I want his cut. He’ll never patch.”

  “Simmer down, brother,” Zach said. “We’ll worry about that later.”

  Simmer down? Simmer down? “Would you be telling yourself to simmer down if Toni’s protection took off to stuff his fucking face?”

  Tension filled the car as Zach clutched the steering wheel and shook his head.

  “Uh, guys, still here, and turning left about a mile after that rundown silo. Shit, there’s no street sign. It’s a dirt road,” Izzy said.

  “Know it, babe, you’re doing great,” Zach said.

  All three men strained toward the phone. With the dull roar of the rain and the phone being on speaker, hearing her was a challenge.

  “Okay, turning right three-tenths of a mile down. Another dirt road. It’s easy to see, first turn off.”

  Zach smiled. The asshole was probably loving every second of this. “Your woman’s a rock star,” he mouthed to Jig.

  Pride warmed Jig’s insides. Even though he hated her being anywhere near this shit, Zach had a point. Izzy was brave, courageous, loyal, smart, and for however long it lasted, she was his. Fuck, after this, Copper would probably patch her in as the first female member of the club.

  “Iz, we’ll be coming up on you any second now,” Zach said.

  “I’ve stopped,” she replied. “I can see a structure about a hundred yards or so ahead. Looks like an actual barn, so I don’t want to get closer and be discovered.”

  When he spotted her crappy car, Jig’s stomach finally unknotted. Even though he’d known she was fine, having eyes on her confirmed her safety. “We’re pulling up behind you,” Jig said. “Get out of your car and into Zach’s truck.”

  “Coming.” She disconnected the call, and darted from her car to Zach’s truck. She was so fucking brave, Jig wasn’t sure whether he wanted to praise her for her actions, hold her until he was one hundred percent certain she was all right, or spank the shit out of her for her recklessness.

  “Shit, that rain is freezing,” she said, breathing hard as she slammed the door. She rubbed her hands together. “So, what’s the plan?”

  Seriously? What’s the plan? Jig laughed a sound of disbelief. “What’s the plan? The plan is that you’re going to get that sweet ass back in your piece of shit car and drive straight to the clubhouse while we check this out.”

  The sound that came from Izzy would have been hilarious if it wasn’t such a shitty situation. Part snort, part choke, and part laugh, she clapped her hands together one time then leaned forward until she was right in his face.

  “Now, baby,” she said in a syrupy-sweet voice so un-Izzy, “you know how much I appreciate your love of my sweet ass, but you’re out of your fucking mind if you think I’m going to scurry home and bake you a fuckin’ pie like the little woman.” There wasn’t any sweetness to her tone anymore. Just the narrowed-eyed oh-hell-no look that usually got him hard. Not today.

  Bake a pie? What the fuck was she talking about? Women’s minds where such a mess of twisted fuckery, he didn’t even try to decipher it.

  “This is club business, Izzy. It’s not your place, and I’m not risking you getting involved in this deeper.” He couldn’t, wouldn’t lose another woman to violence. Why couldn’t she just give in?

  “Guys, this is not the tim—”

  “Shut up, Rocket,” Izzy snapped before turning back to Jig. “Not my place? You’re not risking me? I’m sorry? Is your brain getting clogged with residual old-world Southern gentlemen bullshit? Because here, in the year twenty eighteen, we actually let women make their own decisions.”

  “You need a little reminder of what happens when you mouth off to me?” Jig practically growled at her.

  The car fell deadly silent, and the look of betrayal on Izzy’s face was so profound Jig instantly knew he’d made a fatal mistake. “Fuck!” He slammed out of the car and into the freezing rain, not giving one single shit if he died of fucking hypothermia.

  He needed her to be safe. Why couldn’t she understand that? If anything happened to her, it would destroy him. God damned woman was so infuriating.

  Still, he’d fucked up royally. Just a few nights ago he’d promised her whatever went on between them was private. That whatever secret parts of herself she let only him have, he’d keep them secret.

  Izzy didn’t trust for shit, yet she’d given some to him.

  And he just threw it right back in her face.

  She’d never trust him again. He knew it without a doubt.

  SLACK-JAWED, IZZY stared after the man who stormed from the truck with her pride dragging behind him in tatters. How could he? She’d gone so out of character by letting him spank her, actually trusting him with a piece of herself she hadn’t given to another man ever. And he tossed that trust away as though it was nothing more than trash.

  And ordering her to leave a fight? It was like he didn’t know her at all.

  How many times did she need to learn the same lesson before it stuck? How many people were destined to disappoint and abandon her before she got a clue and stopped forming attachments? Because she was attached, very attached, despite her staunch resolve to remain distant.

  It wasn’t the time to delve into it, but she feared she might even be in love with him. Her heart squeezed so painfully tears tickled the corners of her eyes. No, it couldn’t be love. She wouldn’t allow it.

  “Izzy, with his past, Jig’s just overprotect—”

  She looked Zach in the eye. “You think I can’t handle this?”

  He gave her the respect of a straight answer. “I think you can handle any damn thing thrown your way. This isn’t about that. This is about Jig and his fear of—”

  “No. It’s not. It’s about teenage girls who have been kidnapped. It has nothing to do with Jig or his fucked-up view of how women should act. What’s the plan? You going to bust in there and get these traumatized girls to come with you? You think they’re just gonna hop in the back of your truck and ride off with you? You’re all huge, intimidating bikers, and these girls have been abused and raped, probably repeatedly. They’re going to be fucking terrified and need a woman present.”

  Zach’s sigh was heavy with frustration. “LJ’s on his way with a van. Rocket’s got a contact a few hours out of town. Chick who runs a shelter. She can take the girls. Get them sorted. Find the families of the ones who have them. Help the others get the support they need.”

  “They’re not going to leave with a bunch of menacing men.” Was she the only rational one here?

  “Can you shoot a gun?” Rocket asked from next to her.

  “I was a single woman living alone in New Orleans, working alone at night sometimes with occasionally rough clientele. Yes, I can shoot a fucking gun. And I have one in my car.”

  Zach and Rocket exchanged a look while she seethed in her seat. Really, she didn’t need their permission for any of this, but the boys club she’d fallen in with had her outnumbered, so she was at their mercy.

  “All right.” Zach ran a hand over his face. He turned in his seat and speared her with a look she hadn’t seen from him. This was enforcer Zach, all serious business and don’t-fuck-with-me attitude. Izzy squirmed in her seat. “You”—he pointed to her—“are not on point here. You’re here for the girls. To keep them calm, to help get them out, and to prevent freak-outs. You hear me? No GI Jane shit.”

  Izzy frowned and opened her mouth, but Zach held up a hand. “Not because you can’t hack it, but because that man”—he jerked his thumb over his shoulder—“will lose h
is shit if something happens to you. If you can’t agree, I’ll tie your ass to the steering wheel. Yes?”

  Izzy swallowed all the retorts bubbling up in her mouth and nodded. She stared out the windshield at the back of Jig seated in her car. Maybe she’d been too hard on him. Since he’d lost his wife in the most horrifying of ways, the man was bound to be a little overprotective as a result. And he’d probably spoken without thinking, pushed to his limit by her.

  Not that it mattered because this had been an eye-opening afternoon. A reminder she couldn’t put herself in a position to be disappointed and abandoned once again. It was time to end things with Jig.

  The rain had slowed to a thick mist, and within minutes a large panel van pulled up behind Zach’s car. Rocket, Zach, and Jig left the vehicles and met LJ at the van. Izzy followed, careful to avoid Jig’s gaze. Weapons were distributed, plans were made, then Zach and LJ spent a few minutes hiding the vehicles down the road.

  They jogged back just as the rain picked up again. Soaked to the bone, Izzy shivered and caught Jig’s gaze. His eyes were cold, shuttered, and flat. Much as they’d been the first few times she’d met him.

  “Okay,” Zach said. “Us four”—he indicted himself, Rocket, Jig, and LJ—“are going to do reconnaissance. We’ll take out who we can and text when it’s safe for you to enter, Iz. You’re on lookout. Anyone comes down this road, we need a text ASAP. Your kid said there were four guys here, plus him makes five. No idea on the number of girls. Everyone good?”

  They all nodded. Izzy risked another glance at Jig then immediately wished she hadn’t. He wouldn’t even look at her. It hurt like hell in her stomach, her head, her heart, but she had to shove it aside because it was nothing compared to how the girls in that barn would be hurting.

  “All right,” Rocket said, “it’s go time.”

  Then all four men disappeared into the woods, weaving toward the barn while Izzy settled herself against the van.

  To wait.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  ROCKET AND MAVERICK had access to all sorts of spy-level gadgets, but seeing as how they hadn’t anticipated a takedown today, they didn’t have comms or any other high-tech equipment. Just four cellphones, three handguns, five rifles, some C-4 Jig would never ask Rocket about, and four men committed to ruining the fuck out of Lefty’s trafficking business.

  As they crept their way through the woods toward the barn, Jig’s anxious fury only grew. The past and present were mixing in his head, causing a host of fucked-up feelings he couldn’t handle. These weren’t the men who hurt his family, but they were attached to the gang that injured Izzy. And they destroyed the lives of an unknown number of innocent girls. Jig was so hungry to take these fuckers out, he was practically salivating at the thought of making them bleed.

  When the barn was easily visible through the foliage, Jig anchored his back against a large oak tree. His brothers were spread out and hidden in much the same way. Both being prior military, this scene was Zach and Rocket’s comfort zone. Jig could hold his own, but both of those men were skilled at leading and planning operations. He kept his eyes trained on Zach and waited for instructions.

  Wouldn’t be long. A few minutes at most. Anticipation flowed through him. If only Lefty were there as well, so they could end his sorry-assed life, but part of him loved the fact that Lefty would be forced to watch his empire crash and burn. To know the Handlers had fulfilled their promise to tear his house apart brick by brick.

  Then, when he was at his lowest, they’d kill the motherfucker.

  Zach pointed to the barn and held up five fingers. Five men outside. Then he held up one finger and dropped his hand about hip level. One little one. Probably the errand boy who’d come to Izzy’s shop. They’d gotten damn lucky, following the kid when he was bringing food to the guards. Most likely, all four of them had abandoned their posts in favor of eating, and the Handlers could catch them off their game.

  When Zach held up his fist, Jig readied his weapon. Rocket and Zach would emerge first with Jig and LJ as back up. Zach lowered his fist, and he and Rocket ran toward the barn, rifles secured against their shoulders.

  “Hands up! Oh the ground! Now!” Zach screamed, charging forward.

  Standing around, shooting the shit and eating pizza, the men were taken completely off guard. “Oh, fuck!” The teen was the first to lift his hands to ear level, letting the half-full box of pizza tumble to the ground.

  Two of the others abandoned their meal and dropped to their knees as well, hands above their heads. The remaining two were cockier sonsabitches. One folded his arms across his chest two seconds before Rocket surged forward, ramming the butt of his rifle dead center on the guys forehead.

  He screamed like a little girl and crumbled to his knees. “Shoulda fucking listened the first time,” Rocket growled out as he circled the bastard, planted his boot between his shoulder blades and shoved him face-first into the dirt.”

  Clearly missing something between his ears, the remaining guard smirked then took a large bite of his pizza. “Fucking bikers,” he said with his mouth full.

  He was a big fucker, but then Jig was bigger. His scowl was mean, but then Jig’s was meaner.

  “Gotta keep my strength up,” he said, still chewing. Then he swallowed, took another bite, and winked. “Need energy to give these girls what they’re begging for.”

  It was the last straw. Already hopped up from his fight with Izzy and the fucked-up thoughts in his head, Jig tossed his gun to the ground and lunged forward, catching the pig with a right hook to the side of his head.

  A half-chewed gob of pizza flew out of his mouth as his head whipped to the side under the force of Jig’s punch. He never had a chance to defend himself. Jig hit him again and the guy crashed to the ground. Following him down, Jig connected his fist with the piece of shit’s face again and again until everything cleared from his mind but the satisfying ricocheting from his knuckles to his shoulder each time he smashed the guy’s face.

  Over and over, Jig pummeled him, the stress leaving his body one crack at a time.

  He had no idea how many minutes passed. Could have been one, could have been twenty, but eventually a strong arm crossed his chest and yanked him back. With a grunt, Jig landed on his ass in the dirt.

  “Think you made your point, brother,” Zach said with a smile. “Don’t need to be hauling a dead body back to the clubhouse with us.”

  Jig blinked and stared at the mess he’d made. The guy’s face was pulverized. An unrecognizable mix of blood, snot, and bruising. His nose looked like it had been run through a meat grinder. Jig smiled.

  Damn, that felt good.

  Blinking, he looked at the other men, now on their knees with their hands zip-tied behind their backs. The kid gawked at the man Jig almost killed. His face had a green hue, and he looked like he was seconds away from vomiting. If Jig wasn’t mistaken, there was a faint aroma of urine in the air. The kid wasn’t cut out to be a gang banger if a little beat down had him pissing himself.

  “Anyone go in to look for the girls?” Jig asked.

  All signs of teasing left Zach’s face. “Yeah, while you were kicking that guy’s trash, Rocket slipped inside. He heard some terrified shrieks behind a closed door. Didn’t want to be the first one in there looking like this. We’ll let Izzy go first.”

  Jig nodded. He could admit when he was wrong, even though he despised it. Having Izzy there would be a lifesaver when it came to the girls. He knew she could handle this with one hand behind her back. He just didn’t want her to.

  He didn’t want her near the ugliness that sometimes invaded his life.

  But for a moment back there, in the truck, he’d forgotten who she was. No, he hadn’t lumped her in with his wife who’d have run screaming from the scene, but he did let his experience with her cloud his mind. Izzy didn’t run from a fight. Izzy didn’t quake and hide when confronted with horrors.

  Izzy accepted who he was, violent past and present included
. She was a woman who could take care of herself. She didn’t need or want Jig fighting her battles for her, but for a while, she’d been willing to let him stand by her side and tackle them with her. Now he’d fucked that up.

  She emerged from the woods, pistol in hand, strutting toward the barn in those damned heeled boots like some kind of mercenary-inspired porn star. If she stopped halfway to them and stripped, Jig would know he’d been cast in a low budget adult film.

  But she didn’t. She strode right up to him and Zach before she saw the pile of beaten man on the ground. Her eyes widened before her gaze collided with Jigs. He hadn’t moved from his spot on the ground, but rose now and held the eye contact.

  So much passed between them in that brief moment. Sorrow, guilt, desire, sadness, even understanding and acceptance. The connection only lasted a few seconds then Izzy turned all business. “Girls?” she asked.

  He wanted to reach out and grab her. Haul her to him and kiss the fuck out of her, but she’d probably take that heel and stab a hole right through his foot.

  “Follow me inside,” Rocket said.

  She nodded, and without so much as a word for Jig, tromped off after Rocket.

  “Hold up,” she said when she was in front of the kid who came into her shop.

  “It’s you,” he spat out. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  She grinned down at him. “That’s right, it’s me. Guess next time you better watch who you’re calling a bitch. Might come back to bite ya.” With a wink, she stepped to her right, in front of the guard kneeling beside the kid. “Got a message for you to pass along to Lefty.” Without warning, she cocked her arm and rammed her closed fist into his face. “That’s for my fucking windows,” she said, then spat at his feet. “I’ll let these guys dish out punishment for the girls.”

  Then, as though she truly was the warrior queen she resembled, she marched into that barn behind Rocket, leaving the rest of their group outside laughing at the scene.