Twist the Knife (Lost Kings MC #24)

Curious, I pull myself out of the chair and walk over to the bookcases. More non-fiction on these shelves. Lots and lots of true crime books, chemistry books, some books on burial customs and funeral rites. At least they all sound like normal titles for someone in her profession. Further down, she has a collection of romance novels. I pull out a few titles to see if Trinity has designed any of the covers or if I recognize the models. One copyright page lists Trinity H. Ramsey as the photographer and designer. And even though the bulky, muscled and oiled model on the front is only pictured from chin to abs, I’d bet my Harley it’s Wrath.

I grab my phone, take a quick picture, and send it to Rooster.

Me: Found one in the wild. Should I send to Wrath?

Rooster responds with a row of laughing face emojis.

Instead of antagonizing Wrath, I send the photo to Trinity with the same “found in the wild” caption, knowing how excited she’ll be to see her work on someone’s shelf.

Two texts come in at the same time.

Rooster: Where are you?

Trinity: OMG! Where?

That was a mistake. I don’t bother answering either one.

The door clicks open behind me.

I shove the book back on the shelf and jam my phone in my pocket.

Margot steps inside. The fiery edge she had earlier seems to have disappeared, replaced with something more vulnerable and tired. Tired of the world and tired of bullshit. Probably my bullshit in particular.

“Hey, that was quicker than I expected,” I greet her. “The food isn’t here yet.”

She closes her door and rubs her temples. “They finally settled on the casket you guys brought upstairs for us,” she rasps. “So, thank you again for doing that.”

I want to go to her and wrap her up in my arms, but I also want her to come to me to look for comfort. “Not a problem.”

Gretel runs to Margot and twirls around her legs for a few seconds, then runs away again.

My phone buzzes and I pull it out. “Food’s on its way. I’m going to run downstairs.” I pause. “That okay or am I going to run into your dad?”

“No, he went home. Paul’s around though, but he won’t mind if you’re here.” She tugs her cardigan off. “I’m going to change.”

“Okay.” I meet her by the door. She stares up at me, expecting what?

Fuck it. I need her body against mine. I pull her into my arms. At first, she’s stiff and resistant. But then she softens and slides her arms around my waist.

The hard knot of tension in my chest finally loosens. I’ve missed having her in my arms.

“I’m sorry I called you a fuckboy,” she murmurs against my chest.

Deep, rumbling laughter eases out of me. I kiss the top of her head. “I’m sorry I’ve been acting like one.”

Margot

Danger. I shouldn’t trust Jigsaw again. But he’s here now. He came back. That’s enough. I’m a big girl. It’s not his responsibility to protect my heart.

Hugging him, being held against his body feels too good. Familiar, comfortable, exciting. A spark I haven’t felt since the last time I saw him lights me up inside.

His phone dings.

I pull away as he grabs it and checks the screen. “Food’s here.” He squeezes my shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.” I hurry into my bedroom and strip off my dress, hanging it on a hook by my closet. I slip into a loose pair of soft, stretchy pants and a T-shirt.

For several stomach-churning moments, I stand frozen in my bedroom. Should I have put on something nicer? Sexier?