Twist the Knife (Lost Kings MC #24)

“Seriously?” he asks. “Trying to rob a funeral home? Feels like bad karma.”

“You’d think.” I sigh. “I hate to sound like my father, but people don’t have a lot of respect for the dead or those who tend to them anymore.”

“People don’t fear being punched in the face as much as they should anymore, either.”

I chuckle at his blunt, violent observation. “That’s a colorful way to put it.”

I slip my key into the lock and push the door open. Inside, I hurry to the alarm panel and punch in the code.

The door closes behind Jigsaw with a heavy thunk.

I toe off my heels and stack them neatly on the first step of the staircase leading upstairs.

“What’s up there?” Jigsaw asks.

“Well, the second floor used to be the family living quarters when I was a kid. Now, there’s a parlor we use sometimes for overflow guests and a room for kiddos who are having a hard time with the solemn nature of events down here. My cousin’s suite is at the end of the hall. My apartment is on the third floor.”

“Where does your dad live?”

“Next door.”

“Ahhh.” He nods slowly. “So you’re in this big house all by yourself most of the time?”

He seems to be asking out of concern for my safety, not because he wants to stay the night without my family knowing. Maybe I should be insulted, but for some reason that makes me like him even more.

And makes me feel worse that I tried to treat him like my own personal sex worker.

“Paul lives here. He’s on call too. But we both kind of do our own thing in our down-time.”

“When will your dad be back from the call?” he asks.

I shrug. “It’s hard to say. Depends on where it was and the paperwork involved. It could be hours before he returns here with the body, or any minute.”

He throws a glance at the back door. “You ever have a problem with someone trying to break in, you know you can call us, right?” He tilts his head toward the parking lot. “Protection is part of the arrangement with my club.”

“But you all live so far away.” My lips curve into a small smile. “Although the Slater County sheriff would probably take just as long to get here.”

He frowns slightly. “I have a couple friends over in Johnsonville who’d get here quicker if you need help.”

“Griff? Remy?” I ask. Obviously, they’re close enough to the club that they were invited to Teller’s wedding.

“Yeah,” he growls. “And another couple of guys.”

I wish I’d never admitted that I thought about asking Griff to help me with my problem. It was only a fleeting thought, and I only said it because Jigsaw’s inevitable rejection hurt my feelings.

“Let me make that coffee,” I say, hurrying into the kitchen. The old, white linoleum under my feet, though spotless, squeaks in familiar spots—an audible reminder of how long it’s been since we’ve updated this part of the house.

He follows behind me, seeming to take up an unusual amount of space even in the large kitchen. He hovers close while I measure the coffee and hit Brew.

“How do you like it?” I face the dark wood cabinet, my hand lingering near the handle.

“Black with sugar.”

I turn, glancing at him over my shoulder. “No cream?”

“Nah.” He swivels his head around, checking out the kitchen in a more leisurely manner than the last time he was here.

A wave of self-consciousness follows me to the refrigerator. I pull out a carton of half-and-half, check that it’s still in date, and set it on the counter, then find some stray sugar packets in a drawer.