Twist the Knife (Lost Kings MC #24)

Page 37



Once we have our coffee, I cup my steaming mug in my chilled hands. “Let’s move into the parlor, it’s more comfortable.”

“Lead the way.” He grabs his mug and waves his hand in a flourish that’s almost mocking.

Instead of returning to the main hallway, I push through a swinging door into a long, rectangular room that looks more like a museum than a living room. I perch at the edge of a bouncy cushion on the long gold velvet settee with wood-carved armrests and legs.

“Comfortable or time capsule?” Jigsaw quips, a half smirk playing over his lips as he examines the faded marigold wallpaper.

I bristle, not appreciating the critique of my family’s home. But even I have to admit the heavy drapes, floral patterns, and ornate velvet furniture make it look like the set of a seventies murder-mystery show that takes place in a, well, funeral home.

“The death business is rather…conservative.” I hate the note of apology in my voice. If I had my way, I’d redecorate the whole house. My own space upstairs is much more modern.

“It’s charming.” The couch dips as Jigsaw sits on the cushion next to me. Closer than polite company. So close, his thigh brushes mine and our elbows touch.

Oh, boy. An elbow touch. How racy!

“Well.” I clear my throat and lean forward to set my mug on a coaster on the coffee table. “My dad could have sold out to one of the big national death services companies a few years ago when they were buying up family funeral homes like ours. But he’s stubborn.”

“Sounds complicated.” Jigsaw sips his coffee. “But you’re a necessary business, right? Death is inevitable.”

“Sure. But more people are using cremation now. Or choosing to have smaller, more personal services.” I huff a quick laugh. “The death business is dying.”

His lips twitch.

“It’s one job market where there is little to no growth.” Why am I babbling about death when I’d rather talk about something extremely life-affirming?

“What would you do if you weren’t doing this?” he asks.

“Makeup.” There’s something I haven’t admitted to anyone in a long time. “I went to cosmetology school before I obtained my Mortuary Science degree.”

He nods slowly and a flush of embarrassment licks at my cheeks. He probably thinks that’s a low-effort, girly career.

“Strange I ended up here instead, right?”

“Not really.” He tilts his head, pinning me with a playful stare. “The woman you thought was my wife, Serena, is a makeup artist. Well, she was a physical therapist, but she makes more with her YouTube channel now and it’s more flexible with the baby coming and all.”

“Really?” I squeal. “Which channel?”

His eyes widen, like he’s surprised I’m so interested. Or maybe he’s embarrassed he brought it up. What kind of biker wants to admit he knows anything about makeup?

“Tranquil Sparkle.”

“I know that one! Oh my God, I’m surprised I didn’t recognize her.”

A wary look creeps over his expression. Almost…protective? “She’s been posting older videos as she gets closer to her due date.”

“Wow, you seem to know an awful lot about it.”

He glances at his cup and shakes his head. “I do some of the admin for her channel and monitor her socials and stuff.”

“No way, really?”

“Yeah, Rooster does a lot of the tech stuff for some of the club’s other…businesses.” He pauses and clears his throat. “So, I got into helping him with that.”

“Is that what you do for work?”

He stops as if he really needs to think about the answer. “I do whatever the club needs me to do.”

“So you have a bunch of bosses, not just one?”


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