Twist the Knife (Lost Kings MC #24)

She comes into view, hurrying down the last few steps, dressed in a matching teal workout set and her blonde waves piled in a messy bun on top of her head.

A big grin spreads over her face when her gaze lands on me. “Where’d you run off to last night?” She hurries over and quickly wraps her arms around my middle, giving me a squeeze hello.

Shelby’s one of the very few people whose hugs don’t instantly make me recoil. Or she does it so often, I’ve been desensitized. We’ve been through some shit, and I care for her like she was my own sister.

“You’re chipper this morning,” I say, returning the hug.

She casts a quick smile at Sparky. “I suspect I’m feeling a lot better than some of y’all gonna be feelin’ today.”

Shit, is Margot okay this morning?

I give Shelby another quick squeeze. “I’ll be right back.”

Where the fuck can I go to find some peace and quiet in this clubhouse? I should’ve checked on Margot before I left the bedroom.

I head down the hallway, passing the bathrooms. The door to the yoga studio—what used to be Upstate’s champagne room—is wide open, and beyond it it’s shadowy. Perfect.

I slip inside and close the door behind me, then pull out my phone. Text or call? Does anyone make phone calls anymore? What if she’s still asleep? Text it is.

Me: How are you feeling today?

I stare at my screen until the message shows delivered. Fucking shitty, slow cell service up here.

“Jigsaw?”

So intent on my damn phone, I didn’t hear the door swing open. I startle and turn. Swan’s slight frame stands in the doorway. She reaches out and flips on the light switch. “Are you joining us for yoga today?”

I blink rapidly, adjusting to the sudden flood of bright light. “Ha. Nice try.” I stuff my phone in my pocket. “Got church.”

“I’ll rope you in one of these days,” she teases.

Sit and watch my brothers’ wives and ol’ ladies moving through sensual poses? Not fucking likely. “I’m sure you will.”

As I step into the hallway, the chatter coming from the living room has increased. I cock my head, listening for Z. Nope. My prez isn’t here yet. I still have time to hit the dining room. After church, we’ll all sit down for breakfast together with the ol’ ladies, kids, and whoever else is up here. But before church, the girls usually make sure we have coffee and some other snacks.

Bright light streams in through the huge windows in the large, cafeteria-style dining room. Tables and chairs are still stacked to one side of the room. To my right, the bar counter’s overflowing with morning drink options. Coffee, hot water, and this week someone stuck a cooler full of bottles of orange and cranberry juices out too.

Instead of coffee, I grab a bottle of orange juice, twist the cap and take a deep sip.

“Do you want a muffin to go with it?” someone asks from behind me.

I turn and find Lala holding a tray of fat, freshly baked muffins. The rich scent of citrus and cinnamon tempts me into snatching the biggest one from the tray.

“They’re cranberry orange.” She sets the tray on the last clear space on the counter.

“Looks good.” I search the area for a plate or napkin.

Bonnie, another club girl from Downstate, steps up to the counter and sets out plates, napkins, a tub of butter, and a tub of cream cheese.

“How’d you know that’s what I was lookin’ for, darlin’?” I tease.

She beams at me. “Where’d you go last night? Thought I’d see you down at the other clubhouse.”

“Nope.” I slice my muffin in half, dig into the cream cheese and smear it all over one side.

“That’s how I like them too,” Lala says, gently bumping Bonnie aside to grab a muffin of her own. Bonnie shoulder checks Lala.

I lift my gaze to the ceiling. Can’t a man eat a muffin in peace?