Collect the Pieces (Lost Kings MC #25)

Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Jigsaw

Good versus Evil.

Some people think it’s easy to see the difference. Society might think I’m evil for killing my father—never mind all the evil things he did to me when I was a kid, what he did to my sister, or all the ways he destroyed so many other lives.

Margot wants justice for innocent people—not herself. She’s not motivated by selfish reasons.

She’s an angel of goodness.

Someone who needs to be protected at all costs as far as I’m concerned.

I don’t care if she’s killed a few predators. She’s right. The world’s safer without them.

As she finishes her story, I release the air trapped in my lungs.

“You could’ve gotten hurt.” She’d been so reckless with her own safety that first time. “Shit, Margot. Zip ties? You didn’t bring a bigger weapon than some rope and a scalpel?”

Why am I questioning her when she obviously did just fine? Am I really mansplaining murder to her?

She doesn’t seem bothered by my questions, though. “He was a wuss. The second guy—he was much more dangerous. That one was close.”

Anxiety I didn’t even know I was capable of leaps into my throat.

She stands and walks to the refrigerator, taking out a can of seltzer and cracking it open. She takes several long sips, then sets the can on the counter. “Can I tell you about that one another time? I really don’t like dwelling on those memories for too long.”

I slide off the stool and hurry to her side, pulling her into my arms. The remorse she carries still weighs her down, even though they deserved everything she did, I’m sure of it. Me? I never think about a man I’ve killed again. Unless it’s with relief that they’re no longer a problem. I certainly don’t have any guilt about it.

“You can tell me anything you want any time you want,” I assure her, holding her tight.

“Thank you.” She returns the embrace, burrowing her face against my chest. “Thank you for not hating me.”

“I could never hate you.”

Margot’s pure goodness. Nothing she just told me changes my mind.

Destroy the world or save it? Good versus evil is more complex than that. I’d rather burn down the world to protect the people I consider family.

And I’d absolutely slaughter anyone who tried to hurt Margot.

Margot

I never expected to be having this conversation with Jigsaw so soon. After he told me what he did to his father, I knew I’d be able to trust him with my own secrets one day—just not today.

Yet, here we are.

The weight of fear I’d been carrying slowly evaporates, replaced by calm settling over me. I squeeze him tighter, rubbing my face against his shirt.

“You don’t have to give me details about the others,” he says, his words rumbling beneath my cheek. “But were they pedophiles too? How’d you…”

I sigh and pull away, meeting his gaze. He seems more relaxed now, curious even. Not the man who almost bolted from my closet earlier. But what if his calm curiosity morphs into judgment? Will he rescind his acceptance if I say no? Some men don’t think rape is a big deal—certainly not execution-worthy. Although, if he is that kind of man, it’s better I find that out now, isn’t it?

It doesn’t matter. I’m in too deep. I promised to answer his questions, and I will.

“No. One was a professor who raped one of his students.” Pain blunts my tone as memories of other students I spoke to at the funeral return. “We handled her funeral. I prepped her body.”

He drags his hands through his hair and staggers backward, bumping into the counter. “Have they all been connected to you in some way?”

“I didn’t know her before she passed,” I explain.

“That’s not what I mean.” He throws one arm wide, gesturing toward my front door. “They’ve all been connected to the funeral home in some way? That’s risky as hell, Margot. Someone could easily piece that together.”

“Why should they?” I shrug, although I’ve worried about that myself. Many, many times. “We handle most of the funerals in the area. Of course I would’ve come into contact with them.”

“Margot.” He lets out a pained huff of air and takes my hands.

“It’s only four people.” I scoff. “Four vile criminals that the justice system didn’t punish sufficiently, if at all. No one’s going to dig too deeply into their deaths, because secretly everyone’s relieved they’re gone.” I slap my hands together like I’m dusting off remnants of ashes.

“My opinion of law enforcement couldn’t be lower,” he continues in that maddeningly patient tone that suggests he’s about to disagree with me. “But some zealous detective might start sniffing around one day. And a prosecutor eager to make a name for themselves might think putting the ‘cute blonde mortician who secretly murders bad guys’ on trial would make a hell of a story.”

“Wouldn’t it, though?” I widen my eyes, allowing a hint of crazy to slip out. “Can you imagine lil’ ol’ me on the stand, testifying about all the horrible things I’ve witnessed and how it drove me insane?” I twirl a finger around my ear in a chaotic loop. “And my lawyer could argue that I’ve inhaled so many embalming fumes, they must’ve impaired my judgment?”

He stares at me. Shocked I’ve given it so much thought? Rethinking our relationship? Thinking we’re soul mates? I can’t tell.

“When the jury learns about the horrible things those men did to innocent women and children, do you really think they’ll convict me?” I ask, my tone sharpening to force a response from him.

“The system is broken, yeah. It could go that way.” His serious expression remains. “But a soulless prosecutor could also argue you’re a privileged woman who decided to seek vigilante justice against men who’d already done their time.”

“My version’s better,” I counter.

His lips quirk with frustration. “It is.” His expression hardens to stone. “But please join me here in the real world for a minute. Realistically, they’d probably go at you with everything they can. To make an example of you. To stop any other would-be vigilantes from following your path.”

“Jury nullification exists, you know,” I argue, crossing my arms over my chest. “All I’d need is a few mothers on that jury to hear what that monster did to Hoyt, and I think they’d set me free.”

He exhales another long, slow breath. “Or maybe they’d feel self-righteous and want to punish you because you had the strength to do what they couldn’t.”

That’s too scary to dwell on. “They found a mountain of evidence at Gade’s house. That was all over the news. They didn’t talk about his missing eye. Just all the child abuse media that was found and the investigation into where it came from. The assumption was that one of the other victims’ fathers killed him.”

I’d been a little insulted, actually, that they assumed a man killed Gade.

He nods faintly yet his skepticism seems to linger. “Makes sense, but still…”

I need him to understand that these weren’t rash, emotional decisions I made in some hormonal fog. Every choice was well-thought-out and rational.

“Every time, I ask myself, is this one worth me potentially ending up in prison for the rest of my life? So far, the answer has been yes.” I stand taller, my voice growing steadier. “A woman who killed pedophiles, rapists, wife beaters, and baby killers would probably be treated okay in prison.”

He stares at me for the longest time and as the silence stretches, I brace myself for the worst.

Finally, he exhales a long, slow breath. “You might be right about that last part. But I don’t like the risks you’ve taken. Forget going to prison. What if you get hurt while you’re hunting ?”

“You’re not bothered by the morality of me committing murder?”

“What?” He snorts. “Fuck no. Not the pieces of filth you’re talking about. Your safety concerns me, though.”

“I’m very careful.” I glance down at my hands. “As much as I’d love to chop them into pieces, I’m cognizant of the fact that I don’t have the physical strength or size to overpower them.” I flick my wicked gaze at him again. “I have to be more thoughtful. Deliberate. Plan ahead. Use the element of surprise.”

Jigsaw

“You work so many hours. How do you have time for all this planning?” I ask, trying to get a better handle on Margot’s safety precautions.

“It’s not like I have a long list. There’ve only been four targets.” Margot rolls her shoulders, like a bird ruffling her feathers. “I’m not a psycho.”

I cock my head and pinch my thumb and index finger a millimeter apart. “You’re a little psycho.”

Her mouth turns down. Are her feelings hurt? She admitted to murder. Multiple murders. She’s smart enough to know that’s not exactly normal behavior. “You’re my little psycho,” I add. “Tell me more. Are they always connected to people who’ve come through the funeral home?”

“Do you know how many dead bodies I’ve seen?”

That’s not an answer to my question. “You grew up here. I’m guessing a lot.”

“Accidents, natural causes, weird stuff, and lots of normal, mundane deaths.” She pauses, swallowing hard and looking away. “The worst, though? The cruelty people inflict on others. On the most vulnerable. Children. Babies. Pregnant women. Those bother me the most.”

Her voice wobbles as she tips her chin up, and the sadness in her eyes punches me right in the chest. “Do you know murder is the leading cause of death for pregnant women and new mothers?”

My stomach clenches. “No.”

“It is.”

“I believe you.”

“Do you know how many children are molested—usually by someone they know—and never get justice?”

Unfortunately, I’ve known more people who survived horrible shit at the hands of someone who was supposed to protect them than I care to think about. “Too many.”

“So you’re not unaware.”

“Margot, I didn’t kill my own father just because he beat me when I was a kid.” No, if I wanted a pound of flesh, I would’ve whipped him raw and left him bleeding the way he did to me so many times. I hesitate, the words crawling up my throat like splinters. “It was the things he did to Jezzie, and the other children on the farm after I left, that made me slit his throat.”

My entire body feels like it’s balanced on the tip of a knife as I wait for her to deflect the conversation away from her and ask me for more details.

She studies my face but doesn’t say a word.

I blow out a relieved breath.

“It’s not just what he did to Hoyt,” she continues, breaking the silence. “If I thought he’d been rehabilitated when he was released, I might have left him alone. Maybe.”

I don’t think even she believes that.

“But once I saw him casually strolling by the elementary school, checking out the kids…” Her voice shakes with disgust. “I knew he hadn’t changed one bit.”

I let out a disgusted snort. “Pedophiles rarely do.”

“I couldn’t stand it if another kid had their life forever altered because of him. Ruining a child’s life and future is unforgivable. I don’t care what the Bible or anyone else says. There’s no justification for it. Ever.”

“Agree.” I run my hand over my chest, considering how to phrase my next question. “You don’t have to tell me everything. But who did you take care of while I was away?”

How long had she been planning that one? The whole time we were having our “lessons,” she was plotting to kill a man? Shouldn’t my dark, barren soul have sensed her murderous intentions?

Her eyes gloss over with tears, and she ducks her head. “I told you babies are the hardest. Sometimes, it’s natural causes and there’s nothing anyone can do about that. Or accidents—they’re sad, but normal. Other times…” She swallows hard and takes a deep breath. “Do you remember the night you came over and I was too upset for ‘lessons,’ so you took me out to dinner instead?”

“Yeah.” Upset isn’t how I’d describe her. Despondent and lifeless would be more accurate.

She explains the vicious beating that ended her client’s pregnancy only a few weeks before the baby was due.

Acid rolls through my stomach. An ex-brother did something similar to Serena—a club girl at the time. Only none of us knew the full extent of what that piece of shit put her through until well after we’d buried him for other offenses against the club. Before we put him down, I learned about the horrible shit he’d done to his wife, and that had been heavy on my mind when we took the vote to strip his patch and put him in the ground. It still haunts me that we shared a patch with Shadow and none of us knew what a monster he really was.

“When I found out this was the second time she’d lost a baby because of him…” Margot shrugs. “That’s when I knew he had to go.”

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, my voice full of raw frustration. “I wish you’d told me. I would’ve helped you…or something.”

“It was a delicate situation.” She runs her gaze over me, her lips tugging into a half smile. “You don’t blend in well. You’re very…recognizable.”

“What are you talking about?” I run my hands over my hair, probably forcing it to stick up in every direction. “I’m a tall, blond-ish white dude. There’re hundreds of guys walking around that look like me.”

“No.” She reaches up, curling her fingers around my wrist and tugging my hand away from my hair. “You’re quite striking and memorable.”

That warm, shivery sensation I only get when Margot’s hands are on me tingles along my spine. “You’re only saying that ’cause you kinda like me,” I tease.

“I more than like you.” She peers up at me with shiny eyes. “I don’t want…I don’t want to lose you,” she finishes in a whisper.

The vulnerability in her voice and expression cracks me wide open. “I’m not going anywhere.”

How could I ever leave her now? Margot’s already my dream woman. That she dabbles in a little murder now and then? Just icing on the Margot cake.