Collect the Pieces (Lost Kings MC #25)

Chapter 38

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Margot

Well, now I understand why my father wanted me to sit in on this consultation.

The woman here to bury her father is about my age but that’s where our similarities stop.

“For fuck’s sake. Can we please bury my dad without all your biker bullshit?” Abby explodes, pounding her palms against the arms of the chair in front of my dad’s desk. “Why are you even here?” she screeches at the burly man in denim and black leather.

“‘Cause the club’s paying for the funeral, darlin’,” the man who’s only ever been introduced to me as Ulfric answers smoothly, ignoring her outburst. “Whisper was clear, he wanted to be buried here.”

“Whisper! Jesus Christ, enough already. Can we please use his real name now?”

Ulfric casts a sideways look at her. The first sign his patience with her outbursts has a limit. “No one will know who we’re talking about, then, Abigail.”

Ouch. Full-naming her. That’s harsh.

“We can, of course, craft his obituary to include any other names Mr. Hall was known by,” I say. “We do it all the time.”

“See? This is why your father wanted Mr. Cedarwood to handle the arrangements.” He nods to my dad.

Pretty sure any funeral home would do the same.

Wait. Is that his subtle hint he’d like me to get lost?

“Well, I hope you’re prepared for a parking lot full of Harleys, loud men, and a shoot-out or two,” Abby says, her gaze shifting between Dad and me.

“There ain’t gonna be no shoot-out, Abigail,” Ulfric sighs. “Stop trying to scare the Cedarwoods. But there will be a lot of bikers in attendance. Some from different clubs.”

I shoot a glance at my dad, and he lifts one eyebrow. Does he think dating Jigsaw means I’m the outlaw biker whisperer or something?

“We can certainly handle any…delicate relationships,” I assure Ulfric without revealing my personal involvement with the local motorcycle club. “It shouldn’t be a problem. But if you prefer, we can add security?—”

“Nah, we got a good relationship with the dominant club in the area. Their enforcer was Whisper’s business partner for years.”

Huh. How about that.

“Dominant club,” Abby mimics with a nasty sneer stretched across her burgundy-painted lips. “Jesus Christ, you’re all still so ridiculous. No one owns upstate New York. I don’t need permission from a bunch of boys in leather to bury my father.”

Ulfric takes in a long slow breath. A prickling sensation travels down my neck. Like if my dad and I weren’t here to witness it, Ulfric’s friendly Grandpa veneer might melt, and he’d smack the attitude right out of Abby. “It’ll be handled. You focus on your family, Abigail.”

“I plan to.” She rips her purse open and yanks a long cream-colored envelope out. “Dad had a list of demands… requests that he wanted for his funeral.” Abby’s gaze skips between my father and me.

“We’re more than happy to handle any special requests Mr. Hall might have had.” I sit forward and hold out my hand. She flicks a glance at my father in a going once, twice sort of way, then hands it to me.

“We already had a plan worked out with your father.” Dad taps the glossy white folder in front of him. “Is that list dated?”

I pull out a thick sheet of cream paper and unfold it, reading the date to my dad.

He nods once. “I’ll have you compare the list to what’s in here and we’ll adjust as necessary.” Dad tilts his head toward Ulfric. “Mr. Hall already pre-paid a portion of our fee.”

“Of course he did,” Abby grumbles.

She should be thankful her father thought ahead. I bite my tongue from lecturing her about how many families we see who have no arrangements, slim finances, and leave the burden of sorting it out to their loved ones.

I run my gaze over the list from Mr. Hall.

Music: Led Zepplin

Coffin: shiny, black with black leather accents and silver hardware. Wolf Knights MC engraving.

Flowers: black and silver arrangements.

Transportation: Harley Davidson Hearse Funeral Chopper.

Traditional biker funeral.

My questioning gaze lifts, catching my father’s attention. “I’m not sure if we’ll be able to accommodate all of these requests, but we’ll do our best.”

“The Harley coffin trailer?” Abby snorts. “Fuck it. Do whatever’s safest, even if it’s not on his list. I don’t want his coffin hitting the pavement and his body rolling out before we get him in the ground.”

Horror shivers over my chest. A catastrophe of that nature would ruin our reputation if not bankrupt us. Great. New nightmare unlocked. Thanks, Abby.

“Whisper could be dramatic when he wanted to be,” Ulfric says with a sad but fond smile. “Keep safety in mind. But money isn’t a concern.”

Sure, people say that all the time. Right up until we present them with the bill. “The funeral chopper will be our biggest logistical challenge. I’ll research our options and consult with you.” I glance at Ulfric, then Abby. Although, if Ulfric’s paying, he’s the one my dad will go to for approval on any expenses.

With the number of specific requests Mr. Hall has it’s going to take more time than usual to plan the funeral. I try to say that as gently as possible without sounding like I’m being critical.

“The custom casket with the engraving may take one to two weeks,” I say. “I’ll reach out to our supplier immediately.”

“We have something here I can show you,” my father says to Ulfric. “It may be close to what you want and then we can have an engraved piece added.”

“That sounds good.”

Flowers might take longer if the florist needs to order special dye but not as long as the custom casket. Damn, I bet that funeral chopper will require an extra permit. If I can even get my hands on one.

“As I said, there will be a lot of bikers in attendance.” Ulfric shifts his big body and rests his ankle on the opposite knee. “We like to escort our brother in our traditional biker procession.”

More special permits and probably an escorted road closure or two.

“And at the cemetery, we’ll want to send him off with a final rev,” he finishes.

We’ll all be deaf by the time the funeral’s finished.

“I think we can accommodate all of those things. It will take longer than usual, though,” my father says.

“That’s fine.” Abby opens her purse and sticks her hand in, digging around and finally pulling out a small brush and quickly flicking it through her long brown hair. “I need to deal with Dad’s house. I’m hoping the tenants will want to buy it. I don’t want to manage it from California.”

“If you need a referral to an attorney, we can help with that,” my father offers.

“No, Dad had someone.”

My father takes them into the show room, while I follow, pen and notepad in hand, jotting notes as we go.

When we’re finished, I walk them outside, the same comforting platitudes and reassurances I give all our clients rolling off my tongue with practiced ease.

At the bottom of the porch steps, Abby hesitates.

Then, she turns and throws her arms around me, dragging me into a crushing embrace. The force of it knocks me off balance and squeezes the air from my lungs, but I return the hug.

“Thank you, Ms. Cedarwood,” she murmurs against my hair. “I’m sorry. I’m not angry with you. You’ve been very kind, and I appreciate it.”

A sharp sting prickles behind my eyes.

“It’s okay to feel everything you’re feeling.” I ease away, enough to meet her tearful eyes. “You can’t fast-forward your way through grief. There is no way to skip the messy parts—no way around the anger, sorrow, and frustration of all you’ve lost.”

Her breath hitches.

I gently squeeze her hands. “Every tear you shed, every painful memory you share are all steps toward healing. Allow yourself to feel it all and I promise you, eventually peace will settle in.”

She nods so fast I’m not sure my words sank in, but that’s okay.

Her fingers tighten around mine. “My dad and I had a complicated relationship. I don’t mean to take it out on you.” Her voice wobbles and she pulls a tissue from her pocket, dabbing it under her eyes.

I swallow over the lump in my throat. “I understand completely. I promise we’ll take good care of your father and help you honor his memory.”

Her gaze slides toward Ulfric, and she lets out a sharp, angry breath.

“That’s the problem, all those things he wants, they’re a reminder of how he abandoned my mom and brother and me, in favor of ‘the club.’” Her lips twist into something bitter, a half smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “But I still want to honor his wishes.”

I hang onto my professionalism with both hands. Clients unload years of family trauma on me all the time. I listen, I absorb, and I offer them comfort where I can. But this? This one hits differently.

“I understand.” I pause, choosing my words carefully. “Relationships with our parents can be… complicated.”

She inhales sharply and glances at the funeral home then back to me.

“You have my number,” I remind her. “Reach out if you need anything at all or shoot me an email. Even if you think it’s something trivial.”

“Thank you, Ms. Cedarwood.” She wipes under her eyes and sniffles.

“You can call me Margot.” My lips curve into a warm smile.

“Margot,” she repeats, then smiles. “That’s pretty.”

“Thanks.”

Ulfric pulls her into a hug next. She stiffens at first, arms locked at her sides. But after a few seconds, her posture softens, just barely, before she steps back.

“Thank you for everything you’re doing, Ulfric.” Her voice is raw, thick with unshed emotion. She sniffs and presses the tissue against her nose, gathering herself. “Dad could be stubborn.” A weak smile flickers across her lips. “I know you two had your disagreements. The… club stuff.”

She swallows hard. Given how she seems to feel about the club, the words must be like splinters stuck in her throat. But she gets them out. “But he loved you like a brother. Respected you.” Her voice wavers, but she pushes through. “And Dad… he didn’t respect many people.”

Ulfric’s warm rumbling laughter feels like a truce between them. “That describes him well, sweetheart.”

They share a few more words and then Abby hurries to her car, sliding behind the wheel and slamming the door. She doesn’t look back as she pulls away.

Ulfric sighs and jams his hands in his pockets, watching her car turn left, then disappear. “Some men are better at talking about being family men, than they are at being family men.”

I’m not sure what to say to that. I clasp my hands in front of me, tilt my head up, and study him. Waiting to see if he has more to say.

“Thank you for being so understanding, Margot.” He lifts his chin in the direction Abby just drove off. “What you said to her was really nice.”

Gee, it’s almost like I do this for a living or something.

“I meant it.” I gesture toward the house. “Obviously, I see people moving through grief all the time. It’s complicated. Especially if they had unresolved issues—which many parents and children do.”

“Yeah, he tried healing those wounds a little too late. Moved across the country to be near her but I’m not sure that went so well.” He lets out another heavy sigh. “He was a good brother. Loyal as they come. To the club, anyway. I want to give him the best send-off possible.”

“Absolutely.” I rest my hand on his forearm. “Relationships are complicated.” I nod toward the house. “We’ve seen it all. We don’t judge. Bringing Mr. Hall’s loved ones peace and comfort during this difficult time is our only concern.”

“Thank you, darlin’.” He lifts his chin toward the house. “Your dad’s handled funerals for us before. I trust you.”

“Well, we appreciate that.”

“What she said about a shoot-out ain’t gonna happen.” He lifts his chin toward the road. “I just want to put your mind at ease.”

“I wasn’t worried.” That seems like the safest thing to say.

“Lost Kings MC is the other club around here,” he says. “We won’t have a problem with them, though. I’ve already spoken to their enforcer.” He grinds his teeth as if he’s debating whether to speak his next words. “But Whisper had some other…business associates who might attend. I’ll make sure there’re no issues. Wrath already said he’d assist.”

Guilt prickles over my skin.

I’m not obligated to disclose my relationship with Jigsaw’s club, am I? Is it dishonest to stand here and act like I don’t know who he’s talking about? This feels like a hypothetical that would’ve been on one of the exams in my Funeral Service Ethics class.

Why is he even sharing all of this with me now? Is he worried my father would tell him to take his business elsewhere? If only Ulfric knew. We’ve had family showdowns that make a biker brawl look quaint.

“We can coordinate with whomever you’d like.” There. That’s a perfectly neutral answer.

The deep rumble of an engine rolls through the streets of the usually quiet neighborhood. I cock my head. Is that Jigsaw’s bike?

A faint smile lifts the corners of Ulfric’s mouth, as if the throaty engine is music to his ears.

The sound grows louder, until the sidewalk under my feet trembles.

Jigsaw lifts his chin as he approaches the house. Instead of riding around back to park in the lot, he pulls up right at the curb.

“Speak of the devil,” Ulfric murmurs, his gaze locked on Jigsaw as he swings his leg over his bike. “A Lost King right here in Pine Hollow.”

His tone holds curiosity, not hostility, but guilt still ties my stomach in knots. I should’ve told him sooner.

“Yes, uh…” All my professionalism seems to be leaking out through my shoes.

Jigsaw strides over the sidewalk, his gaze locked on my face, although I don’t doubt he took a good look at who’s standing next to me.

Without hesitation, he slips an arm around my waist and leans in, pressing a warm, deliberate kiss against my cheek. “Hey, sweetheart.”

No need to disclose anything to Ulfric, now.

I flash a brittle smile. “Hi.”

Jigsaw turns to Ulfric and extends his hand.

“Ulfric,” he greets smoothly, his grip firm. The kind of handshake that carries the weight of respect. “Long time.”

Ulfric studies him for a second before clasping his hand. “Jigsaw, right?” His gaze flicks to me.

Is that disappointment on his face?

Annoyance?

My entire body clenches with anxious embarrassment.

“Well, no offense to Ms. Cedarwood,” Ulfric says, his voice rough as weathered stone. “But visiting a funeral home isn’t usually under good circumstances.”

“Sorry to hear about Whisper, brother.” Jigsaw’s smooth tone carries the weight of understanding and respect. “Everyone I know always had a lot of regard for him.”

Ulfric’s shoulders and posture relax a fraction. “Thank you. The Cedarwoods have all the details. I hope you’ll be at the service.”

That sounds more like a command than an invitation.

“You know it,” Jigsaw says. “Wrath wanted me to tell you not to hesitate to reach out if you need anything. We built a new clubhouse down in Empire. Next to Crystal Ball. If you’ve got brothers coming in from out of state who need a place. We have some extra rooms there.”

Ulfric stares at him for a few seconds, then nods. “That’s generous. Appreciate the offer. I’ll keep it in mind.”

I can already picture it. A gathering of bikers drinking whiskey and telling stories about Whisper in the middle of a strip club, half-naked dancers weaving between them while they mourn.

Barely containing my eye roll, I fold my arms over my chest as Ulfric swings a leg over his bike and starts the engine.

As soon as he’s out of sight, I step back, slipping free of Jigsaw’s hold.

“Do you remember when I told you the funeral business was kind of conservative?”

A furrow forms between Jigsaw’s brows. “Yeah.”

My voice sharpens with frosty precision. “Please don’t walk up and stake your claim on me in front of a client like that again.”

He clenches his jaw and stares at me as if he’s debating my seriousness. Annoyed—at him and myself—I turn and head up the sidewalk. I hate conflict. I see enough of it at work.

“Hey.” Jigsaw’s hand closes around my shoulder, halting my escape. Before I can shake him off, he moves in front of me, cutting off my path.

I glare at the hand still resting on my shoulder and he backs up a step, lifting both in the air. “If I hadn’t known who he was, I wouldn’t have done that. I would’ve assumed it was a client and waited until you were finished.”

A bit of my fighting flame dims, and I relax my shoulders.

One corner of his mouth turns up, but I don’t think he’s amused. More like he’s trying to mask his own annoyance. “You also need to understand, in my world a biker standing that close to someone’s ol’ lady is asking for trouble.”

My temper shoots from mild annoyance to outrage. “Well we’re in my world and he’s a client of my family’s business.”

He sweeps one hand through the air between us as if he’s the oh-so-reasonable one here. “Did you see me punch his teeth down his throat?”

“Oh, be serious! He’s old enough to be my grandfather.”

“I’m dead serious.” He slides his gaze over me. “You’re a beautiful young woman.”

Ignoring that I press my hands to my hips and glare at him. “I’ve stood closer to some of your brothers, and you didn’t punch any of them.”

He taps the shoulder of his black leather vest. “Key words: my brothers. We share a patch.”

I’m still waiting for his playful grin to break loose, signaling that he’s joking. “Are you an actual caveman?”

The corners of his mouth twitch. “Descended from cavemen.”

Do not laugh. Don’t encourage him. I huff and push past his tall, hulking frame, hurrying to the porch steps.

“Get back here.”

“No,” I toss over my shoulder.

As my foot hits the second step, two strong arms wrap around my waist and yank me backward.

“Put me down!” I shriek.

“Not a chance, lady death,” he breathes against my ear as he turns us in a circle. “You know how much I love chasing you.”

Liquid heat shoots through my body.

“My father’s right inside,” I hiss.

“Good.” He lowers me until my feet land on the sidewalk and turns me to face him. “He should know how crazy I am about his daughter.”

A charming, lopsided grin sneaks over his face.

It’s impossible to be annoyed but I can’t give in this easily. “Crazy being the operative word.”

He shrugs. “I’ll own it.” He leans down. “Don’t forget, I know where Ulfric’s club has dropped a few bodies. I’m just worried about you,” he says against my ear.

I slide my gaze to his and find all humor gone. He’s dead serious. I guess I shouldn’t be shocked. Maybe the two motorcycle clubs used to go on murder sprees together instead of cruising New York’s finest scenic highways.

“Fine.” I curl my finger, inviting him to lean down again so I can whisper against his ear. “But don’t forget, I know how to drop bodies too.”