Page 169 of Scatter the Bones

She stands and tucks her hair behind her ear, maneuvering around us. “I’ll get the door.”

Murphy follows her, but Rooster lingers, keeping a few steps behind Wrath and me—backup in case I go tumbling down the stairs or something.

After what feels like a three-mile climb on one leg, we finally reach the top. That tug-and-pull sensation from earlier has graduated into a deep, grinding throb that sets my teeth on edge.

“Fuck,” I mutter, drawing in a ragged breath. “That sucked ass.”

Inside Margot’s apartment, Murphy’s already sitting at one of the stools at the counter.

“Make yourself at home, jolly ginger,” I grumble, kicking off the Crocs and hobbling over to claim the other stool.

He spins and flashes a smug grin. “Margotactuallymade us bread.”

“What?” I lower myself slowly, careful not to jolt my leg.

Margot turns, all sweetness and sheepish smiles. “Well, I didn’t know the intense turn the evening was going to take.” She stares pointedly at my outstretched leg.

Sure. Me getting stabbed is clearly the shocking part of the evening. Not her calmly slitting a man’s throat in front of my brothers.

“I thought it’d be funny,” she explains, lifting the lid on what looks like a small stainless steel spaceship. “Since Jigsaw’s code was using theovento bake somebread.” She slips on potholders and wrangles a silver pan out of the machine. “If I actually made bread.”

Murphy leans in like a kid watching a magic trick, grinning from ear to ear as she flips the loaf onto a cutting board.

Margot glances up, her gaze flicking between Wrath and Rooster. A faint blush creeps into her cheeks. “Sorry I don’t have more chairs.”

Rooster lifts a hand in a don’t-worry-about-it wave.

“We’re good,” Wrath says, angling his head to get a better look at the bread.

Margot tilts her head, checking the apartment door. “Where’s Rock?”

“Waiting in the van.” Murphy checks his phone. “We better hurry.”

“Take this to go, then.” Margot drapes a towel over the loaf and slices through it slowly with a long, serrated knife. Each slice peels away from the blade, soft and steaming.

My mouth waters. Can’t remember the last time I had bread fresh out of the oven. The scent alone’s enough to make me forget about the throbbing in my leg.

“Hey, kitty,” Rooster calls in a hushed voice.

Gretel hisses her displeasure and slinks around the corner, belly nearly scraping the floor, tail tucked tight and ears flat. She darts a suspicious glare toward Wrath, then Murphy, then makes a beeline for me.

“C’mere, girl,” I murmur.

She sniffs at my foot, her whiskers tickling my ankle. With a pained grunt, I lean down and scoop her up. My thigh protests the motion with a sharp twinge.

She headbutts my chin once, then freezes, eyes sharp and alert, her head darting from side to side as she scans the room. No motorboat purring tonight. Just coiled tension and twitching ears.

Wrath jams his hands in his pockets and ducks his head, a smirk forming on his lips. “You have a black cat, Margot?”

If he brings up the Virginia charter’s pussy patch challenge, I’m going to push him down those three flights of stairs.

“Yes.” Margot’s tone walks a fine line between proud and patient. She slices another piece of bread with practiced ease. “She’s a rescue. Not usually friendly but—” She flicks the knifetoward me without looking. “For some reason, she’s a shameless hussy for this guy.”

The guys chuckle. Gretel presses tighter against my chest, and I lean down, running the tip of my nose over her soft head. “That’s right, she’s got good taste, don’t ya, girl?”

She wiggles, so I set her down gently. Instead of bolting, she stays low to the ground, tail swishing. She creeps toward Murphy, pauses out of reach, then finally stretches up, her spine arching with slow confidence. When he doesn’t move, she straightens fully and flicks her tail high like a banner of disinterest. She checks out Wrath next, gives him a long, assessing stare, then detours to rub her cheek against Rooster’s leg.

Then, like a queen who’s surveyed the riffraff and found them tolerable, she saunters off—tail held high.

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