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He, on the other hand, was losing his mind for a whole host of reasons, the newest of which was this fucking club pushing in on their turf. Just when life seemed to settle, shit got fucked again.
But even enemies weren’t what had him wide the fuck awake. A deep-seated terror grew by the day, starting as a small niggle of discomfort and growing into a monster so big, he was drinking Bourbon at two in the morning in a desperate attempt to fall asleep.
Once before, he’d been in this exact position. Waiting on his woman—his wife—to deliver a child. His daughter. Fuck, Jig had been happy with his wife. A sweet woman whose tongue had never uttered a swear word and who could barely kill an ant, let alone best a grown man in an unsanctioned fight. She’d been a true southern bell. Sweet, rational, unassuming, and eager to please.
Basically, the complete opposite of the woman slumbering in their bed. The kicker of it was, he’d loved his wife. Truly loved the woman he’d married and planned to spend the rest of his life with. And fuck, did he love that daughter they’d created. The adorable little girl who’d been the spitting image of her mother and shared her kind, giving nature.
Fuck.
Jig took a sip of his drink as he stared out into the night. The moon hung high in the sky, illuminating the outdoors enough for him to make out the outline of the Smoky Mountains. Best feature of their house. Tonight, the view wasn’t enough to take his mind off his worries. Neither was the Bourbon.
Two things were responsible for Jig’s serious sleep deprivation.
Guilt and fear.
The guilt gnawed at him like a ravenous rodent, burrowing its way deeper and deeper by the day. He was not the same man who’d married Callie all those years ago. He was no longer her Lincoln. That man had died the day his wife and child were senselessly and brutally murdered. From Linc’s death, a bitter, vengeful, and violent man was born. Jigsaw. And Jigsaw had fallen head over fucking heels in love with a tough woman who wasn’t afraid of his darkness. A woman who allowed those aspects of his personality, even welcomed them. A woman who fucked him as well as she made love to him. A woman his first wife would have prayed for because she wouldn’t have understood her.
Then again, Izzy sure as hell wouldn’t have understood Callie, either. In fact, he was pretty sure his current woman would have hated his passive and docile wife. And that’s where the guilt came from. Yes, he loved Izzy with everything he had, but somehow it felt like he was dishonoring his wife by choosing a woman she’d have been wary of herself. Then he felt as though he was dishonoring Izzy for having those thoughts.
Worst part of it all was that the man he was today would never have chosen Callie either. She could never have survived a relationship with Jigsaw. He’d have chewed her up and destroyed the light in her soul before spitting her out. He’d have dragged her down to the darkness with him.
How could that be? How could he have changed so much he could no longer visualize a life with the woman he’d promised forever to?
Christ, his head was fucked beyond reason.
In these quiet moments, when his mind wouldn’t release its grip on him, Jig allowed himself to admit his feelings for Izzy were stronger than those for his wife. Well, maybe not stronger, but different. More intense. Consuming.
Fitting, since the woman herself was so much more of a force than his wife had been. Then again, so was he. Now.
The guilt haunted his soul.
Add all that guilt to the bone-chilling fear of losing what he now had, and it was a wonder he been able to keep from running outside and howling at the moon.
For the first time since the day his wife and child were killed, Jigsaw could truly say he was happy with his life. But now he’d ended up right back where he started. A woman. A child.
Would they be taken again? Would it be by the Chrome Disciples?
Was it his destiny to lose those he loved?
Another healthy swallow of Bourbon didn’t produce any answers.
Shit, Izzy would probably kick his ass if she knew he was thinking these far-out thoughts about fate and fortune.
“Jig?” Her sleepy voice came from behind him.
“Fuck, babe, I didn’t mean to wake you.” She needed all the sleep she could get.
With a snort, she waddled over the couch and plopped heavily by his side. Instantly, her hand went to his bare thigh and his to her round belly. “You didn’t wake me. My fucking bladder did. And now your spawn thinks it’s time to play.” Her head flopped back along the top of the couch. “God, I’m so ready to be done with this.”
