Page 10 of Jagger’s Remorse (Iron Veins MC #1)

"Because revenge sounds so... emotional . This isn't emotional. This is arithmetic. You took something from me, now I take everything from you. Balance restored."

He laughs, dark and broken. "Balance? You think there's balance in this life?"

"I think there's whatever we make."

"And what are you making here, Scarlett? What's the endgame?"

I shrug. "Watch you burn. Rule what's left. Basic conquest strategy."

"Rule what?"

"Northern California. My father's territory. My birthright."

I almost think he’s impressed now. "Through what exactly?"

"Through whoever's left standing when the smoke clears."

It’s like it clicks for him. "That’s why you're starting wars? Turning us against each other?"

"That's just necessary. Clearing out the weak before the real players emerge."

He steps closer, but I don't retreat. "And I'm what? A real player?"

"You're a special project."

"Because I killed your father."

"Because you let me live."

The truth hangs between us like a blade.

"My uncle Pablo has insurance too," I say, changing tactics. "Not the kind that gets you arrested. The kind that gets you rich."

His eyes sharpen.

"What kind of insurance?"

"Routes the DEA doesn't know about. Contacts in every major port. Judges who stay bought. Politicians who play ball." I trace patterns on his chest. "Everything a smart organization needs to go from motorcycle club to empire."

"And Pablo would just give this up?"

"Pablo's dead." The lie rolls off my tongue smooth as aged whiskey. "Suicide. Couldn't handle the guilt of selling his only niece. But before he died, he told me where everything's hidden."

"Convenient."

"Tragic, actually. He was the last family I had who remembered my father as more than a cautionary tale."

"So now you're alone."

"Now I'm motivated."

"To do what?"

"Whatever it takes."

He backs me against the wall.

Here we go.

The scene I orchestrated from the moment I woke up.

"You're playing a dangerous game."

"I'm playing the only game that matters."

"Which is?"

"Surviving."

His hand slides up my thigh. "This doesn't feel like survival."

"Doesn't it?"

I rock against his touch. "Every time you fuck me, you get a little more attached. Every orgasm is another chain. Soon you'll be so tangled up in wanting me, you won't even feel the noose tightening."

He laughs, loud and outrageous. "You think you're that good?"

"I know I am."

"Prove it."

I laugh. "Are you challenging me to seduce you? While you're already hard? That's like challenging a fish to swim."

"You talk too much."

"You think too much."

I grab his cut, use it to pull him down to my level. "Turn off that guilty Catholic brain for five minutes. Stop analyzing. Stop planning. Just shut up and let me ruin you properly."

"Scarlett—"

I bite his lip hard enough to draw blood. "I said shut up."

Then I drop to my knees.

His breath catches. "What are you?—"

"Teaching you a lesson about who's really in control."

I work his belt open, his zipper down.

Free him to the morning air.

He's already leaking, body betraying what his mind won't admit.

"Watch," I order. "Watch me own you."

I take him deep, no warning, no buildup.

His hands fly to my hair but don't push or pull.

I take my time working him with my mouth, using every trick Diego taught me but making them mine.

My tongue traces the vein on the underside, feeling his pulse race against it.

When I hollow my cheeks and take him deeper, his hips buck involuntarily.

"Fuck," he groans, his control starting to crack. "Your mouth... Christ, Scarlett."

I pull back just enough to speak, my hand replacing my mouth. "You've thought about this, haven't you? Every time you watched me through your scope. Every night you jerked off to my memory."

"Yes," he grits out, hands fisting in my hair.

"Tell me," I demand before taking him deep again, until he hits the back of my throat and his whole body shudders.

"Thought about—fuck—thought about you on your knees. Thought about that smart ass mouth of yours doing exactly this." His words come in pants. "Thought about coming down your throat while you looked up at me with those amber eyes."

I hum around him, the vibration making him curse.

His grip tightens in my hair, and I let him guide the pace for a moment before I take back control, pinning his hips with one arm while I work him mercilessly.

He holds on like I'm the only solid thing in his collapsing world.

"Fuck. Scarlett. I can't?—"

I pull back. "Can't what?"

"Can't think when you?—"

"Good. Thinking's overrated."

I swallow him down again, humming around his cock.

The same hymn his mother loved.

The one that makes him flinch and thrust at the same time.

"Stop. Not that song. You can't?—"

I absolutely can.

And do.

Turn his mother's favorite hymn into the soundtrack of his destruction.

He breaks exactly how I planned.

Comes with a sound like dying, fingers twisted in my hair.

I swallow everything, then sit back on my heels.

Smile up at him sweet as arsenic. "Still think you're in control?"

He hauls me up, spins me to face the wall. "My turn."

"Is it though?" He yanks my borrowed sweats down, kicks my legs apart.

"Yeah. It fucking is."

No preparation.

No gentleness.

Just fury and want combined into something that might be punishment.

If I wasn't already dripping for it.

"This what you wanted?" he snarls against my ear, one hand around my throat, the other bruising my hip. "To make me into this? The monster who fucks you like he hates you?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because—" I gasp as he hits that perfect angle. "Because hate's just passion pointed in the wrong direction."

"You're insane."

"Infected. There's a difference."

"Infected with what?"

"You."

The admission surprises us both.

He stills for a moment, then drives deeper. "Say it again."

"No."

His hand tightens on my throat. "Say it."

"You infected me. That night. With your mercy. Your guilt. Your fucking—" I break off, coming so hard I see stars.

He follows, teeth sunk into my shoulder like he's trying to mark me permanent.

We stay pressed against the wall, breathing hard. "We're going to destroy each other," he says quietly.

"I know."

He grumbles, low and deep. "I can't stop."

"I know that too."

He pulls out, steps back.

I hear him fixing his clothes while I try to remember how legs work.

"Diego. Your trainer. Is he coming for you?"

The question cuts through the post-orgasm haze.

"Why?"

"Because if another man thinks he owns you, I need to know."

"Jealous?"

"I can't protect what I don't understand."

"Who says I need protection?"

"You do. Every time you goad me into violence instead of asking for gentleness. Every time you turn intimacy into a fucking war." He spins me to face him. "Someone hurt you. Not the pretty scars you show off. The real damage. The kind that makes you cum harder when there's pain involved."

"Pot, meet kettle."

"Was it him? Diego?"

I think about lying, then figure the truth will hurt more. "Yes."

His eyes go dark, but he’s not angry—it’s murderous. "Where is he?"

"Close. Waiting. Watching."

I pull up my sweats, casual as discussing weather. "He gave me a bit of time before I have to kill you."

"When?"

"About three or four hours ago."

"Christ."

"If it helps, I was never going to do it."

"No?"

I giggle. "No. Bullet to the head is too quick. Too clean. You deserve a masterpiece of suffering, not a participation trophy."

"So what happens in..." He checks his phone. "When the time is up?"

"He comes for both of us. Probably with backup. Definitely with prejudice."

Jagger almost seems pissed. "And you're just telling me this now?"

I point out the obvious. "You didn't ask before."

Jagger’s quiet for a moment, licks his lips and looks me deep in the eyes. The kind of look that makes it feel like he’s staring into my soul. "I'm asking now. What else don't I know?"

"How long do you have?"

My phone—the burner buzzes.

A text from an unknown number.

I know who it is before I open it.

The video makes my blood ice over.

Mel, tied to a chair.

Crying.

Diego's voice off-camera: "Tick Tok, princesa . Or your little friend learns what real pain feels like."

"Shit."

Jagger reads over my shoulder. "Is that?—"

"Mel. The sweet one who tried to be kind." My voice sounds strange. Flat. Empty. "He took her because of me."

"We'll get her back."

"We?"

"You think I'm letting some cartel psycho take one of our ol’ ladies?" He's already moving, checking weapons. "Call him back. Set a meet. We end this now."

"It's not that simple."

"It never is with you."

"No, I mean?—"

How do I explain Diego without explaining everything?

"He trained me for five years. Knows how I think, how I move, how I react under pressure. You can't just ride in guns blazing."

"Watch me."

"He'll kill her the second he sees you. Probably make me watch. It's kind of his thing."

"Then what do you suggest?" he asks, frustration bleeding through.

I consider options while he arms himself. "Give me what I came for."

"Which is?"

"You. Dead. On video. Proof for the family that their investment paid off."

He’s almost surprised. "You want to fake my death?"

I shrug. "I want to sell the illusion long enough to get close. Then we kill him for real."

Jagger stares at me, silently, longer than normal. "Why would you help me kill your trainer?"

"Because he broke the rules. Mel's innocent. Civilians are off-limits. Even in our world, some lines don't get crossed."

"Honor among thieves?"

"Standards among monsters." I meet his eyes. "Plus, I really fucking hate him taking my toys. You're mine to break. No one else gets to play."

Something shifts in his expression. "Yours, huh?"

"Until I'm done with you."

"And when will that be?"

"Ask me after we save Mel."

He tosses me a piece—Glock 19, already chambered.

"You trust me with a loaded weapon?"

"You've had dozens of chances to kill me. What's one more?"

"Fair point."

"Besides," he adds, checking his own arsenal, "I'm curious to meet the man who made you."

"Trained me. There's a difference."

"Is there? Because from where I'm standing, you're exactly what he built. Cold, calculating, brilliant at violence."

"You forgot broken."

"No. That was already there. He just sharpened the edges."

I hate that he sees me so clearly.

Hate more that he doesn't flinch from what he sees.

"We do this, there's no going back. Diego dies, and Eduardo will want answers. The whole cartel will come looking."

"Then we better make it look good."

"Jagger—"

"You started this war, Scarlett. Now let me help you win it."

"Why?"

"Because I'm tired of half-measures. Tired of waiting for you to destroy me. If we're going to burn, might as well set the whole fucking world on fire."

"That's the first smart thing you've said."

"I have my moments."

"Plus you want to fuck me again and can't do that if Diego kills me."

"That too."

I check the Glock, muscle memory from a thousand training sessions. "For what it's worth? He's going to be hard to kill. Maybe impossible."

"Good thing I've got you then."

"This isn't a partnership."

"Call it whatever helps you sleep. But Scarlett?" He catches my chin, forces me to meet his eyes. "After we save Mel? After we kill your psycho ex? We're going to have a conversation about who exactly owns who."

"Looking forward to it."

"You should be scared."

"Of you? Please. I've been inside your head for five years. Inside your body for a while. I know exactly what you're capable of."

"Do you?"

"Yes. And it's not nearly enough to touch what I'm planning." He kisses me then.

Hard and claiming and full of promises I know he can't keep.

"Prove it," he whispers against my mouth.

"Watch me."

We load up like we're going to war.

Because we are.

Against Diego.

Against the cartel.

Against the inevitable ending where we destroy each other.

But first, we save the innocent girl who made the mistake of showing me kindness.

And if I have to burn down half of California to do it?

So fucking be it.

The little dragon's finally ready to breathe fire.