Page 11 of Jagger’s Remorse (Iron Veins MC #1)
CHAPTER FIVE
Jagger
The chapel reeks of stale beer and fresh rage.
My brothers pack the room, still bloody and sweat ridden from burying Ripper and Chord.
Poncho's face is wrapped in gauze, left eye gone.
Hammer's moving stiff, probably shouldn't even be standing with two bullets still in him.
And they all want the same thing.
Blood.
Specifically, Scarlett's blood.
"She set us up," Digger snarls, slamming his fist on the table. "Sent our brothers into an ambush."
"Fed us to the fucking cartel," someone else adds.
"Two dead. Two maimed. For what? Some pussy and a promise?" another brother shouts.
Squirrel raises his hand for everyone to shut the fuck up.
"Jagger," he says, voice deadly calm. "Your pet cost us two brothers."
"The stash house was real. The money, the drugs—" I start.
"The trap was real too," Squirrel cuts me off. "The question is, did you know?"
Every eye in the room turns to me.
Questioning.
Accusing.
"No," I say firmly.
"But she did," Squirrel states.
"Yes," I admit.
"Then she dies." Squirrel says it simple, like ordering breakfast. "Tonight. Make it clean, make it quick, but make it happen."
Something primitive roars to life in my chest.
"No," I growl.
"No?" His eyebrows rise. "You refusing a direct order, VP?"
"I'm refusing to waste an asset," I counter.
Squirrel spits. "Asset? She's a fucking liability, a liability who cost us two men!"
"She's my woman," I declare.
The words hang in the air like a grenade with the pin pulled.
Everyone is waiting for the explosion.
"Your woman?" Squirrel's voice goes soft. Dangerous. "Or your prisoner?"
"My ol’ lady," I say clearly.
Poncho laughs, harsh through his bandages.
"So she's not your prisoner anymore? She's more than that?" he challenges.
The challenge in his voice makes my hands itch for violence.
"Problem with that?" I ask.
"Yeah, I got a problem," Poncho says. "My eye's gone because your ‘ol’ lady’ sent us into a trap. Ripper's kids don't have a father because of her games."
"She didn't pull the trigger," I argue.
"Might as well have," he snaps back.
"Enough." Squirrel stands. "You want to claim her? Fine. But she wears your mistakes. Next brother that dies because of her? That's on you."
"Understood." I nod.
"And Jagger?" Squirrel adds. "If she steps out of line again, I'll put her down myself. I don’t give a fuck if she’s an ol’ lady or not."
"She won't," I promise.
"She better not. Now, what's this about Mel?" he asks.
I pull out the burner, show them the video Diego sent.
Mel tied up.
Crying.
The brothers go silent.
"Who is he?" Squirrel asks.
"Scarlett's trainer. Sinaloa enforcer. Has Mel because Scarlett refused to kill me on schedule," I explain.
"So more cartel bullshit because of your bitch," Digger spits.
"More cartel bullshit because we're in bed with them," I correct. "This was always going to go sideways. At least now we know where we stand."
"Which is?" Squirrel prompts.
"At war. But Scarlett has intel. Says she can prove Three Devils MC orchestrated the ambush, not us. Can turn the cartels against them instead," I explain.
"Convenient," Digger mutters.
"Strategic. She's offering to burn Three Devils to save Iron Veins, and that helps us all. We want the Three Devils gone anyway," I clarify.
"Why would she do that?" Squirrel questions.
Because she's mine, I don't say.
Because somewhere between the hate and the hunger, she knows being mine could be good for her.
"Because she needs us alive for her endgame," I say instead.
"Which is?" Squirrel presses.
"Taking Northern California. Her father's territory."
"Through us?" Digger asks.
"Through whoever's left standing," I answer.
Squirrel considers this. "And this Diego? He'll trade Mel for what?"
"Me. Dead. On video," I state.
"So give him that," Squirrel says simply.
"That's the plan. Fake my death long enough to get close."
"Then?" Squirrel asks.
"Then we kill him for real."
"We?" Digger questions.
"Scarlett and me," I confirm.
Squirrel's eyes narrow. "You trust her that much?"
I think about her beneath me this morning.
The way she said my name like a prayer and a curse.
The way she washed my hair like it was holy.
"I trust her hatred of him more than her hatred of me," I say.
"That's a dangerous game, brother," Squirrel warns.
"It's the only game left," I reply.
Squirrel nods slowly. "Take who you need. Get Mel back. But Jagger? This goes wrong, it's not just your head. It's your cut. Your place at this table."
"I know," I acknowledge.
"Do you? Because from where I'm sitting, you're thinking with your dick instead of your brain," Squirrel says bluntly.
"I'm thinking like a man who understands the board. Scarlett's not just some cartel princess. She's Eduardo Vasquez's goddaughter. Kill her, and we're all dead within a week. Keep her, use her, and maybe we come out on top," I explain.
"Or she burns us all," Digger interjects.
"Possible. But I'd rather burn rich than die poor," I counter.
That gets some laughs.
Dark ones, but still.
"Fine." Squirrel waves his hand. "Save the ol’ lady. Kill the psycho. Try not to die. Church dismissed."
The brothers file out, but Poncho lingers.
"She really got to you, didn't she?" he asks.
"Don't," I warn.
"That thing you said. About her being yours. You mean it?" he presses.
I think about lying.
Then figure fuck it.
"Yeah," I admit.
"Even knowing what she is? What she's done?" Poncho asks.
"Especially knowing that," I confirm.
He shakes his head.
"You're fucked, brother," Poncho says.
"I know," I agree.
"She's going to kill you," he warns.
"Probably," I concede.
"And you're okay with that?" Poncho sounds incredulous.
"There are worse ways to die than in the arms of a beautiful woman," I say.
"There are better ways to live than waiting for her knife," he counters.
"Maybe. But this is what I've got."
He claps my shoulder, careful of his own wounds. "For what it's worth? I hope you're right about her. Because if you're wrong—" he starts.
"I know. I'm dead," I finish.
"We're all dead," he corrects. "That's what happens when you let a dragon into your house. Everything burns."
He leaves me alone in the chapel.
I should pray.
Should ask for wisdom or strength or whatever the fuck saints give to lost causes.
Instead, I head back to my room.
Find Scarlett loading weapons like she was born to do it.
"How'd it go?" she asks without looking up.
"I officially claimed you," I tell her.
Her hands still for just a moment.
"Claimed me how?" she asks.
"Ol’ lady. Mine. Like I said, official," I specify.
"That's... unexpected," she says quietly.
"Is it? You've been working toward this since you got here," I point out.
"I've been working toward your destruction," she corrects.
"Same thing, isn't it? Can't destroy what you don't own," I observe.
She looks up then, amber eyes unreadable.
"You think I own you?" she asks.
"I think we own each other. Mutual destruction, remember?" I remind her.
"I remember," she confirms.
"Good. Now, how do we fake my death convincingly enough to fool your psycho ex?" I ask.
She smiles, sharp and beautiful.
"Leave that to me. I've been planning Diego's death for almost as long as yours," she says.
"Why?" I ask.
"Because he made me what I am. And I fucking hate what I am," she admits.
The honesty surprises us both.
"You're not—" I start.
"Don't." She holds up a hand. "Don't try to redeem me. Not now. Not when I need to be the monster he trained."
"Fine. What do you need from me?" I ask.
"Blood. Lots of it. And the ability to play dead convincingly," she lists.
"That's it?" I question.
"And backup. Hidden. Diego won't come alone," she adds.
"How many?" I ask.
"Four, maybe five. He likes odd numbers. Says even teams split too easily," she explains.
"Fucking psycho," I mutter.
"You have no idea," she agrees.
She stands, crosses to me.
"You sure about this? Claiming me? Your brothers already hate me. This makes it worse," she points out.
"They'll learn to live with it," I say.
"Or die trying," she adds darkly.
"That too," I comment.
She reaches up, touches the bruise she left on my throat.
"Mine, huh?" she murmurs.
"Until you're done with me," I confirm.
"And if I'm never done?" she asks softly.
"Then I guess we'll burn together," I answer.
"Romantic," she observes.
"Practical," I correct.
My phone buzzes.
Text from our scouts.
The Three Devils MC are moving.
"Shit," I curse.
"What?" she asks immediately.
"Three Devils. They're moving," I inform her.
"Of course they are. Blood in the water brings all the sharks." She grabs her jacket—my jacket, technically. "How long?"
"Hour, maybe two," I estimate.
"Not enough time to deal with Diego first," she calculates.
"So we handle both," I suggest.
"Both?" She laughs. "You want to take on a Sinaloa enforcer and a rival MC at the same time?"
"You got a better idea?" I challenge.
"Actually? Yeah." Her smile goes predatory. "We let them find each other."
"What?" I ask, confused.
"Think about it. Diego's expecting me to deliver your corpse. Three Devils are coming for revenge. What if they arrive at the same place?" she explains.
"They'd kill each other," I realize.
"Or weaken each other enough for us to clean up the mess," she confirms.
"That's..." I trail off.
"Brilliant? Insane? Exactly what Diego taught me?" she offers.
"I was going to say cold," I finish.
"Baby, you haven't seen cold yet," she promises.
She pulls out the burner, starts texting.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
"Telling Diego where to meet. Old warehouse on Riverside. Isolated enough for violence, central enough that Three Devils will track us there," she explains.
"How do you know they'll track us?" I question.
"Because I'm going to make sure they know exactly where to find Iron Veins' newest ol’ lady. I’ll put myself on a fucking platter."
"You're using yourself as bait," I realize.
"I'm using everyone as bait. Including you," she corrects.