Page 12 of Jagger’s Remorse (Iron Veins MC #1)

"And Mel?" I ask, concerned.

"Will be Diego's priority. He keeps her alive as leverage until he confirms you're dead. That's when we move and get her out," she explains.

"Lots of variables," I point out.

"Lots of opportunities," she counters.

My phone rings.

Squirrel.

"Yeah?" I answer.

"Three Devils just hit our cook house in Exeter. Killed the guys watching the joint," Squirrel reports.

"Fuck," I curse.

"They're coming, Jagger. Hard and fast," he warns.

"I know. We're handling it," I assure him.

"We?" he questions.

"Me and Scarlett," I confirm.

"Your fuckin’ funeral," Squirrel says and hangs up.

"Cook house is gone," I tell her.

"Expected. They're testing response time. Seeing how scattered we are." She checks her weapons. "Diego confirmed. One hour, Riverside warehouse."

"That's not enough time—" I start.

"It's perfect. We get there first, set the stage. Three Devils show up during the exchange. Chaos ensues," she interrupts.

"And we walk away clean?" I ask skeptically.

"Nobody walks away clean from this. But maybe we walk away still able to breathe," she admits.

"Maybe isn't good enough. Not with Mel's life on the line," I argue.

"Then make it good enough. You're the VP. Lead," she challenges.

She's right.

Time to stop reacting and start controlling.

"Fine. We need four brothers. Best shooters. People who can follow orders without questions," I decide.

"Poncho's half blind," she points out.

"Still shoots better than most with one eye," I counter.

"Hammer's wounded," she adds.

"And pissed about it. Angry men fight harder," I explain.

"Who else?" she asks.

"Joker, Mouse, and Blade. Both steady, both loyal," I answer.

"Can they handle seeing you 'die'?" she questions.

"If I tell them it's necessary," I confirm.

"Then tell them. We leave in twenty," she orders.

She moves to the door, all business now.

"Scarlett," I call out.

"What?" she pauses.

"After this. After Diego and Three Devils and whatever comes next. We need to talk," I say.

"About?" she asks.

"Everything. Your endgame. Mine. This thing between us," I elaborate.

"This thing ?" she echoes.

"Don't play dumb. You know what I mean," I press.

"I know what you think you mean." She looks back. "But Jagger? Some things don't have names. They just have body counts."

She's gone before I can respond.

I gear up, putting on my Kevlar vest, loading up weapons, and extra mags.

The St. Michael pendant feels heavier than usual.

Like even the saints know this is a bad idea.

I meet my brothers in the garage.

Fill them in on the minimum they need to know.

"So we're trusting the cartel princess?" Joker asks.

"We're trusting me," I correct. "Follow my lead, no matter what it looks like."

"Even if it looks like you're dying?" Blade questions.

"Especially then," I confirm.

They exchange glances but nod.

Brotherhood means trust, even when the plan sounds insane.

Scarlett appears, dressed for war.

All black, hair pulled back, enough weapons to outfit a small army.

She looks like what she is.

A killer.

My killer.

"Ready?" she asks.

"One thing first," I say.

I pull her aside, away from the others.

"What?" she asks, impatient.

"This," I say.

I kiss her.

Not soft.

Not careful.

A claiming kiss that says everything I can't.

That if this goes wrong, if we die tonight, at least we had this.

She kisses back just as fierce.

Like she understands.

Like maybe she feels it too.

"Still planning to kill me?" I ask against her mouth.

"Always. But maybe not today," she answers.

"Progress," I note.

"Necessity. Can't have someone else claiming my kill," she clarifies.

"Possessive," I observe.

"Maybe," she counters.

"I—" I start.

"Don't," she presses a finger to my lips. "Whatever you're about to say, save it. For after. When we're covered in blood and deciding who lives."

"That's romantic," I say dryly.

"That's us," she replies.

We mount up, engines roaring to life.

Five bikes thundering toward what might be our end.

But at least we're riding together.

At least if we burn, we burn bright.

The warehouse looms in the distance.

Empty.

Waiting.

Perfect for an ambush.

Perfect for a trap.

Perfect for what we're about to do.

"Remember," Scarlett says through the comm. "Diego likes theatrical. Give him a show once he realizes you’re all there."

"And Three Devils?" I ask.

"Leave them to me," she answers.

"Scarlett—" I start.

"Trust me, Jagger. If nothing else, trust that I want Diego dead more than I want you dead," she cuts me off.

"That's not reassuring," I point out.

"It's the best I've got," she admits.

We pull up to the warehouse.

Cut engines.

The silence feels heavy.

"Positions," I order.

My brothers scatter, finding cover.

High ground.

Clean sight lines.

Everything by the book except the woman at my side.

"How do we play this?" I ask her.

"You brought backup. He'll expect that. What he won't expect is—" she starts.

Her phone buzzes.

Diego.

" Princesa . I see you brought friends," Diego's voice comes through.

"Insurance," she answers. "Where's the girl?"

"Safe. For now. Where's my proof?" he asks.

"Coming in. Just me and the dead man," she tells him.

"If this is a trap—" he warns.

"Would I trap you, Diego? After everything you taught me?" she interrupts.

"Five minutes. Center of the warehouse. Any surprises and she dies screaming," Diego threatens.

The line goes dead.

"He's nervous," she says.

"How can you tell?" I ask.

"He didn't call me his little dragon. He always does when he's confident," she explains.

"His little dragon?" I repeat.

"Ironic, right? Both of you calling me the same thing. Must be something about killers and reptile nicknames," she muses.

We enter the warehouse carefully.

It's massive, empty, shadows everywhere.

Perfect killing ground.

Diego waits in the center, lit by a shaft of sunlight.

Still beautiful in that poisonous way.

Black suit, no tie, hand resting on his gun.

Four men flanked around him.

And Mel.

On her knees, hands bound, duct tape over her mouth.

But alive.

"Scarlett," Diego purrs. "You look good. Being his whore suits you."

"Diego," she matches his tone. "You look old. Being rejected must sting."

His jaw tightens.

"Where's the proof?" he demands.

"Right here," she gestures to me.

I step forward, let him see the blood on my shirt.

The way I move stiff, pained.

Selling the injury.

"Not good enough. I need to see the death. Watch it happen," Diego insists.

"Then watch," Scarlett says coldly.

She pulls her knife.

The one she's been carrying this whole time.

"Any last words?" she asks me.

I look at her.

Really look at her.

See the plan in her eyes.

The timing.

The angle.

Trust her, even though every instinct screams not to.

"No." I say, speaking coldly.

Then she strikes.

The blade slides between my ribs.

Exactly where she means it to.

Missing everything vital by millimeters.

But the blood...

The blood is real.

I drop, selling it hard.

Gasping.

Choking.

She kneels beside me, knife n hand.

"Goodbye, Jagger," she whispers.

And I swear I hear real emotion there.

Real regret.

Then my world goes dark.

Not unconscious.

Just playing dead.

Listening.

Waiting.

"Satisfied?" Scarlett asks Diego.

"Almost. Bring me his cut," Diego orders.

I hear her moving.

Fabric rustling.

My cut being slid off my shoulders.

The ultimate disrespect to a biker.

"Now his gun," Diego commands.

More movement.

"Good girl. Now come here," he orders.

"First Mel," Scarlett negotiates.

"You're not in a position to negotiate," Diego states.

"I just killed the man I've been fucking for you. I'd say I've earned a little faith," she argues.

Diego laughs. "Faith? Is that what you think this is about?"

"Then what?" she questions.

"Ownership, princesa . You belong to me. Have since the moment I marked you," he declares.

"I belong to no one," she states firmly.

"No? Then why did you come when called? Why did you kill him when ordered?" he challenges.

"Because—" she starts.

The warehouse door explodes open.

The Three Devils MC roars in, guns already blazing.

"Iron Veins! Where's our blood?" one of them shouts.

Chaos erupts.

Diego's men pivot, caught between threats.

Three Three Devils open fire.

My brothers return it from their positions.

And in the middle, Scarlett moves.

Not away from danger.

Toward Mel.

I roll, come up shooting with the gun I had hid under my shirt earlier.

Very much not dead.

Diego's face contorts with rage. "You lying bitch!" he screams.

He aims for Scarlett.

I put three rounds center mass.

Watch him stagger but not fall.

Of course he has a fucking vest.

Scarlett reaches Mel, cuts her bonds.

Shoves her toward cover.

Scarlett shouts, "Run!"

A Three Devils member charges them.

Scarlett pivots, drives her knife up under his ribs.

Dropping him clean.

Spinning to face the next threat.

It's beautiful and terrible.

Poetic in violence.

Everything Diego taught her turned against him.

"Jagger!" Poncho's voice in my ear. "More Three Devils bastards are incoming!"

"How many?" I ask.

"Too many," he reports.

I fight my way toward Scarlett.

She's holding her own, but there are too many bodies.

Too many bullets.

Diego rises, blood on his lips.

Vest caught most of it, but not all.

He's hurt.

Pissed.

And focused entirely on her.

"You choose him?" He spits blood. "Over your family? Over me ?"

"I choose myself," she snarls back.

They collide like hurricanes.

All their history in every strike.

Teacher versus student.

Creator versus creation.

She's faster.

He's stronger.

She's fueled by rage.

He's driven by betrayal.

I want to help, but the Three Devils keep coming.

Plus, this is her fight.

Her demon to exorcise.

They dance through the gunfire, oblivious to the war around them.

His knife finds her shoulder.

Her boot finds his knee.

Both are bleeding now.

Both slowing down.

"I made you," he pants. "Everything you are?—"