Page 15 of Jagger’s Remorse (Iron Veins MC #1)

"Yet here you sit. Either very brave or very stupid." Eduardo smiles. "Which is it?"

"In love," Jagger says simply.

The words hang in the air.

My heart stops.

Eduardo's eyebrows rise.

"Love?" He looks at me. "Is this true?"

I want to deny it.

Can't.

"It's complicated," I manage.

"Love always is," Eduardo agrees. "But it doesn't change facts. You were sent to kill him. Instead, Diego is dead."

"Diego overstepped," I say. "He took an innocent woman. Tortured her. Threatened her life."

"I know," Eduardo says. "I've seen the video."

Of course, he has.

"You knew Diego was a sadist," I point out.

"I knew Diego was effective," Eduardo corrects. "Until you corrupted him with failure."

"I didn't corrupt anyone," I argue.

"No?" Eduardo moves another piece. "Five years of reports. Your training, your progress, your dedication. Then suddenly, silence. Diego stops reporting. When he resurfaces, it's with stories of obsession. Of you choosing this man over family."

"I chose myself," I say firmly.

"Did you?" Eduardo challenges. "Or did you let emotion cloud your judgment? Let your father's killer seduce you from your purpose?"

"My purpose was revenge," I remind him.

"Your purpose was whatever I decided," Eduardo snaps. "I invested in you. Trained you. Protected you. And this is how you repay me?"

"By not becoming a mindless weapon?" I shoot back.

The slap comes fast.

Not hard enough to truly hurt.

Just enough to remind me of my place.

Jagger tenses beside me, but I grab his hand under the table.

Don't.

"You forget yourself," Eduardo says mildly. "Perhaps this man's influence. Perhaps Diego was right about you getting soft."

"I'm not soft," I insist.

"Prove it," Eduardo challenges.

He signals one of his men, who brings a box.

Inside, a knife and a brand.

The cartel mark.

My blood chills.

"You know what this means," Eduardo says.

"You want me to mark him," I realize.

"I want you to show where your loyalty lies," Eduardo corrects. "He killed Miguel. There must be payment. Not death—you've earned him that mercy. But he must be marked. And you must do it."

"And if I refuse?" I ask.

"Then you're no longer under my protection," Eduardo says simply. "Neither of you. I'll let the streets know Scarlett Delgado and Jackson Morales are fair game. How long do you think you'll last?"

Not long.

Every cartel soldier, every ambitious sicario looking to make a name—they'd come for us.

"Where?" I ask quietly.

"His chest," Eduardo decides. "Over the heart. So everyone knows he belongs to Sinaloa now."

I pick up the brand, feel its weight.

"Here?" I ask.

"Privacy is for family," Eduardo says. "You chose him over us. So you mark him publicly."

I look at Jagger.

See him understand.

See him accept.

"Do it," he says quietly. "It's just skin."

But it's not.

It's ownership.

It's marking him as cartel property.

It's everything he's fought against his whole life.

And he's accepting it.

For me.

"I need to heat it," I say.

Eduardo's man brings a torch.

I watch the metal grow red, orange, and white.

My hands don't shake.

Can't afford to.

A shaky hand means a messy brand.

More pain.

More damage.

"Ready?" I ask Jagger.

He pulls off his shirt, revealing the stitches from where I stabbed him.

"Yes," he says.

I press the brand to his chest.

The smell of burning flesh fills the air.

Jagger doesn't scream.

Doesn't flinch.

Just stares at me with those dark eyes.

Trusting.

Loving.

Everything I don't deserve.

I count to five, then pull away.

The mark is perfect.

Clean lines.

It'll scar beautifully.

Horribly.

Same thing in our world.

"Good," Eduardo approves. "Now we discuss business."

"Business?" I manage, setting down the brand.

"You've made a mess of things," Eduardo explains. "Diego dead. The Three Devils are crippled. Other cartels smelling blood. Someone needs to clean it up."

"Meaning?" Jagger asks through gritted teeth.

"Meaning you work for me now," Eduardo states. "The Iron Veins MC becomes an official Sinaloa contractor. You run our products, protect our interests, pay our tribute."

"And in return?" I ask.

"Protection. Territory. The backing of the most powerful cartel in Mexico." Eduardo smiles. "Plus, you get to live."

"What's the tribute?" Jagger asks.

"Thirty percent of profits," Eduardo says. "Plus, special jobs when needed. Non-negotiable."

"That's steep," Jagger observes.

"That's the price of my forgiveness," Eduardo counters. "Unless you'd prefer the alternative?"

We both know what the alternative is.

War.

Death.

The end of everything.

"We'll need to vote," Jagger says.

"You have twenty-four hours," Eduardo allows. "Scarlett will serve as liaison. My voice in your club."

"Mine," Jagger states firmly.

"Yours," Eduardo agrees. "But also mine. Never forget that."

He stands, meeting over.

" Mija ," he says to me. "Walk me out."

I follow him, leaving Jagger to compose himself.

Outside, Eduardo turns to me.

"You love him," he observes.

"Yes," I admit.

"He'll destroy you," Eduardo warns. "Love always does."

"Maybe," I acknowledge.

"I'm disappointed," he says again. "You could have been so much more."

"I am more," I insist. "Just not what you wanted."

He cups my face, almost gentle.

"You're your father's daughter after all," he says sadly. "Weak for the wrong people."

"Is that why you had him killed?" I ask. "Because he was weak?"

Eduardo's eyes go cold.

"I had him killed because he stole from me," he states. "The weakness was just... disappointing."

The admission hits like a punch.

"You actually ordered it," I breathe.

"Of course I did," Eduardo confirms. "Did you think it was random? That Los Lobos moved without permission? Your father betrayed us. The price was death."

"And me?" I ask. "Was I supposed to die too?"

"You were supposed to live," he says. "To learn. To become what Miguel never could be—truly loyal."

"Instead I became this," I gesture at myself.

"Yes," Eduardo agrees. "My greatest failure."

He kisses my forehead. "Twenty-four hours, mija . Make sure they vote correctly."

Then he's gone, leaving me reeling.

I stumble back inside, find Jagger pressing napkins to his chest.

"He ordered it," I tell him numbly. "Eduardo ordered my father's death."

"Scarlett—" he starts.

"This whole time, I've been serving the man who destroyed my family," I laugh, sharp and broken. "And now I'm bringing you into the same trap."

"Hey," Jagger catches my hands. "Look at me."

I meet his eyes.

"We survive," he says simply. "That's what we do. We adapt, we survive, we find a way to win."

"This isn't winning," I protest.

"It's not losing either," he counters. "Come on. Let's go home."

Home.

When did the compound become home?

When did his room become mine?

When did I become this person who cares more about belonging than revenge?

The ride back is silent.

At the compound, we're met with stares.

Everyone knows where we went.

Everyone's waiting to hear their fate.

"Church in an hour," Jagger tells Squirrel. "We need to vote."

"On?" Squirrel asks.

"Our future," Jagger says simply.

In his room, I tend to the brand, cleaning it carefully.

I apply antibiotic cream and bandage it with gentle hands.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

My hands won't stop shaking as I clean the burn.

I've done worse to enemies, inflicted more pain without blinking.

But this—marking him, claiming him for an organization that destroyed my family—makes me feel like I'm becoming Eduardo.

" Lo siento, mi amor, " I breathe when his eyes flutter closed. " Perdóname. "

He probably doesn't hear me. I hope he doesn't. Some apologies are meant for God, not men.

"Sorry for what?" he asks.

"This," I gesture at the wound. "Everything. Bringing Eduardo into our lives."

"Our lives," he repeats. "I like that."

"How can you be so calm?" I demand. "I just branded you like cattle. Made you cartel property."

"No," he corrects. "You marked me as yours. The cartel thinks they own me, but we know the truth."

"Which is?" I ask.

"I belong to you," he states. "Have since that night five years ago. This just makes it official."

"Jagger—" I start.

"I love you," he interrupts. "Not sure when it happened. Maybe when you stabbed me. Maybe before. But I do."

The words I've been avoiding.

The truth I've been denying.

"I love you, too," I admit. "God help me, I do."

He kisses me then.

Careful of his wound.

Careful of our hearts.

Like we're both something that might break if handled roughly.

"We're going to survive this," he promises.

"Together?" I ask.

"Together," he confirms.

A knock interrupts us.

"Church," Poncho calls. "Time to vote."

We dress carefully.

Him in his cut over a fresh shirt.

Me in jeans and a tank top, his crow pendant still around my neck.

As we head to the chapel, we pass Raven.

She looks at me, takes in the blood on my hands.

The brand smell still clinging to my clothes.

Something shifts in her expression.

Not trust.

Not yet.

But maybe the beginning of her understanding why I do what I do.

V /–Can decide what's worth protecting.

She nods slightly.

I nod back.

Inside the chapel, the vote is quick.

Unanimous.

They'll take Eduardo's deal.

Become Sinaloa contractors.

Because the alternative is death.

"Scarlett will serve as liaison," Jagger announces. "Any problems with that?"

No one objects.

Not out loud anyway.

I'm one of them now.

For better or worse.

As the meeting ends, my phone buzzes.

Unknown number.

I answer carefully.

"Scarlett Delgado?" The voice is unfamiliar.

"Who's asking?" I respond.

"Someone who shares your interest in revenge," the man says. "The Three Devils may be broken, but we're not dead. And we know who really killed Diego."

My blood chills.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say.

"Sure you do," he laughs. "See, one of my boys survived the warehouse. Saw the whole show. You and your boyfriend playing dress-up. Very convincing."

"What do you want?" I ask.

"Justice," he says. "For Butcher. For our brothers. For the disrespect."

"And?" I prompt.

"And we've found new friends," he reveals. "The Sombra Cartel is very interested in Sinaloa's new arrangements. Very interested in disrupting them."

Sombra.

Sinaloa's biggest rival.

Why the fuck can’t I just have a day off from this shit?

"Thanks for the warning," I say sarcastically.

"Oh, it's not a warning," he corrects. "It's a promise. See you soon, princess."

The line goes dead.

I look at Jagger and see my worry reflected in his eyes.

"Who was that?" he asks.

"Trouble," I admit. "The kind that comes with an army."

"Then we better get ready," he says simply.

"Just like that?" I ask.

"Just like that," he confirms. "We're the Iron Veins. We're Sinaloa. We're survivors. And now?"

"Now?" I prompt.

"Now we're together," he finishes. "That makes us dangerous."

Looking at him, branded, beautiful, and mine, I believe it.

We've come too far to die now.

Survived too much to fall to lesser enemies.

The Three Devils can come.

Sombra can come.

Hell itself can come.

We'll be ready.

Because Raven was right—I am a viper.

But now I know which nest I'm protecting.

And God help anyone who threatens it.