Page 16 of Jagger’s Remorse (Iron Veins MC #1)

CHAPTER SEVEN

Jagger

Power looks good on her.

I lean against the doorframe of our makeshift conference room, watching Scarlett work the Los Lobos representatives like a virtuoso playing a symphony.

She's wearing one of my shirts—white button-down, sleeves rolled to her elbows, top three buttons undone to show just enough skin to distract.

My crow pendant nestles between her breasts, catching the light when she moves.

Calculated.

Everything about her is calculated.

"The Nevada route runs through indigenous land," Martinez, the lead rep, argues. He's a thick man with scarred knuckles and dead eyes, the kind who's survived this life by being smart rather than brutal. "We will have complications with tribal police."

"The reservation police have already been handled." Scarlett slides a folder across the table with manicured nails that I know can claw a man's eyes out. "Three chiefs on payroll, two judges in our pocket. Your concerns are noted, but irrelevant."

She moves to the wall map, tracing the proposed route with one finger.

The movement makes her shirt ride up slightly, revealing the knife scar on her lower back—a souvenir from her time with Diego.

Martinez's partner, a sleazy fuck named Ortiz, hasn't stopped staring at her ass since they walked in.

His eyes track every movement, lingering on the curve of her hips when she stands to point at the map on the wall.

I'm about to intervene when Scarlett handles it herself.

"Mr. Ortiz," she says without turning around, still studying the map like she doesn't know exactly where his eyes are focused. "Are you unclear about something?"

"No, senorita . Just... admiring the view."

The temperature in the room shifts.

I straighten from my position by the door, hand automatically checking the Glock at my hip.

She turns then, slow and predatory.

Each movement deliberate.

She leans against the table, making sure the overhead light catches the crow pendant, making sure they see exactly who she belongs to.

"Admiring?" Her voice drops to that dangerous purr I've heard before. Usually right before someone bleeds. "How sweet. You know what my old man does to men who disrespect me? Let's just say the last one needed reconstructive surgery. On his whole face."

The room temperature drops ten degrees.

I watch Ortiz's face pale as he processes the threat.

"Just a compliment," Ortiz backpedals, suddenly finding the contract fascinating.

"Was it?" She tilts her head, studying him like a specimen pinned to a board. "Because from where I stand, it sounded like disrespect. And disrespecting me is disrespecting the Iron Veins. Which is disrespecting Sinaloa."

She lets that hang in the air like a noose waiting for a neck.

"Unless you'd like to explain to Eduardo Vasquez why his goddaughter felt unsafe in a business meeting?"

Martinez shoots his partner a look that promises he’ll pay for his mistake later.

His jaw works like he's chewing glass.

"Our apologies, Miss Delgado. Ortiz forgets himself."

"Men often do around pretty things." She straightens, all business again, but I catch the way her hand ghosts over the knife hidden at her hip. "Now, about the distribution schedule..."

She returns to the contracts, breaking down transportation windows and pickup protocols like she didn't just threaten to have them skinned alive.

Professional. Efficient. Terrifying.

Twenty minutes later, she has them eating out of her palm.

The Nevada route is ours—well, Sinaloa's through us—with better terms than I'd hoped for.

She negotiated an extra five percent off the top and got them to cover transportation insurance.

They leave with signed agreements and carefully hidden fear.

Martinez pauses at the door, gives me a look that says he knows exactly how dangerous my woman is.

Good. Let him spread the word.

The moment the door closes, she's on me.

Hands fisting in my cut, pulling me down for a kiss that tastes like victory and violence.

Her tongue sweeps into my mouth, claiming and demanding. "Fuck, that was hot," she breathes against my mouth, already working at my belt.

"Which part?" I back her against the table, caging her with my body. "The negotiation or the threat?"

"Both. All of it." She hops up on the table, wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me flush against her. "The way they looked at me. The way you looked at me. Like I'm something dangerous."

My hand finds her throat, feels her pulse racing under my palm. "You are dangerous."

"Say it again."

I grip tighter, just enough to make her breath catch. "You're fucking lethal, little dragon. A beautiful nightmare wrapped in skin and sin."

She moans, grinding against me, and I can feel how wet she is through her panties.

"Here? Now?"

"Here. Now. Before I explode." Her hands are frantic on my zipper. "Need you inside me. Need to feel owned after owning them."

I'm already hard—have been since she started tearing into Ortiz.

There's something intoxicating about watching her wield power like a weapon, knowing this brilliant, vicious creature chooses to be mine.

I push her skirt up, tear her panties off with one sharp pull.

"Those were expensive," she protests half-heartedly.

"I'll buy you more." I thrust two fingers inside her, finding her dripping. "Jesus, you're soaked."

"Told you. Power makes me wet." She rocks against my hand. "Stop teasing and fuck me."

"Impatient little dragon."

"Always. You know this."

I do know.

Know she gets wound tight during negotiations, needs the release of surrendering control after maintaining it so perfectly.

I line myself up, push inside in one smooth thrust that has her head falling back, exposing the column of her throat.

"Fuck yes," she hisses, nails digging into my shoulders through my shirt. "Just like that. Hard. Want to feel it during the party tonight."

The party.

Right. Celebration for the new route.

But right now, all I care about is the way she clenches around me, the way her head falls back in abandon, the little sounds she makes when I hit just the right angle.

"That's it," I encourage, setting a punishing pace that has the table creaking. "Take what you need. Take it all."

"Always do." Her hand snakes between us, finds her clit, circling in tight movements that match my thrusts. "Fuck, the way you fill me. Like you were made for this. Made for me."

The sight of her touching herself while I'm inside her nearly ends me. Her face is flushed, lips parted, completely lost in sensation.

"Close," she gasps, walls fluttering around me. "So fucking close. Tell me—tell me I'm yours."

"Mine," I growl, increasing my pace. "Every inch of you. Every breath. Every victory. Mine."

"Yours," she agrees, then her back arches and she's coming, my name on her lips like a prayer.

I follow her over, burying myself deep as I empty into her, marking her from the inside out.

We stay there, breathing hard, foreheads pressed together. I can feel her heartbeat everywhere we're connected.

"We're going to get caught one day," she murmurs, pressing lazy kisses to my jaw.

"Probably."

"You don't sound worried."

"Why would I be? You're mine. I'll fuck you where I want, when I want."

She grins, sharp and pleased. "Possessive bastard."

"You love it."

"Maybe." She clenches around me deliberately, making me groan. "Maybe I just love?—"

The door opens without warning.

Raven stands there, taking in our disheveled state with knowing eyes.

Her gaze travels from Scarlett's position on the table to my hands still gripping her thighs.

"When you two are done christening the furniture," she says dryly, "Squirrel wants to go over security for tonight."

Scarlett doesn't even blush.

Just smooths down her skirt and hops off the table, my release already dripping down her thighs.

"Tell him five minutes. I need to make myself presentable."

"Honey, that ship has sailed." But there's almost warmth in Raven's voice. "Your hair looks like you've been electrocuted."

"Hazard of the job," Scarlett quips, attempting to finger-comb her hair into submission.

"Which job? Negotiating or fucking?"

"Yes."

Raven actually snorts—might be a laugh—before her eyes land on Scarlett's ruined panties on the floor. "And clean up your mess. This is where we conduct business."

"This was business," Scarlett counters. "Team building exercise."

"Is that what we're calling it now?" Raven shakes her head, but I swear she's fighting a smile. "Five minutes. Don't make me come back."

She leaves, pulling the door firmly shut behind her.

"I think she's warming up to me," Scarlett comments, cleaning herself up with tissues from her purse.

Honestly, Raven should be.

It’s been a month since everything went down with Diego.

"Don't push it."

"I would never." She fixes her hair in the window's reflection, transforming from freshly fucked to professional in moments. "What do you think? Property cut tonight?"

"You earned it."

"I earned it the night I chose you over Diego. Tonight's just making it official." She turns, studies me with those amber eyes. "You okay with that? Me wearing your property patch?"

Something warm blooms in my chest. Pride, maybe. Or just love so fierce it feels like pride.

"More than okay. Want everyone to know you're mine."

"Such a caveman." But she's smiling. "Come on, let's go see what Squirrel wants before Raven comes back with a spray bottle."

The security briefing is standard—entry points, patrol rotations, emergency protocols.

But I'm distracted by the three prospects hovering near the back of the room.

They've been jumpy all week, whispering in corners, going quiet when brothers approach.

Squirrel's voice cuts through my thoughts. "You listening, Jagger?"

"Yeah. Double patrols on the perimeter."

"Triple," he corrects. "After the warehouse hit, we're not taking chances."

"The Three Devils are scattered," Poncho argues. His eye patch makes him look more dangerous than before. "Leaderless."