Page 18 of Jagger’s Remorse (Iron Veins MC #1)

"Do you? Because that girl just proved something tonight. She's not just your old lady. She's one of us. Really one of us." She meets my eyes. "I was wrong about her. She's still a viper. But she's our viper. And I'll gut anyone who says different."

Coming from Raven, I feel like hell has frozen over.

Scarlett stirs, eyes fluttering. "Did we win?"

"You don’t need to worry about that right now."

"I’m so tired."

"Doc says you need to try and stay awake."

"Doc's not the boss of me." But her eyes focus on my face, drinking me in. "You're covered in blood."

"Not mine."

"I know. I saw you. You went feral." A ghost of a smile. "It was beautiful."

"You're delirious."

"Probably. But still true." Her hand finds mine, grip weak but present. "The prospects," she says suddenly. "Three of them. They were new, right? Came in last month?"

"Yeah."

"Same time the Three Devils started rebuilding. That's not a coincidence."

Even half-dead, she's connecting dots.

"The club will deal with it," I promise.

"No." Her grip tightens. "We deal with it. Together."

"You're not dealing with anything until you heal up."

"Watch me." She tries to sit up, gasping at the pain. "Fuck. Okay, maybe you have a point."

"Stubborn woman."

"Your stubborn woman," she corrects. "The routes. The Nevada deal. They'll try to disrupt?—"

"Scarlett. Stop. The business can wait."

"But—"

"But nothing. Right now, all that matters is you breathing."

She studies my face. "You went feral, didn't you? When I got shot?"

"Maybe."

"Hammer looks terrified of you."

I glance over. Hammer's definitely keeping his distance, and there's something in his eyes when he looks at me.

Fear. Respect. Recognition of what I'm capable of when someone touches what's mine.

"Good."

"My hero," she says, but there's no mockery in it. Just warmth and something deeper.

Doc finishes the field dressing. "She needs antibiotics. The good stuff. And plasma. She's lost too much blood."

"Make the list," I repeat.

Around us, brothers are putting out fires, literal and figurative.

The clubhouse looks like a war zone.

Bodies sprawled across the floor, blood painting abstract patterns on concrete.

Counting the dead—twelve of theirs, while six of our people are wounded.

"This is my fault," Scarlett whispers.

"No."

"I brought this war. Eduardo, Diego, all of it?—"

"Stop." I squeeze her hand. "This was coming regardless. Three Devils wanted revenge. Sombra wanted territory. You just gave us the tools to fight back."

"Pretty words."

"True words."

Squirrel approaches, face grim. "Found one of the prospects—Wharton—Dead. Looks like his partners didn't want him talking."

"And the other two?"

"Wind. But we'll find them." His eyes are cold. "When we do, they're yours if you want them."

"When you do, I want them alive."

"For questioning?"

"For Scarlett."

He looks at her, at the blood, at Raven still hovering protectively. Something shifts in his expression.

"She's earned it," he agrees. "When she's ready, they're hers."

"Hear that?" I tell her. "You get to plan their punishment."

"Christmas came early," she murmurs, but her voice is fading.

Her eyes are drooping again.

"Hey. Stay with me."

"Trying. But you're getting fuzzy. Fuzzy Jagger." She giggles weakly. "Sounds like a drink name."

"Scarlett—"

"Tell me something," she requests. "Keep me awake. Tell me... tell me about the first time you saw me. Not that night. Before."

I think back.

"Berkeley. Three months before everything. You were at that coffee shop near campus. The one with the terrible music and overpriced lattes."

"Heartbreak Café," she supplies. "Stupid name."

"Yeah. You were studying. Had this massive stack of law books. Kept pushing your hair back when it fell in your face. You'd bite your lip when you were concentrating."

"You were watching me study?"

"I was watching everything about you. Trying to understand Miguel's weakness. His pressure point." I brush hair from her face, sticky with blood. "Followed you for three days before I realized what you were."

"His daughter?"

"His everything. His reason for breaking the rules. Everything he did, everything he stole, was for you."

"That's... sweet. In a stalker-murderer kind of way."

"That's us."

She manages a laugh, weak but real. "Yeah. That's us. Tell me more. Keep talking."

"You had a routine. Coffee shop from two to five. Library until eight. Sometimes you'd stop at that taco truck on Durant."

"Their al pastor was amazing."

"You'd get two, extra pineapple, and eat them while walking back to your apartment. Always took the long way, through the campus gardens."

"It was pretty at night. All the lights in the trees." Her voice is getting dreamy. "Felt safe."

"You weren't. I was always there. In the shadows. Watching. Learning."

"Learning what?"

"That you were nothing like your father. That you smiled at strangers. Helped that homeless vet buy coffee. Tutored freshmen for free." I trace her jaw with bloody fingers. "That killing Miguel would destroy something good in the world."

"But you did it anyway."

"I did my job. But I couldn't... I couldn't take you too. Couldn't extinguish that light."

"So you let it burn until it became this." She gestures weakly at herself. "Until it became something that could burn you back."

"Best decision I ever made."

"Worst decision," she corrects. "For both of us."

"No. Because all of it led here. To this. To us."

Doc returns with his list. Three pages of medical supplies.

I hand it to Poncho. "Get everything. Don't care what it costs, or who you have to get it from. You still know that guy on the black market?"

"On it, and yeah." He pauses. "But, uh, Jagger? The way you moved out there... I've never seen anything like it."

"Touch what's mine, and you will again."

He nods, understanding, and heads out.

My phone buzzes.

It’s an unknown number.

I almost ignore it.

Then remember the last unknown call brought Eduardo into our lives.

"Yeah?"

"Jagger Morales." The voice is young, cocky. "Heard you got our message tonight."

"Who is this?"

"Name's Rico. Three Devils. Well, what's left of us." He laughs. "You killed our president. We injured six of yours. Still not even, but it's a start."

"What do you want?"

"Your head. Your bitch's head. Your whole fuckin’ club burning." His voice hardens. "But first, we want you to know something."

"What?"

"We're not alone anymore. Sombra's backing us. Full support. Men, money, product. You fucked with the wrong people."

"Big words from someone who needed traitors to open the door."

"Those prospects? Just the beginning. We've got eyes everywhere. People you trust. People close to you." He pauses for effect. "Maybe even people sharing your bed."

I look at Scarlett, who's watching me with sharp eyes despite the blood loss.

"Bullshit."

"Maybe. Maybe not. Guess you'll find out." He pauses. "Tell the princess I said hi. Tell her she bleeds pretty. Tell her we'll make her bleed prettier next time."

The line goes dead.

"Who was it?" Scarlett asks.

"Three Devils. Admitted they partnered with Sombra."

"We already knew that, those dumb fucks!" She processes this with the part of her brain that's always working, always planning. "We need to call my Tio Eduardo. Update him on?—"

"We need to get you stable first. Everything else can wait."

"But—"

"Everything. Else. Can. Wait."

She must see something in my face because she stops arguing.

"Okay," she says quietly. "But Jagger? When I'm better? We burn them all to the fucking ground."

"Every last one."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

She closes her eyes, satisfied.

Around us, the cleanup continues. Brothers cleaning up around the place, old ladies tending wounded, prospects—the loyal ones—scrubbing blood from concrete.

The party's over.

The war's just beginning.

But looking at her—my old lady, my partner, my perfectly violent match—I know we'll survive.

We've come too far to fall now. Bled too much to break.

And tomorrow, when she's stronger, we'll show the Three Devils and Sombra and anyone else stupid enough to test us exactly what happens when you come for the Iron Veins.

When you come for what's mine.

The answer is simple: You die screaming.