Page 19 of Jagger’s Remorse (Iron Veins MC #1)

CHAPTER EIGHT

Scarlett

I wake to pain and the smell of leather and whiskey—Jagger's scent.

My eyes crack open, taking in the familiar walls of his room.

Our room.

Afternoon light filters through the blinds, casting bars across the bed.

How long have I been out?

"Three days," Jagger's voice comes from beside me, like he read my mind. "Doc kept you under while the worst of it healed."

I turn my head—carefully—to find him in his usual chair.

He looks like shit—stubble darkening his jaw, eyes bloodshot, still wearing the same clothes from the party.

The blood-stained clothes.

"You haven't left."

"No."

"Jagger—"

"Don't." He moves to the bed, sits carefully on the edge. "Don't tell me I should have gone to church, handled business, done anything other than make sure you kept breathing."

His hand finds mine, gentle like I might break.

Maybe I might.

Everything hurts—shoulder screaming where the bullet went through, knife wound throbbing in rhythm with my heartbeat.

But I'm alive.

"Help me up," I say.

"Scarlett—"

"I need to pee, and I need a shower. Unless you want me to piss the bed like the dog you once said I was."

That gets a smile, small but real. "You remember that?"

"I remember everything."

He helps me sit up, and the world spins for a moment.

I grip his arm until it settles.

"Easy," he murmurs. "Doc says the blood loss was bad. You're gonna be weak for a while."

"Weak." I taste the word, hate it. "Can't afford to be weak."

"You took a bullet for Raven. That's not weak."

"That was stupid."

"That was what people do for family."

The word hangs between us, heavy with meaning.

He helps me to the bathroom, and I catch sight of myself in the mirror.

Pale as death, bandages covering my shoulder, bruises painting my skin in purple and yellow.

I look like a corpse trying to remember how to be alive. "Sexy," I mutter.

"Always," he says, and means it.

The shower is an ordeal.

He has to help me undress, help me stand under the spray.

His hands are clinical, careful, but I catch him looking at each wound, each mark.

"I'm okay," I tell him.

"You're not."

"I will be."

"I know." He works shampoo through my hair, the same gentle way I did for him once. "When I saw you go down?—"

"Don't."

"I lost it, Scarlett. I completely lost it. Hammer says I killed three men with my bare hands."

"Good."

He pauses. "Good?"

"They came for us. For our family. They deserved worse."

Something shifts in his expression. Relief, maybe. Or understanding. "There's my little dragon."

After the shower, he helps me dress in one of his shirts and soft shorts.

I notice something new around his neck—a chain I recognize.

"Is that...?"

He touches it self-consciously. "Your father's ring. You gave it to me. Said I should have it since—" He stops.

"Since you killed him."

"Yeah."

I study him, this man who killed my father, who wears his ring like penance. "Keep it."

"Scarlett—"

"It looks good on you. Papa would have hated that." I smile, sharp despite the pain. "Makes it perfect."

He kisses me then, soft and careful, but a knock interrupts us.

"Come in," Jagger calls.

Raven enters, carrying a tray of food. She stops when she sees me awake, something unreadable crossing her face. "You're up."

"Disappointed?"

"Relieved." She sets the tray down, meets my eyes. "You saved my life."

"You gave me a dress."

"That joke was funnier when you were bleeding out." But her lips twitch. "Eat. You look like death warmed over."

She turns to leave, pauses at the door. "Thank you," she says quietly. "I won't forget."

Then she's gone, leaving me stunned.

"Did Raven just... thank me?"

"She's been here every day," Jagger says. "Helped Doc with your bandages. Threatened anyone who suggested you brought this on us."

"Holy shit."

"Yeah."

I pick at the food—soup, bread, things easy on a system that's been shut down.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand.

Eduardo.

Of course.

"Don't answer it," Jagger says.

"Have to."

"Scarlett—"

I'm already swiping to accept. " Tío ."

"Ah, mija . You're awake. Good." His voice is silk over steel. "I heard about the attack. Very disappointing."

"We handled it."

"Did you? Because from what I hear, six of your people were injured. Security was compromised. This does not inspire confidence."

I bite back my first response, choose my words carefully. "The situation is under control. The perpetrators have been dealt with."

"Some of them. But the Three Devils still breathe. Sombra still moves against our interests." A pause. "Perhaps I was wrong to trust the Iron Veins with our operations."

"What do you want?"

"Proof that my investment wasn't wasted. The Mendoza family owes us a shipment. Three hundred kilos of uncut heroin. They've been... reluctant to pay."

"Send your soldiers."

"I'm sending you. And you'll take two of your new biker brothers. Not your lover—others. Show me the Iron Veins can follow your lead."

"I'm injured?—"

"Leaders lead through pain, mija . Or they're replaced." His voice goes cold. "You have forty-eight hours. Don't disappoint me again."

The line goes dead.

"Fuck," I breathe.

"You're not going," Jagger states.

"I don't have a choice."

"You can barely stand?—"

"Then I'll sit while I negotiate." I meet his eyes. "You know what happens if I refuse."

He does. We both do.

Eduardo doesn't give second chances.

"Who will you take?"

I consider who would be the best for this.

I need people I can trust, but also people who won't baby me.

"Poncho and Mouse."

"Good choices." He doesn't look happy about it. "When?"

"Tomorrow. Today I rest, plan. Tomorrow I will remind Eduardo why he kept me alive."

"And if it's a trap?"

"It's definitely a trap. Everything with Eduardo is a trap." I lean back against the pillows. "The trick is figuring out which jaws to spring."

***

The next morning comes too soon.

I dress carefully—black jeans, tank top that shows the bandages.

I want to let them see I'm wounded but not weak. Jagger's crow pendant. My father's knife.

Poncho and Mouse wait by the bikes, both armed to the teeth.

"You sure about this?" Poncho asks, his good eye skeptical.

"No. But we're doing it anyway."

"Fair enough."

Jagger pulls me aside before we leave. "Anything feels wrong, you bolt. Don't try to be a hero."

"When have I ever been a hero?"

"When you took a bullet for Raven."

"That was a fluke."

He cups my face, thumbs tracing my cheekbones. "Come back to me."

"Always do."

"Scarlett—"

"I know." I press my forehead to his. "I love you too."

First time I've said it sober. First time I've said it without violence around us.

His breath catches. "Say it again."

"When I come back."

"Cruel woman."

"Your cruel woman."

The ride to Mendoza territory takes two hours. Every bump sends fire through my shoulder, but I don't let it show.

Can't show weakness. Not to enemies, not to allies, not even to myself.

The Mendoza compound is smaller than I expected.

Family operation, not cartel level. Guards at the gate look bored until they see us coming.

"That's close enough," one calls out.

I dismount carefully, hands visible but ready. "Scarlett Delgado. Eduardo Vasquez sent me."

The guard's face pales. Good. They know the name.

"Senor Mendoza isn't?—"

"He is now." I walk forward, Poncho and Mouse flanking me. "Unless he wants to explain to my godfather why his goddaughter was kept waiting in the sun with a bullet wound."

They scramble to open the gates.

The main house is decent—money, but not fuck-you money. Just enough to be comfortable, not enough to draw attention.

Hector Mendoza waits in his office, trying to look unconcerned. He's younger than I expected, maybe mid-thirties, with the soft look of someone who inherited rather than earned.

"Miss Delgado. This is unexpected."

"Most collections are." I take the chair across from him without invitation. "You owe my godfather three hundred kilos. We're here to collect."

"There have been... complications."

"There always are."

"No, you don't understand. The shipment—" He stops, sweat beading on his forehead.

I lean forward, let him see the calculation in my eyes. "Choose your next words very carefully, Hector. My godfather has limited patience, and I have a bullet hole that's making me cranky."

"The shipment was seized," he blurts out. "Not by cops. By Sombra. Two weeks ago."

Poncho shifts behind me. Mouse's hand drifts to his weapon.

"You let Sombra take our product?"

"Let? They came with thirty men. We had six. What would you have done?"

"Died protecting it."

"Easy to say when?—"

I'm out of my chair and across his desk before he can finish, my knife at his throat. The movement tears something in my shoulder, but I don't let it show.

"Easy to say because it's true. You took Eduardo's money. Promised his product. Failed to deliver." I let the blade kiss his skin. "What do you think happens now?"

"Please—"

"But," I ease back slightly, "I'm feeling generous. Maybe because I'm blood-drunk. Maybe because I see an opportunity here."

"What... what opportunity?"

"Sombra took your shipment. You want it back. We want them hurt." I smile. "Seems like our interests align."

"You're proposing?—?"

"Tell me where they're keeping it. We'll retrieve what's ours, and maybe Eduardo forgets this conversation happened."

Hope flares in his eyes. "There's a warehouse in Redding. Industrial district. Building 47. They move product through there twice a week."

"Security?"

"Ten, maybe fifteen men. They think they're untouchable since partnering with Three Devils."

"They're wrong." I sheathe my knife. "You have twenty-four hours to clear any of your people from that area. After that, anyone there is fair game."

"That's... that's it?"

"No. You owe us an extra fifty kilos for the inconvenience. Delivered within the month."

"Fifty—that's?—"