Page 22 of Jagger’s Remorse (Iron Veins MC #1)

The photos. The detailed information that got six of our people hurt.

Someone we trust—Tina—has been selling us out.

"You're thinking too loud," Scarlett murmurs beside me, her hand finding mine in the dark.

"Tina. All this time, it was Tina."

"Makes sense when you think about it," she says, shifting to press against my side. I feel her wince—the wounds still fresh. "She had access, motive, opportunity. And she's been careful."

"Too careful."

"We’ll get her, Jagger. But there's something else bothering me." She pauses. "Earlier, when Eduardo called about Blade..."

"What about it?"

"Mouse knew Blade was skimming before anyone mentioned his name."

I go still, processing this. "You sure?"

"Positive. He said 'he knows about Blade' before I'd said who Eduardo wanted dead."

Fuck. Mouse has been with us for years.

Solid brother. Good soldier.

But now I'm wondering if we have more than one rat.

"He's been taking a lot of personal time lately," I say slowly. "Missed church twice last month. That's not like him."

"Family stuff, he said."

"Yeah, but..." I sit up, pieces clicking together. "His wife left him last year. Took the kid. What family?"

Scarlett's already reaching for her phone. "Let's find out."

"What are you doing?"

"Checking traffic cams near his place. Another gift from Diego—he had connections everywhere." Her fingers fly over the screen. "There. Three days ago. Mouse leaving his apartment with someone."

She shows me the grainy footage. Mouse walking with a woman and a young girl. His ex-wife. His daughter.

"I thought she moved to Oregon," I mutter.

"Maybe she came back. Or maybe..." Scarlett's eyes narrow. "Maybe someone brought her back."

"Leverage," I breathe. "Just like they leveraged Tina with money. Different pressure, same result."

"Two rats," Scarlett says. "Fuck. How deep does this go?"

The next day, we run surveillance on both Tina and Mouse without telling anyone except Squirrel.

We can't risk word getting out.

Raven handles Tina, playing the concerned friend. "You seem stressed, honey. Everything okay?"

"Just tired," Tina says, but her hands shake as she pours coffee. "Haven't been sleeping well."

"Since the attack?"

"Yeah. Keep thinking about how they knew exactly when to hit us." Tina's fishing, trying to see what we know. "Any idea how they got in?"

"Squirrel thinks maybe they had help," Raven says carefully. "Maybe someone on the inside."

Tina goes very still. "That's... that's crazy. Who would do that?"

"Someone desperate. Someone who needed money, maybe."

"Well, I hope you find them," Tina says quickly. "Whoever it is deserves what's coming."

Meanwhile, Scarlett and I tail Mouse.

He leaves the compound around noon, heads north.

We follow at a distance in a jacked up truck she got her hands on so he won’t know it’s us, and watch him pull into a storage facility off Highway 299.

"What's he doing?" Scarlett wonders.

We park down the street, watch through binoculars. Mouse enters unit 47, emerges twenty minutes later carrying a backpack. Looks heavier going out than in.

"Making a drop?" I suggest.

"Or a pickup. Either way, he's hiding something."

He drives to a motel on the outskirts of town.

The Starlite—the kind that rents by the hour and doesn't ask questions.

Room 12.

We wait until he leaves, then Scarlett picks the lock.

The room's empty except for the smell of fear-sweat and three burner phones charging on the nightstand.

"Bingo," she breathes.

I check the phones while she searches the rest of the room.

Texts. Calls.

All coded but the pattern's clear.

Mouse has been feeding information to someone.

"Jagger," Scarlett calls from the bathroom. "Look at this."

Photos taped to the mirror.

Mouse's ex-wife and daughter. But these aren't happy family photos.

These are surveillance shots. The girl at school. The mother at work.

Leverage.

"They've been using them as leverage," I confirm. "That explains the meeting we saw."

"Just like we suspected. Question is who's 'they'?" Scarlett muses. "Sombra? Three Devils? Someone else?"

"We need to set a trap. For both of them."

We head back to the compound to strategize.

Scarlett and I brief Squirrel privately—can't risk anyone else knowing, not even the other officers.

We work out the details: two different pieces of false intel, two different locations, see which rat takes which bait.

Squirrel agrees to have Raven handle Tina while I deal with Mouse.

By the time we're done planning, it's past midnight and my shoulder's screaming from the earlier firefight, but we can't afford to wait.

Every hour we delay is another hour they could be feeding information to our enemies.

That night, I implement the plan. First, I pull Mouse aside in the garage. "Got a special job for you, brother. Off the books."

His eyes sharpen, and I see the fear flash before he covers it. "Yeah?"

"Eduardo wants us to move some extra product. Unscheduled. He doesn't want Sombra getting wind of it."

"Makes sense. When?"

"Tomorrow night. Abandoned airstrip outside Cottonwood. Small crew, quiet operation."

"I'm in."

"Good. But keep it quiet, yeah? Just between us until I brief the others. Can't risk another leak."

He nods, and I see it—the flicker of calculation in his eyes.

The weight of whatever threat hangs over his family.

"Sure thing, VP. You can count on me."

The words taste like ash in his mouth. I can tell.

I leave the garage and overhear Raven feeding Tina some different information. "Squirrel's planning a big shipment. Tomorrow night. Using the southern route through Tehama."

"Oh?" Tina tries to sound casual. "That's... good. Business has been slow."

"Don't mention it to anyone though. He wants it kept quiet until he works out security."

"Of course. My lips are sealed."

Two rats. Two traps. We wait to see which one springs first.

But waiting's never been my strong suit, and the second I find Scarlett, she can see the tension coiling in my shoulders.

"Come on," she says, grabbing my cut from the chair. "We need to get out of here for a few hours."

"We should stay close?—"

"The traps won't spring until tomorrow night. Right now, you need to clear your head before you explode." She tosses me the leather. "When's the last time we just rode? No destination, no job, just us and the road?"

She's right. Can't remember the last time I rode for the pure joy of it.

Twenty minutes later, we're heading up Highway 299 toward Whiskeytown Lake.

The sun's setting, painting the sky in purples and oranges.

Scarlett's pressed against my back, her arms tight around my waist, and for a moment I can pretend we're just another couple out for an evening ride.

I take the turnoff toward Brandy Creek, following the winding road through pine forests.

The air's cooler up here, clean and sharp.

Scarlett taps my shoulder, points to a dirt path leading off the main road.

I take it, curious where she's leading us.

The path opens into a small clearing overlooking the lake.

The water reflects the dying light like molten copper.

I cut the engine, and the sudden silence is almost overwhelming.

"How'd you know about this place?" I ask as she climbs off.

"Found it last week when I was clearing my head." She walks to the edge of the overlook, stretches her arms wide. "Sometimes I need to remember there's beauty in the world. Not just blood and death, and all the things that come along with it."

I join her, wrap my arms around her from behind.

She leans back into me, and we stand there watching the sun sink toward the water.

"You know whatever happens tomorrow—" I start.

"Don't." She turns in my arms. "No talk about tomorrow. No club business. No Eduardo. Just us."

She kisses me slow and deep, different from our usual kisses.

This is exploration, promise, something that makes my chest tight with emotion I don't want to name.

When she pulls back, there's heat in her eyes but also something vulnerable.

"Ever made love in the woods, VP?" she asks, and the fact that she says 'made love' instead of her usual crude terms tells me everything.

"Can't say I have."

"First time for everything."

She leads me back from the edge, into the shelter of the pines where moss makes the ground soft.

There's a fallen log that makes a convenient backrest.

She pulls a blanket from the saddlebag—always prepared, my girl—and spreads it out.

"I love you," she says simply as she starts unbuttoning my shirt. "Whatever else happens, I need you to know that. This isn't about revenge anymore. Hasn't been for a while."

"When did it stop being about revenge?"

"Maybe when you washed my hair. Maybe when you trusted me enough to let me stab you.

Maybe the first time you called me yours.

Maybe it was the first time I saw you after you killed my father," She pushes my shirt off my shoulders, traces the scars there.

"Doesn't matter when. Just matters that it did. "

I catch her hands, bring them to my lips. "You know you've ruined me, right? For anyone else. For any other life."

"Good." She pulls her shirt over her head, stands there in the fading light like something mythical. "I'd hate to think I was the only one completely wrecked by this."

We come together slowly, savoring instead of consuming.

My hands map every scar, every curve, while she does the same to me.

I worship her body, claim her as mine in yet another way.

When I lay her back on the blanket, the last rays of sun filter through the trees, painting her skin gold.

She looks up at me with those amber eyes, and I see forever there.

However long or short that might be.

"I love you," I tell her as we move together. "Love you so much it terrifies me."

"I know," she breathes, arching beneath me. "I know, baby. Me too."

We take our time, drawing it out, making it last.

This isn't about the explosive passion we usually share—this is about connection, about saying with our bodies what we can't quite put into words.