Page 80 of Jagger

Still fighting the covers, I managed to jerk my feet from under them, placing them quietly on the floor. If someone was in the house, I would need to remain very quiet. Where was Jagger? Inching into the bathroom, I resisted turning on a light. Half my clothes were still outside, the towel he’d used to wrap aroundme when carrying me to his bedroom thrown somewhere against one of the walls.

Maybe I’d get lucky and he was the kind of man to wear a robe. A slight breath escaped my lungs when I felt one on the back of the door. I slipped into it, fighting the terrified girl inside even more. I’d never been this way, forced to take care of my own battles my entire life. Joel had taken too much from me and that was going to stop right now.

I took cautious steps toward the door, hopeful he would dash in and tell me everything was okay.

But I sensed that wasn’t going to happen. My stomach was in knots as I opened the door, slipping into another wave of shadows as I made my way to Cally’s room. Very quietly I turned the doorknob, grateful Cally had to sleep with a light of some sort on. The lamp on the other side of the room had a low wattage bulb, which allowed a slight view of my sleeping baby.

Xena lifted her head, but as soon as I placed my finger across my lips, she lowered it again. There hadn’t been any disturbance in the room I could see. Since I’d left my phone in the kitchen, I couldn’t call 9-1-1. That meant I had to find out what I’d heard.

As soon as I closed the bedroom door, I heard another noise. This time I sensed it was something being tossed against the wall or on the floor. Where the hell was Jagger? Why wasn’t he hearing this?

I remained as quiet as possible as I made my way to the top of the stairs. I only had a limited view of downstairs, able to tell the fire in the fireplace was mostly embers at this point. But with every light being off, I could barely make out the furniture. Maybe I was being foolish, but I started to descend the stairs.

When I’d walked down four of them, another noise startled me more this time. But it wasn’t a thud. The sound was a deep, haunted moan.

Jagger.

I hurried down the rest of the stairs, waiting on the landing as I tried to figure out where the sound had come from. There were several rooms on the bottom floor including a study toward the back I’d peeked my head into.

He wasn’t in the kitchen or the living room. My gut told me Jagger was suffering from a nightmare he’d experienced. I moved cautiously down the hallway, passing two darkened rooms and a bathroom. The door to the study was partially cracked, a source of light streaming from underneath.

I was still cautious as I approached, unsure what I could do for him. When I pushed open the door, my heart broke a little. The moment he tossed two heavy books across the room, I cringed deep inside. I should have heard him having a nightmare.

He ripped at his hair before plopping down in one of two leather chairs, dropping his head in his hands. On the table to the side was a bottle of booze and a glass that only had a swig left in it. From what I remembered of the bottle from before, he’d had one too many in trying to exorcise his demons.

For the first time since we’d met, he didn’t sense my presence, which was almost as concerning as the fact various items had been tossed around the room, several books with broken spines laying haphazardly on the floor.

“Jagger.” I didn’t dare take a step inside. I’d had a few psychology classes, but that in no way made me qualified to deal with PTSD. It was obvious he was suffering from the horribledeeds he’d seen and been forced to do during both dangerous occupations.

A mercenary.

I hadn’t allowed myself to think about what he’d done until now. He’d killed people for a living. Yes, maybe bad people who others believed deserved to die, but that didn’t change the fact he’d used them for target practice. A sudden cold shiver slammed down my spine.

Whatever organization he’d worked for had likely lied to him or worse.

Left him without support.

He jerked his head up, his entire face contorted from an extremely heightened level of anger.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked and he immediately reached for his glass, finishing off the last of his bourbon. It didn’t take him two seconds to refill his glass.

“Don’t, Jagger. Just don’t.”

His laugh sounded bitter. “What don’t you want me to do, sweetheart? Drink myself to death or pull out a handgun?”

Was he trying to terrify me with threatening to kill himself? If so, he was doing a damn good job. But I was also angry, furious in fact.

“Both.” I walked toward him, folding my arms. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“What do you think? Finding an escape.”

I had two different ways of dealing with this. Coddling him or telling him exactly what was on my mind.

I chose the latter for good or for bad. I wasn’t in the coddling mood. “How fucking dare you.”

His eyes flickered with confusion at first, but his mask was firmly shoved back into place. “How dare I do what?”

“Act like you don’t give a damn about anyone else but yourself. You’re a fraud. An asshole. A jerk and I thought you were completely different.”

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