Page 152 of Jagger's Remorse
"I mean her name."
We'd decided weeks ago but kept it to ourselves, wanting something that was just ours for a while.
"All right," I agree. "But if anyone makes fun of it?—"
"No one's making fun of shit," Squirrel states firmly. "What's the kid's name?"
Jagger and I exchange glances. "Valentina," he says. "Valentina Dragon Morales."
"Dragon?" Raven repeats.
"My father used to call me his little dragon," I explain. "Seemed right to pass it on. Val for short."
"Valentina Dragon," Mel tests the name. "I love it. Strong but beautiful."
"Like her mother," Jagger adds, which earns him eye rolls from the brothers but smiles from the women.
I'm about to respond when Digger's phone buzzes.
He's sitting next to me on the couch, and I catch the way his expression shifts—subtle, but I've learned to read these men like books.
"What’s up?" I ask quietly, leaning over to see his screen.
The app shows crystal clear footage: Yuki Nakajima at the Gas-N-Go two blocks from the clubhouse, filling up a rental sedan.
Time stamp shows this morning—precisely when and where Digger always stops for coffee before his morning run.
"Third time this week," Digger murmurs, voice low enough that only I hear. "Different cars, same time, same location."
"She's mapping your routines." I accept a piece of brass knuckle cake from Mel with a smile, then turn back to Digger. "Getting bolder."
"I know. She was at my gym yesterday. And the diner Tuesday."
"She’s playing with fire."
Digger's smile is all teeth. "She has no idea just how dangerous."
I take a bite of cake—chocolate with what tastes like whiskey buttercream—and consider. "The obsessed ones always think they're the predator. Right up until they realize they've been prey all along."
"Speaking from experience?"
I glance at Jagger across the room, who's currently being lectured by Poncho about proper gun storage around children. "Something like that. Just remember—when she finally crosses the line she can't come back from, make sure you're ready to reel her in."
"Already got the hook baited."
"Good man."
The party continues around us. Someone brought out a bottle of champagne—sparkling cider for me, much to my annoyance.
Stories start flowing about babies and motorcycles and that time someone tried to bring their kid to a run.
I find myself relaxing into it. Into this. My hand rests on my belly, feeling Valentina shift and kick.
My daughter. Mine and Jagger's. Born into this chaos but also into this family.
"You good?" Jagger asks, appearing at my side with a plate of food. "You look thoughtful."
"Just thinking about what we're bringing her into." I gesture at the room full of criminals and their women. "This life."
