Page 22 of Jagger's Remorse
"Give us five."
"Now, brother." He looks at me, and I can see him weighing options.
"I need clothes," I point out. "Unless you want me walking through your clubhouse in underwear."
He goes to his dresser, pulls out sweatpants and a tank top.
Both are too big, but they'll do. I dress quickly, noting how he watches.
Still hard. Still wanting. Good.
"Remember," he says as we reach the door. "You're broken. Scared. Mine."
"Aren't I?"
He doesn't answer.
The common room is full of brothers, all watching as we enter. I shrink against Jagger, play the terrified victim.
Someone whistles low. "Damn, VP. You work fast." I recognize Poncho's voice. "See you already marked her up nice. Throat's looking purple."
Jagger's hand tightens on my arm. "She's learning her place."
"Good. Hate to see all that pretty go to waste in the kennels." The threat hangs in the air.
Squirrel sits at the head of a long table, president's patch gleaming. "Sit," he orders.
Jagger takes a chair. I start to take the one beside him.
"Not you," Squirrel says. "Floor. Dogs don't get chairs."
The room goes quiet, waiting.
This is another test.
I drop gracefully to my knees beside Jagger's chair.
Rest my cheek against his thigh like I'm seeking comfort.
Feel his muscles tense under my touch.
"Better," Squirrel approves. "Now, let's discuss what your pet knows about her daddy's business."
A plate appears in front of me. Eggs, bacon, toast. More food than I've seen in days.
My stomach growls, betraying real hunger.
"Can I?" I look up at Jagger, playing the submissive perfectly.
He nods. I eat with my hands, making it degrading. Making them think I'm already broken to this level.
"She says she has information," Jagger reports. "Routes. Stash houses. Accounts."
"Does she now?" Squirrel leans forward. "And she'll share this willingly?"
"For the right incentive."
"Which is?"
