Page 33 of Jagger's Remorse
"Am I okay? You just rage-fucked me in front of a room full of your brothers and cartel members to prove you own me, and you're asking if I'm okay?"
"I didn't want?—"
"Yes, you did." She faces me, still glowing with the aftermath. "You wanted it the second Joaquin suggested it. Maybe before.You've wanted to fuck me over your bike for years, Jagger, since Berkeley. Don’t fucking lie to me."
"How do you know that shit. I?—"
"January sixteenth. Three years ago. You were watching me at Berkeley. I was dating that pre-med student—Will? You remember him."
My jaw clenches.
Yeah, I remember that prick.
"You followed us to a biker bar in Oakland. Watched him try to impress me with his Ducati. Saw the way I looked at the real bikes. The Harleys." She steps closer. "You went home and jerked off thinking about me on yours, didn't you?"
"You don't know?—"
"You came so hard you blacked out. Woke up still holding your cock, my name on your lips." Closer still. "How do I know? Because you weren't the only one watching that night. I was in the parking lot. Saw you follow us. Followed you home. Watched through your window while you defiled yourself thinking about Miguel Delgado's little girl."
"You're lying."
"Am I?" She pulls out a phone—where the fuck was she hiding that? "Want to see the video?"
She dances away, laughing.
My mind races back—when did she— Thesicario.
Baby face.
The one who bumped her.
Son of a bitch.
"Friend of yours?" I ask.
"Family takes care of family." She shrugs. "Tío Eduardo has eyes everywhere. Even in Los Lobos."
I snatch for it.
"That's the thing about obsession, Jagger. It makes you sloppy. Makes you vulnerable." She pockets the phone. "I havehours of footage. Years of you losing control. Insurance, my father would call it."
"What do you want?"
"What I've always wanted. Justice." She heads for the door. "But first, I want a shower. I smell like shame and bad decisions."
"Scarlett—"
"Oh, and Jagger?" She pauses at the threshold. "Next time you fuck me in public? Make sure you ask nicely first. I might surprise you and say yes without the audience."
She's gone before I can respond.
I stand there, processing.
She played me.
Played the cartel.
Played the club.
