Page 36 of Jagger's Remorse
"We're five minutes out. You sure about this?"
I look at Scarlett.
She smiles, waiting.
Testing.
"I'm sure," I say. "But Chord? Go in careful. Something feels off."
"Always do, brother."
He hangs up.
"Interesting choice," Scarlett observes. "Warning him, but not calling it off. Playing both sides."
"Keeping my options open."
"Just like your mother taught you." She rolls onto her stomach. "Tell me, do you think she'd be proud? Her son, the killer? Or do you think she dies again every time you pull that trigger?"
I'm across the room before I realize I've moved.
Hand around her throat.
Pressing her into the mattress.
"Don't talk about her."
"Why not? We bonded over you. Those last weeks, all she wanted was to talk about her baby boy. How proud she was. How guilty she felt." Her pulse flutters under my palm. "Did you know she blamed herself for what you became? Thought if she'd been a better mother, prayed harder, loved more?—"
"Shut up."
"Make me."
The challenge hangs between us.
She's goading me.
Pushing buttons I didn't know I had.
And I'm letting her.
"That's what I thought," she whispers when I don't move. "All that rage, all that guilt, and you can't even properly punish the woman mocking your dead mother. She'd be so disappointed."
I squeeze tighter.
She arches into it.
"Harder," she gasps. "Or are you only rough when there's an audience?"
I release her, step back.
She's won this round.
We both know it.
"Three days," I say. "You have three days to give me something real for the cartel, or?—"
"Or what? You'll kill me? Torture me? Fuck me over your bike again?" She laughs. "You're out of threats, Jagger. Because we both know the truth—you need me breathing more than I need you at all."
