Page 48 of Jagger's Remorse
"We’re running out of time," I whisper.
"What?"
"Nothing. Just... time limits and other illusions."
We dry off in silence, dress in separate corners like strangers.
Which we are.
Strangers who've studied each other for five years.
Strangers who've fucked like enemies, and enemies who've touched like lovers.
"What happens now?" he asks.
"Now? Now you deal with the mess I've made. Two dead brothers. Los Lobos thinking you stole from them. Sinaloa thinking Los Lobos is moving on their territory."
I smile, sharp as winter.
"Oh, and your president probably wants answers about why his VP's pet just started a war."
Recognition flashes in his eyes. "You planned this."
Bingo. "Every move. Every angle. Every consequence."
He shakes his head, obviously frustrated. "Why warn me?"
"Because chaos without witnesses is just noise. I want you to see it coming. Want you to know exactly how thoroughly you're fucked."
I move to his bed, curl up like I own it. "Plus, watching you try to juggle all these flaming chainsaws? Better than cable."
His phone explodes with notifications.
Texts.
Calls.
The future arriving all at once.
"Answer them," I suggest. "Squirrel sounds impatient."
He stares at me for a long moment. "This isn't over."
"Of course not. We've got six more days of foreplay before the real fucking begins."
He leaves, slamming the door behind him.
I wait until his footsteps fade, then pull out the burner again.
Send a single photo to Diego.
Me in Jagger's bed, wearing his shirt, his marks visible on my throat.
The caption:Working as intended.
Three dots appear immediately.
Careful, princesa. You look a little too comfortable.
