Page 5 of Jagger's Remorse
His hand goes to his chest again, gripping his St. Michael pendant.
"What's your name?" I ask.
He shouldn't answer. There's no reason to give me anything I could use against him. But he does.
"Jagger."
"Just Jagger?"
"Just Jagger."
I look down at Papa's face, peaceful now, and back up at his killer. "I'm going to find out everything about you. Your real name. Where you come from. What you love. And then I'm going to take it all away, piece by piece, until you're begging me to put a bullet in your head."
Something passes over his face—approval? Anticipation? "I'll be waiting, little dragon."
Then he's gone, leaving me alone with my father's body and the bitter taste of his name on my tongue.
I close Papa's eyes and slip the eagle ring from his finger.
A chain that used to belong to my mother sits there, and has for years.
I unclasp my necklace and slide the ring down the chain.
It's still warm as I hang it around my neck, the gold heavy against my chest.
The safe behind Mama's portrait hangs open—when did he open it?—and I can see the drives Papa mentioned.
Insurance, he called them.
I pocket them without looking, my hands steady despite the sob building in my throat.
"Lo juro, Papa," I whisper against his forehead, tasting copper where his blood has splattered across my face. "I swear on your blood. On Santa Muerte herself. On Mama's grave. I'll make him pay."
I stay there until the police come, holding my father while his blood soaks through my Cal Berkeley sweatshirt.
The vanilla candle burns down to nothing, the last thing my mother touched finally dying with my father.
I tell the cops I saw nothing, remember nothing.
Trauma, they say. Shock.
But I remembereverything.
Jagger. Iron Veins MC.
The hesitation before he pulled the trigger.
The St. Michael pendant that makes him a hypocrite—patron saint of warriors, protector of the innocent.
The way his eyes held mine like he was waiting for something.
The way he called me little dragon, using my father's name for me, like he had the right.
He should have killed me.
That's his first mistake.
It won't be his last.
