Page 50 of Jagger's Remorse
"Ask nicely."
He grabs my throat, hauls me up.
Not enough pressure to cut off air.
Just enough to make a point. "How many more surprises have you planted?"
"Wouldn't be surprises if I told you."
His grip tightens.
I moan.
Actually fucking moan.
His eyes darken. "You're sick."
"Trained," I correct. "There's a difference."
"By who?"
"You really want to know?"
He releases me.
I rub my throat, knowing it'll bruise again.
Start collecting them like merit badges. "His name was Diego. Still is, technically. Though he goes by El Cuervo now."
"The crow."
I move to the window, stare out at the compound. "Mm. Funny how you both chose bird names. Must be a killer thing."
I watch his brothers scurry like ants before a storm. "I was twenty when Tío Eduardo sent me to him. Fresh from Berkeley, still soft with grief and good intentions."
"What happened?"
"He unmade me. Then rebuilt me into something useful."
The memory tastes like copper and mezcal.
Like the first time Diego made me kill.
Not quick and clean like Jagger did.
Slow.
Personal.
"Feel his pulse stop, princesa. Feel the exact moment God abandons him."
A shiver runs through me."He taught me that bodies are just tools. Pain is just information. Death is just punctuation at the end of a sentence."
There's something raw in his voice. "And fucking? Did he teach you that too?"
Is it jealousy?
"He taught me everything." I turn, meet his gaze straight on. "How to make men beg. How to make them betray their brothers. How to make them believe they're in control while I rob them blind."
