Page 62 of Jagger's Remorse
"Don't," I warn.
"That thing you said. About her being yours. You mean it?" he presses.
I think about lying.
Then figure fuck it.
"Yeah," I admit.
"Even knowing what she is? What she's done?" Poncho asks.
"Especially knowing that," I confirm.
He shakes his head.
"You're fucked, brother," Poncho says.
"I know," I agree.
"She's going to kill you," he warns.
"Probably," I concede.
"And you're okay with that?" Poncho sounds incredulous.
"There are worse ways to die than in the arms of a beautiful woman," I say.
"There are better ways to live than waiting for her knife," he counters.
"Maybe. But this is what I've got."
He claps my shoulder, careful of his own wounds. "For what it's worth? I hope you're right about her. Because if you're wrong—" he starts.
"I know. I'm dead," I finish.
"We'realldead," he corrects. "That's what happens when you let a dragon into your house. Everything burns."
He leaves me alone in the chapel.
I should pray.
Should ask for wisdom or strength or whatever the fuck saints give to lost causes.
Instead, I head back to my room.
Find Scarlett loading weapons like she was born to do it.
"How'd it go?" she asks without looking up.
"I officially claimed you," I tell her.
Her hands still for just a moment.
"Claimed me how?" she asks.
"Ol’ lady. Mine. Like I said, official," I specify.
"That's... unexpected," she says quietly.
