Page 63 of Jagger's Remorse
"Is it? You've been working toward this since you got here," I point out.
"I've been working toward your destruction," she corrects.
"Same thing, isn't it? Can't destroy what you don't own," I observe.
She looks up then, amber eyes unreadable.
"You think I own you?" she asks.
"I think we own each other. Mutual destruction, remember?" I remind her.
"I remember," she confirms.
"Good. Now, how do we fake my death convincingly enough to fool your psycho ex?" I ask.
She smiles, sharp and beautiful.
"Leave that to me. I've been planning Diego's death for almost as long as yours," she says.
"Why?" I ask.
"Because he made me what I am. And I fucking hate what I am," she admits.
The honesty surprises us both.
"You're not—" I start.
"Don't." She holds up a hand. "Don't try to redeem me. Not now. Not when I need to be the monster he trained."
"Fine. What do you need from me?" I ask.
"Blood. Lots of it. And the ability to play dead convincingly," she lists.
"That's it?" I question.
"And backup. Hidden. Diego won't come alone," she adds.
"How many?" I ask.
"Four, maybe five. He likes odd numbers. Says even teams split too easily," she explains.
"Fucking psycho," I mutter.
"You have no idea," she agrees.
She stands, crosses to me.
"You sure about this? Claiming me? Your brothers already hate me. This makes it worse," she points out.
"They'll learn to live with it," I say.
"Or die trying," she adds darkly.
"That too," I comment.
She reaches up, touches the bruise she left on my throat.
"Mine, huh?" she murmurs.
