Page 69 of Jagger's Remorse
"Would I trap you, Diego? After everything you taught me?" she interrupts.
"Five minutes. Center of the warehouse. Any surprises and she dies screaming," Diego threatens.
The line goes dead.
"He's nervous," she says.
"How can you tell?" I ask.
"He didn't call me his little dragon. He always does when he's confident," she explains.
"His little dragon?" I repeat.
"Ironic, right? Both of you calling me the same thing. Must be something about killers and reptile nicknames," she muses.
We enter the warehouse carefully.
It's massive, empty, shadows everywhere.
Perfect killing ground.
Diego waits in the center, lit by a shaft of sunlight.
Still beautiful in that poisonous way.
Black suit, no tie, hand resting on his gun.
Four men flanked around him.
And Mel.
On her knees, hands bound, duct tape over her mouth.
But alive.
"Scarlett," Diego purrs. "You look good. Being his whore suits you."
"Diego," she matches his tone. "You look old. Being rejected must sting."
His jaw tightens.
"Where's the proof?" he demands.
"Right here," she gestures to me.
I step forward, let him see the blood on my shirt.
The way I move stiff, pained.
Selling the injury.
"Not good enough. I need to see the death. Watch it happen," Diego insists.
"Then watch," Scarlett says coldly.
She pulls her knife.
The one she's been carrying this whole time.
