Page 8 of Jagger's Remorse
Hands zip-tied behind her back.
Blood on her bare feet.
They shove her to her knees in front of the table.
"Pablo couldn't pay," Joaquin continues. "But he had something else to trade. A niece. Miguel's daughter."
No. My hand finds my St. Michael pendant without thinking.
"The college girl?" Squirrel frowns. "What use is she?"
"Pablo says she knows where Miguel hid more money. Insurance files. Routes." Joaquin nods to his men. "Consider her payment for her uncle's debt. Do what you want with her. Break her. Sell her. Kill her. Just get the information first."
One of the sicarios reaches for the hood.
I already know what I'll see, but knowledge doesn't prepare me for the impact.
The hood comes off.
Scarlett Delgado kneels on our chapel floor, and she's nothing like the terrified college girl from five years ago.
Her hair is longer, wilder.
Her body is lean muscle wrapped in torn jeans and a blood-stained Poncho top.
There are scars now—a knife wound across her collarbone, what looks like a bullet graze on her shoulder.
But it's her eyes that stop my heart.
The same amber fire, but refined now. Focused.
She looks up through the tangled hair, and her gaze finds mine immediately.
Like she knew exactly where I'd be sitting.
A smile ghosts across her split lips. "Hello, Jagger."
Two words.
That's all it takes for every brother in the room to know there's history here.
"You know her?" Squirrel's voice carries an edge.
"I killed her father."
"Ah." He leans back. "Small world."
"The smallest," Scarlett agrees, voice hoarse but steady.
Digger moves closer, circling her like a shark. "Pretty little thing. Bit roughed up, but nothing that won't heal." He grabs her chin, forcing her head back. "Question is, does she know anything useful, or is Uncle Pablo full of shit?"
She spits in his face.
Blood and saliva hit him right in the eye.
The backhand comes fast, snapping her head to the side.
She takes it without a sound, then looks back at me.
