Page 91 of Jagger's Remorse
More damage.
"Ready?" I ask Jagger.
He pulls off his shirt, revealing the stitches from where I stabbed him.
"Yes," he says.
I press the brand to his chest.
The smell of burning flesh fills the air.
Jagger doesn't scream.
Doesn't flinch.
Just stares at me with those dark eyes.
Trusting.
Loving.
Everything I don't deserve.
I count to five, then pull away.
The mark is perfect.
Clean lines.
It'll scar beautifully.
Horribly.
Same thing in our world.
"Good," Eduardo approves. "Now we discuss business."
"Business?" I manage, setting down the brand.
"You've made a mess of things," Eduardo explains. "Diego dead. The Three Devils are crippled. Other cartels smelling blood. Someone needs to clean it up."
"Meaning?" Jagger asks through gritted teeth.
"Meaning you work for me now," Eduardo states. "The Iron Veins MC becomes an official Sinaloa contractor. You run our products, protect our interests, pay our tribute."
"And in return?" I ask.
"Protection. Territory. The backing of the most powerful cartel in Mexico." Eduardo smiles. "Plus, you get to live."
"What's the tribute?" Jagger asks.
"Thirty percent of profits," Eduardo says. "Plus, special jobs when needed. Non-negotiable."
"That's steep," Jagger observes.
"That's the price of my forgiveness," Eduardo counters. "Unless you'd prefer the alternative?"
We both know what the alternative is.
