Page 96 of Jagger's Remorse
"Oh, it's not a warning," he corrects. "It's a promise. See you soon, princess."
The line goes dead.
I look at Jagger and see my worry reflected in his eyes.
"Who was that?" he asks.
"Trouble," I admit. "The kind that comes with an army."
"Then we better get ready," he says simply.
"Just like that?" I ask.
"Just like that," he confirms. "We're the Iron Veins. We're Sinaloa. We're survivors. And now?"
"Now?" I prompt.
"Now we're together," he finishes. "That makes us dangerous."
Looking at him, branded, beautiful, and mine, I believe it.
We've come too far to die now.
Survived too much to fall to lesser enemies.
The Three Devils can come.
Sombra can come.
Hell itself can come.
We'll be ready.
Because Raven was right—I am a viper.
But now I know which nest I'm protecting.
And God help anyone who threatens it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jagger
Power looks good on her.
I lean against the doorframe of our makeshift conference room, watching Scarlett work the Los Lobos representatives like a virtuoso playing a symphony.
She's wearing one of my shirts—white button-down, sleeves rolled to her elbows, top three buttons undone to show just enough skin to distract.
My crow pendant nestles between her breasts, catching the light when she moves.
Calculated.
Everything about her is calculated.
"The Nevada route runs through indigenous land," Martinez, the lead rep, argues. He's a thick man with scarred knuckles and dead eyes, the kind who's survived this life by being smart rather than brutal. "We will have complications with tribal police."
"The reservation police have already been handled." Scarlett slides a folder across the table with manicured nails that I know can claw a man's eyes out. "Three chiefs on payroll, two judges in our pocket. Your concerns are noted, but irrelevant."
