Page 97 of Property of Tacoma
Jagger’s jaw tightens, and he looks down at his hands. “I was in gym class. Second period. I got a text from your number saying to meet you out the back door. That it was an emergency.”
My blood runs cold. “From my number?”
He nods. “Yeah. I showed it to Coach Williams and asked if I could step out for a minute. He said yeah.”
Fuck.
They cloned my number.
“When I went out the back door,” Jagger continues, his voice getting quieter, “three guys grabbed me. I tried to fight them off, but...” He shrugs, and I can see the shame in his eyes.
“Hey,” I say firmly, gripping his shoulder. “Three grown men against a sixteen-year-old kid? You did well just trying to fight back.”
He looks up at me, and I still see the little boy he no longer is.
“They tied my hands and threw me in the back of an SUV,” he continues. “Drove for a while. When they finally stopped and pulled me out, we were at that warehouse.”
My hands ball into fists at my sides, and I have to force myself to breathe through the fury building inside me.
“They kept asking me questions about the club,” Jagger says. “About your businesses, about shipments. I kept telling them that I don’t know anything about that stuff, but they wouldn’t believe me.”
Those motherfuckers. He’s just a kid. He wouldn’t know the first thing about club business.
“Then they started...” He trails off, touching his swollen eye gingerly. “They wanted to send you a message.”
I close my eyes, fighting the urge to toss this whole fucking room.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Opening my eyes, I pull Jagger up from his chair and wrap my arms around him, hugging him tight against my chest.
“I’m sorry.”
He’s safe. My boy is safe.
A little banged up, but he’s okay.
Thank fuck.
“I’m okay, Dad,” Jagger mumbles against my chest. “Just a little sore.”
Closing my eyes again, I breathe him in.
I’m supposed to keep my kids safe.
That’s my job as their father.
And I fucking failed.
“This isn’t your fault,” Cali says softly, and I open my eyes to find her watching us with love shining in her eyes.
“Can I go upstairs and shower?” Jagger asks, pulling back from my embrace. “I feel gross.”
I nod, ruffling his hair like I used to when he was little. “Yeah, buddy. Go ahead.”
He heads for the door, then pauses and looks back at Cali. “Thank you. For coming for me.”
