Jagger (Broken Doll 2)

My rhythm faltered and pleasure like nothing I’d ever felt before shot from my cock, each jet of come sending me higher and higher until the euphoria had me flying. Every muscle in my body pulled taut and I roared, slamming in one last time. I collapsed as the tension dissolved, leaving me boneless and sated.

Sweaty and exhausted—my wound aching more than I thought it would, not that I would tell Miri—I rolled off my doll, bringing her with me until she was tucked under one arm, her head resting on the uninjured side of my chest.

Neither of us spoke, our heavy breathing combined with the scent of sex hanging in the air saying more than any words could possibly convey. What happened in this bed just now wasn’t just sex. It was a transcendental experience. It changed something inside me. Changed who I was as a man.

I kissed the top of her head and breathed in the citrus of her shampoo.

My eyes grew heavy and the last thing I remembered before succumbing to a deep, dreamless sleep was that Miri was mine, and I would do whatever it took to make sure it stayed that way.

11

Miri

It was a quiet morning, the sun barely over the horizon. I watched Jag as he kneeled on the neatly clipped grass and ran a hand over a polished granite headstone. He murmured something under his breath that I couldn’t quite catch. I wanted to be respectful and stayed a few feet back while he visited his sister’s grave. Not wanting to eavesdrop, I let my gaze wander over the cemetery, the stones glinting with orange as the sun rose above the horizon. It was a beautiful place, with blooming trees, and surrounded by woods to give mourners a bit of privacy.

“Miri.” Jag’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. He had his arm extended, fingers out, waiting for me to come to him. I slipped my hand in his and knelt beside him when he gave me a gentle tug. Jag inhaled deep, as if steeling himself before speaking. “This,” he cleared his throat, “this is my sister, Rose.”

Long fingers brushed reverently over the letters carved in the stone. I noted she had died over five years ago, and had only been twenty-one when she passed. Jag would have been twenty-three.

“What happened?”

Jag’s hand tightened around mine.

“My predecessor.” When he didn’t elaborate I turned and faced him. Jag was looking up at the sky, as if searching for answers somewhere in the great beyond. He shuddered and I realized, no, Jag wasn’t looking for answers, he was reining in his anger. Through clenched teeth, Jag told me the tragic story of his sister. “He had her. Kind of like Cat. Drugged, captive, his personal whore.” A low growl vibrated in his chest. “Or maybe he passed her around, I don’t fucking know. Our mom, she was an addict. Bad. It was just me and Rose when she OD’d.” He blew out a breath and ran a finger over the stone. “I was eighteen but Rose wasn’t. I stayed with her so she wouldn’t end up in the system.” He gave a sad smile. “It wasn’t as if I were college material, so I wasn’t really missing out on anything by taking care of my little sister. We needed money, so I ran errands for a local dealer and climbed the ladder quick.” Jag’s voice became strained.

I kissed his shoulder to let him know I was there with him, supporting him. “You don’t have to tell me,” I whispered.

“I do.” His answer was clipped

and immediate. He needed to get this off his chest and I would be here to listen. “I was underage when I started working for Ochoa, using a fake ID to convince him to hire me. At twenty-two I was a petty dealer when Rose…” Jag swallowed and looked sick, or furious. I wasn’t sure which. “When Rose was taken,” he growled. I couldn’t hold back my gasp of surprise. Jag turned to me, his blue eyes shimmering with pain, with regret, with the agony of his sister’s fate. “I couldn’t get to her.” He coughed out an unamused laugh. “No one could. Ricardo ‘The Wolf’ Ochoa ruled Austin’s drug trade, surrounded himself with armed men at all times. My one saving grace, if you could even call it that, was that because of the name on my fake ID, they didn’t know she was my sister. The only way to get her was to get closer to the boss at the top, so that’s what I did.” Jag’s sapphire gaze hardened and my arms pricked with goose bumps.

I held my breath, waiting to hear the inevitable outcome to this horrible tale.

“For a solid year I worked for that bastard, knowing he had Rose, knowing she was likely growing weaker and weaker every day. Her body, her mind…” The muscles in Jag’s jaw pulsed. “Fuck.” He dropped his head and swiped a hand through his dark hair. “I clawed and killed my way to the top in record time,” he said, staring at nothing, not meeting my eyes. “Didn’t stop until I became his right-hand man.” This time, Jag turned to look directly at me. “Then, I killed him.”

I swallowed, not exactly surprised by Jag’s admission. He was a drug lord, a ruthless one. I heard the stories, I knew who he was. Hell, I knew he probably killed Mason, if not by his own hands then by ordering someone else to do it. It should bother me that my lover was a murderer, but it didn’t. My past was filled with horrors and regrets that I couldn’t change. How could I judge him for having the same?

“I couldn’t stop him,” he said, his voice breaking. “When he realized he was going to die, he shot my little sister right in front of me.” Jag locked eyes with mine. “I was so fucked up in the head, Miri. Watching Rose’s brains splatter… every-fucking-where, her lifeless body slump to the floor.” I took a deep breath and saw Jag shudder. I thought he would stop but he kept going. “I need you to know who I am, Miri. This life… this wasn’t my choice, but I did it, and I did it willingly. I’ve killed people. I killed my predecessor. I killed him slowly, painfully, cutting him apart just to listen to him scream, and I don’t regret doing it.” His body tensed, as if he was waiting for me to push him away or scream in terror.

Instead, I lifted a hand to his face and gently traced a path down his stubbled cheek. Jag’s eyes widened and his breath hitched.

“I don’t care who you were. What you were.” I blinked back tears, a lump blocking my throat. “I love you. You’re a good person inside.” Jag opened his mouth to contradict me, but I pressed on. “You’re a good person who has done bad things, Jag. I have too. Shameful things.” I dropped my gaze as a wave of humiliation rushed over me when I thought of the sexual acts I had done in exchange for drugs.

“Doll…” Jag sounded pained.

I met his eyes again. “I can only be who I am now and hope that you love me, despite my past. Just as I love you, Jag. Who you were doesn’t matter. I know what lengths you’ll go to just to keep me safe. What you sacrificed to try to keep your sister safe. That’s the man I love.”

I watched as my big, strong, fearless ex-drug lord swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing and his eyes shining with moisture. He cupped my face and brushed his thumb across my lips.

“I love you, Miri. And you’re right, I’ll do anything to keep you safe. Anything. Let’s go home and I’ll tell you my plan.”

Jag stood and held out a hand, helping me to my feet. The ride home was quiet and my stomach ached, buzzing with nerves the entire time. Something terrible was coming, I could feel it. Whatever Jag’s “plan” entailed was going to slice me to pieces before I could be put back together.

Jag said nothing. He merely stared out the window, deep in thought, until we pulled into the drive.

Jag

“No! Please don’t do this.” Miri cried and begged, her eyes swollen and face ruddy from hours of begging and sobbing. “You can’t.”