Jagger (Broken Doll 2)

I spun and stormed out of the room before anyone could speak to me. Without looking back, I hustled toward the small office Shade used to monitor distribution and arrange purchases of product with our contacts in Mexico.

Fuck, I wanted a drink so goddamn bad. I curled my hands into fists. No. It was imperative I keep a clear head. I was no good to Miri, or anyone, if I was less than one hundred percent. My throbbing head was already making it difficult to think. Alcohol would only worsen it. I was about to get some ice to put on my injury when the office door opened and Sarge, head of security at my house, slipped inside and closed the door behind him.

“What?” I snapped, my entire body tense and eager for something to hit. The crippling loss of Miri combined with the head-splitting ache had me a hairsbreadth from tipping over the edge.

Sarge leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.

“Boss, I gotta problem with this whole thing.”

I sighed and rubbed my eyes. The last thing I needed right now was a mouthy, argumentative employee. I was shocked it wasn’t Milo, but Sarge. The man followed orders to a T.

“I don’t give a flying fuck what you got a problem with, Sarge. We’re doing this. Tonight.”

“I don’t got a problem with the plan, Boss.” Sarge waved his hand dismissively.

“What the hell is it then? Just spit whatever you have to say the fuck out, because I gotta tell you, Sarge, I’m not in the mood for games.”

Sarge pushed off the wall and came over to where I sat. He crouched down until his dark eyes were level with mine. The seriousness in his expression pushed back my anger and replaced it with interest.

“What I want to know is, how did whoever took her even know about Miri, Boss? I mean, it’s not like you two went out on dates and shit. The cartel we entertained thought she was a whore, so it’s likely they don’t know shit. For fucks sake, until she took off the other day, from what I saw, Miri never has even left the grounds. Just those couple of rides with you and shit, you’re not blind, Boss, or stupid. You’d know if someone was following you.”

I sat and processed Sarge’s words. It took a minute, but when they sank in, I nearly hit the roof. “You realize what you’re saying,” I growled, my fury growing exponentially with every ragged inhale.

Sarge stood up, took a step back, and put some space between us. Smart man.

“I know exactly what I’m saying, Boss.” He tilted his head and gave me a knowing look. That’s when I knew Sarge was dead fucking serious.

I stood up so fast, the chair beneath me crashed to the ground. “You think we have a traitor? You think someone I trust, someone in my organization, told one of my enemies about Miri?” My body wrestled between the urge to vomit and the urge to use my bare hands to rip someone’s heart out of his chest.

Sarge nodded. “Yes, Boss. That’s exactly what I think.”

Motherfucker.

The office was unrecognizable by the time I was done.

2

Miri

I had no idea how long I spent in the dark, damp room. It could have been hours, it could have been days. Food occasionally showed up, but not on any kind of schedule as far as I could tell. The food was hit and miss; sometimes I devoured it as if I were starving, sometimes just the smell of it made me sick to my stomach and I’d start vomiting. The constant vomiting really pissed off my captors and they’d make me scrub it while standing over me, brandishing a weapon to keep me in line.

Several times a day, I was brought to a sparse bathroom just outside my cell and allowed to use the facilities and clean up. I was beyond frightened to the point my veins were pumping pure terror throughout my body. Despite my fear, I refused to let them see it. I would be strong. No way was I giving up or giving those assholes the satisfaction of seeing me break. Not after fighting and clawing my way through my shitty life. I worked too hard and had been through too much to die in some random cement room in someone’s basement.

Days and nights became meaningless. Without windows, I couldn’t tell which was which. I slept when I was tired and even though it made my head spin, I paced the room when I was anxious. Most of my time, however, was spent working on a way out of there. I watched each guard carefully when he came into the cell—what weapon he carried and where he carried it.

The short, fat guy had a pistol tucked in the back of his waistband. The tall, muscular guy had a gun in a holster under his arm. Raoul, the asshole from the first day, always wore a suit with a sports coat, so I had no idea what he carried or where. The kid who brought the chair and water to El Cuchillo that first day had a knife in a sheath on his belt.

I figured my best shot would be to grab the gun from the short, fat guy or the knife from the kid. None of the guards considered me a threat. I certainly didn’t look like I could fight, and honestly, I was so weak I probably couldn’t. My chances of actually getting my hands on a weapon and escaping were minuscule, but I had to try. I had no idea if Jag knew who had me or where I was being held. He had to be alive, or they would have no use for me, but I refused to hang all my hopes on being rescued. It was up to me to get myself out of this hellhole.

I was contemplating different ways to snatch the gun from Short and Fat’s waistband when the lock clicked and the door opened. Raoul entered, huge and menacing as usual. Only, his normally blank expression was gone, replaced by an amused sneer. This ti

me, he wasn’t alone. When I saw who followed the large Mexican into the room, my mouth fell open. I gasped and nearly doubled over from the pain of betrayal.

“You.” The man laughed, his dark eyes sparkling with a familiar sick, twisted delight. Once my shock passed, I shot Raoul’s friend a dark look. “Boss will kill you for this,” I growled. “He trusted you!”

The man chuckled. “He’ll be dead right along with you, and you should never, ever trust anyone in this business.” The newcomer slipped around Raoul and prowled across the dank, cement room. “On second thought…” I flinched when he reached out and caressed my jaw. “Maybe I’ll keep you alive. You know, as my very own personal bitch.”

“I’d rather die,” I hissed, my back pressed against the cold wall.