Jagger (Broken Doll 2)

“I’m sorry. I-I needed you to know about the baby.” Moisture trickled down my cheek. “I was afraid. Afraid you’d hate me for getting pregnant, for forcing you into being a father. But if something happened to you and I hadn’t told you…” I choked on a sob. “I was hoping, if you knew, that maybe…” My throat tightened and a thick band cinched around my ribcage.

“You hoped if I knew about the baby, I would forget about killing El Cuchillo and leave?”

Jag’s blue eyes glistened with love. He put both hands on my cheeks and framed my face, his long fingers spanning all the way to the nape of my neck. His thumbs brushed across the pulse points on my throat in a move so sexy and possessive, if I had been standing my knees would have buckled. I clung to his forearms, the corded muscles tense beneath my hands. Jag tilted my head to the side and lowered his mouth to mine, the kiss soft at first. I wasn’t sure who moaned, but the ragged, needy sound set my body on fire. I shifted to the edge of my chair and tried to deepen the kiss, but Jag untangled my hands and pushed me back into my seat.

“Finish your food. You need to eat more.” I wasn’t hungry, but didn’t want to upset Jag any more than he already was, so I slowly ate everything on my plate. “Good. Now, I need you to go upstairs and wait. I called George to send someone to get you.”

I shot to my feet. “What? No!”

Jag stood and shoved his chair back, the feet scraping on the old wood floor. He towered over me, angled chin jutting out, jaw twitching. “This is not negotiable, Miri. I will not have you here while I’m luring in the man who kidnapped, tortured, and violated what is mine!” He put his hand on the back of my neck and squeezed, hard enough for me to feel it as he steered me toward the staircase.

“No, please. Don’t make me leave.” I dug in my heels and tried to turn around, but the pressure of Jag’s fingers pushing into my flesh held me in place. When I refused to climb the stairs, Jag swept my legs out from under me and slung me over his shoulder. “Stop! Don’t do this.” I struggled, uselessly hitting his back with my fists.

Jag deposited me on the bed and half-climbed on top of me, our noses almost touching. The look on his face was almost feral. His blue eyes were wild, his lip curled in a sneer showing a hint of teeth. “You are leaving. This is not a request and it’s not a question for you to answer because I’m not fucking asking. It’s an order. I insist you not be here, Miri.”

He backed off the bed before the first tears fell, hot and angry down my cheeks. The door clicked shut and I was alone. Always alone. Inside, I knew it was fear for my safety that drove Jag to the edge of his control. He would never hurt me physically. As much as my rational side knew he loved me, it still felt like rejection when he demanded I leave his side.

I lay on the bed for an hour or so, my hands resting over my midsection while I wondered what our baby would be like. Would he look like Jag? Tall and dark and intimidating? Or would she be small and freckled with red hair? Despite all of the horrors that happened the last few months, I couldn’t wait to meet the child we conceived amidst the chaos.

If Jag cared about the baby even half as much as he cared for me, it would have more love than anyone needed in a lifetime. Jag would be a wonderful father. I didn’t doubt that for one minute. Despite his rough and violent past—despite his fears of being inherently evil and undeserving, despite the streets he came from, the gang he grew up with, and how he had to live his life to survive—I trusted my lover with my life and that of our child, without question. We both had our sins, and as far as I was concerned, we’d both paid enough penance for ten lifetimes.

I took a deep breath and slid off the bed. After a quick trip to the bathroom for a minor bout of nausea—but thankfully no vomiting—I sat on the mattress and fidgeted, unsure how to let Jag know I would do what he wanted. I wouldn’t fight him on this and would go back to the hotel to stay safe. Jag was only sending me away because he loved me, and because I loved him, I would do it… for him.

14

Jag

“I can’t fucking believe she came here,” I muttered as I walked the small

length of the main living area, turned and doubled back. “Son of a bitch!”

“Are you sure you want to wait for George, Boss?” Frank asked, watching me pace, his eyes betraying his uneasiness. “I can leave now and take her back. Or Sammy could if you want me here as backup when El Cuchillo shows up.”

“Fuck… No.” I ran my hands through my hair, clasping them behind my neck. “No. I mean, I want her the hell out of town as soon as possible, but I need both of you here to confront that little bastard. No way am I leaving it to chance that he gets away again.” My emotions were betraying me, something I still wasn’t used to. Usually, I was cold, calm, and without concern. Miri changed everything. I couldn’t stop caring about her any more than I could will my heart to stop beating.

My phone buzzed with an incoming text. I whipped it out of my pocket as soon as possible. “George is an hour out.” Frank nodded.

“Boss, we got a problem.” Sammy was sitting at the table across the room in the kitchen, staring at one of his screens. His typical clinical way of speaking was off. Fuck, if Sammy was worried…

Crack!

The front door flew off its hinges as splintered wood flew everywhere. I had no time to react before hearing the loud gunshot. Frank fell to the ground behind me, blood staining his shirt at his shoulder.

Not a fatal wound. I tensed and turned back to the gaping front door, meeting the savage stare of a madman.

“Hijo de tu puta madre! You ruined me! I am going to kill you.”

Instinct overtook my rational mind, the primal part of my brain bursting to the surface, ready to protect my family—Miri and my child. I faced El Cuchillo head-on, feet braced shoulder-width apart, hands fisted, muscles tense and at the ready. I flexed my wrists, somewhat soothed by the tight sheaths with their blades tucked inside.

“Fuck you, you asshole!” I roared, sick and fucking tired of this piece of shit’s games. He came here to confront me, then he could damn well fight me like a man.

Cuchillo aimed the barrel at my head. “Move out of the way and tell me where you are hiding the cunt.”

The monster inside snarled at the sound of Miri’s name falling from Cuchillo’s lips. That, along with the slur he aimed at my doll, had the monster begging to rip into his flesh, spill his blood, and spit on his lifeless corpse. “Over my dead fucking body.”

A gruesome smile twisted his face. The man no longer looked human. He was disheveled, blood misted on his previously white shirt. His hair was sticking up in all directions. Life on the run hadn’t been kind to the motherfucker. Good.

“I will make that happen soon, cabrón. After I slowly kill the puta in front of you.” He took a step forward and I readied my hands to catch my blades. He would have time to shoot me, but I could still take him out before he could get to Miri. I meant what I said about him having to kill me to get to her. At that moment I cared nothing about my own life, only hers. “Now where is she?”