Jagger (Broken Doll Book 2)

  Five minutes later, the SUV was on the highway, breaking every speed limit as I pondered what fate awaited my former lieutenant. When I came to a decision, a sadistic grin spread across my face.

  I wouldn’t want to be Milo right now. Soon, he’d be begging for death.

  * * *

  When Frank stopped the SUV in the empty parking lot of a self-storage company, it was near impossible to wait for my men to arrive. Ten minutes later, twitchy and pulsing with explosive, homicidal rage, I opened the door and climbed out.

  “Boss, we should wait—”

  I spun and got right in George’s face. “Wait for what? I am goddamn sick of waiting. Of feeling fucking helpless while my girl suffers. I want that fucker to feel pain. I want him to scream and cry and beg, like Miri did when Cuchillo cut her up. She didn’t deserve that shit.” I leaned in until our noses touched. “Are you going to stop me?”

  George shook his head. “No, Boss.”

  I stepped back and glared at Frank. “Are you?”

  “No, Boss. I’d do exactly what you’re doing.”

  I grinned at my driver and he smirked. “I knew I liked you for a reason. Now,” I turned back to George. “Call Sammy and get his exact location.”

  George pulled out his phone and dialed.

  Two minutes later we were driving down a deserted street in some shithole town outside Corpus Christi.

  “There.” George pointed at a three-story brick building. Half of the windows were boarded up and several others were broken. “He can’t tell us what floor or what side of the building, Boss. Just that this is the place.”

  “Fine.” I was a little annoyed that the GPS wasn’t more accurate. Tense as all fuck, I slid off my jacket, checked my weapons, and made sure the guns had bullets in the chambers and my knives were easy to reach.

  “There’s his car, Boss.” Frank pointed out the passenger side of the SUV. Down a side street I spotted Milo’s audacious sports car. The stupid thing stuck out like a porn star in a convent.

  “How does Sammy know Milo is in that one?” I asked George while pointing at the dilapidated brick three-story. “Couldn’t he be in any of these?” There were four other buildings nearby, a tiny shack that used to be a lawyer’s office, an old furniture store with nothing in the windows, and a dilapidated gas station that was literally crumbling apart. “Well, not the gas station, but the others.”

  George repeated the information to Sammy. “He said you’re right. Milo could be in any of them. He chose the three-story because it had more places to hide and is the only one with electricity.”

  I nodded. “Good. Tell Sammy he did good.” I closed my eyes and cleared my mind, pushing out the blind rage so I could think clearly. It would do me no good if I stormed inside and ran around on instinct instead of using my brain. Once I was focused on the mission, endgame in sight, I opened the car door. “Let’s go.”

  George and Frank both followed me down the crumbling sidewalk, dodging the small trees that sprouted through the cracks. I stopped next to Milo’s car, flicked out one of my daggers, and stabbed the front tire. Then I did the same to the back. Satisfied my ex-lieutenant wouldn’t be going anywhere, I walked up to the metal door on the backside of the building. It was crooked and hanging on its hinges.

  I smirked. Stupid idiot wasn’t even in a locked building. Slowly, I opened the door, wincing when the rusted joints creaked. There was no one visible in the hall so I waved in my men. I pointed to Frank and held up one finger, then to George and held up two. They would check each of those floors and I would take the third. The top floor was the most likely place for Milo to hide and I really wanted to be the one to find him.

  I set out to find the stairs, George behind me while Frank went deeper into the crumbling building. George exited on the second level and I continued on to the top floor. Making sure my heavy boots didn’t make any noise, I crept down the hall, the scent of mold, rot, and piss stinging my nostrils. An exposed fluorescent bulb in the ceiling buzzed, flickering on and off like a grim strobe light. I pressed my ear to the first door.

  Nothing.

  Same with the second and third. On the fourth, I had him. Not only could I hear footsteps inside the unit, I could smell the thick grease of fast food over the smell of trash.

  I grinned. Stupid motherfucker.

  Dagger in one hand, my Glock in the other, I lifted a heavy boot and kicked open the shoddy door. It slammed against the wall as I rushed in. Milo was standing near a window and had to scramble for his gun. Before he could pull it out, I threw the small blade. Milo howled when it pierced the back of his hand, sticking out like a nail in a crucifix. I was on him in a flash, and with a single hard blow to his temple with the butt of my gun, he was out.

  * * *

  “Welcome back.”

  Milo blinked, clearly confused as to where he was. He didn’t go far as we were still in the shitty apartment he had been using as a safe house.

  “What the fuck?” he growled when he tugged on his hands and feet and found himself bound tight. He struggled, rolling on the filthy floor in a useless bid to free himself. Without a single piece of furniture to tie him to, I had to make do with what I had. The little plastic chair would never hold Milo, so tied up and shoved to the ground was my only option.

  “What the fuck?” I repeated, incredulous at the nerve this prick had to be surprised to have ended up in his current position. I crossed the room and kicked the big man until he lay on his back. “What the fuck?” I stomped on his chest and held my foot there. Milo groaned, but said nothing. My boot still on his sternum, I bent over and grabbed his hair, holding his head in place. “You motherfucker. You think you can stab me in the back? Collude with El Cuchillo and hurt my woman?” I raised his head and smashed it back down so hard the old wood floor beneath him splintered.

  “Fuck you!” Milo roared. He was screwed and he knew it. His only choice now, was whether he went out like a man or a crying pussy. Hell, Milo was a brutal bastard; for all I knew, he wasn’t frightened one bit. The man was truly fucked in the head.

  I lifted my shit-kicking boot and brought it down again. This time I felt something in his body give and heard a snap. A rib, maybe? Like before, Milo only grunted. I had to give it to him, he was as tough as they came. “I’ll make a deal with you,” I said. “You cooperate, and I’ll give you a man’s death. You fight me, and I’ll make you beg like a girl.” Milo sneered and I increased the pressure on his chest. His lips tightened but still, no sound and no signs of giving in. I nodded. “Have it your way.”

  I reached down and rolled up my pant leg. Milo knew what was coming. He’d seen me do it many, many times. I unsheathed the KA-BAR and rolled my pants back over my boot. Slowly, I strolled around his prone form, letting my eyes roam up and down his body, deciding what part I would cut off first. Decision made, I grabbed it and began.

  This time, he screamed.

  9

  Miri

  “No one will tell me anything, Cat. I’m getting really worried.” I chewed on my lip and sat back on my heels. My nose itched but my hands were covered in grease. I put down the wrench and wiped them off on a towel so I could scratch it.

  “I have no idea what to say, Miri.” Cat was sitting on a folding chair while I worked on the Ducati.

  Jag had been gone for two days. Two days since we were shot at on the beach by men on jet skis. Two days since Jag left me asleep in his bed and said he’d be back as soon as he could, giving no explanation as to where he was going. Two days of nonstop worrying and panic attacks. The only things keeping me from losing my mind were Cat, and the fact that Jag’s men reassured me that he was alive and well, just out on business. Of course no one would tell me what kind of business or how long their boss would be gone, but knowing he wasn’t hurt or dead was better than nothing.

  At least Milo hadn’t been around lately. I shivered. He had taken to following me around the house, staring at me, as if waiting for something to happen. M
y head began to hurt. Whatever it was my mind was trying to tell me, I just couldn’t get a grip on it. It kept slipping through my fingers, dissolving like a drop of water in the turbulent ocean of my fucked up head.

  I threw down the towel and slumped over. “I’m tired, Cat. Like I haven’t slept in years.”

  “I know, Miri.”

  My face heated when I realized how selfish I was being. Of course Cat knew how I felt—she was the one who was held for nearly a year, raped over and over. Kept tame with addictive, mind-numbing drugs. At least I had Jag, and I had only been captured for a few weeks. Nothing like what Cat went through.

  “I’m sorry, Cat. I don’t mean to be so insensitive.” I stood and washed my hands at the sink.

  “It’s fine, Miri. You’re worried about him. I get it. I don’t even really know the man and I’m worried.”

  A chill went up my spine and I shivered. If Cat was worried, then something bad might actually happen to Jag. I shook my head at the thought. No. He would be fine, and his men wouldn’t lie if something did happen. Besides—I cut a glance across the garage to the imposing man standing guard at the door—it was obvious Jag had increased our protective detail. Neither Cat nor I were ever alone. One or two bodyguards followed us everywhere except the bedroom and the bathroom. We weren’t allowed to go to the gazebo or do anything outside. Heck, it took an hour of pleading just to get one of the guards to allow us to walk the twenty feet from the kitchen to the garage so I could work on the bikes to keep my mind occupied.

  “He’s okay,” I said, more for myself than Cat. “He’ll be back.”

  “Yeah,” Cat agreed, probably just to placate me.

  Weren’t we the two Stooges? Both lying to make the other feel better.

  The garage door burst open, and I cried out in surprise. Cat fell off her chair she was so frightened. Suddenly, I was surrounded by Jag’s scent, strong arms pulling me into a tight embrace. A sob tore from my throat and I was lifted off the ground. I wrapped my arms around his neck, my legs around his waist, and buried my face in his neck.

  “Miri,” he breathed, nuzzling his nose into my hair. By now I was full-out crying with relief. “I’m so sorry, doll. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m here.”

  Jag continued murmuring comforting words while I simply let go, allowing Jag to shoulder my burdens, my worry, my pain, while I focused only on him. By the time I ran out of tears and wiped my face, Cat was gone.

  “Where—?”

  “In the house,” he said, answering my unspoken question. Jag’s eyes dropped to my mouth and his pupils dilated. I sucked in a breath and swallowed, my mouth dry. We stared at each other for a second before our mouths crashed together. “Mine,” he snarled when we tore apart, gasping for air.

  He walked us to the nearest surface and set me down on it. I felt cold metal beneath me and realized I was on the hood of his two million dollar 1966 Ferrari 275 GTB.

  “Jag. The car—”

  “Fuck the car,” he growled as he thrust his tongue down my throat. One hand behind my head, Jag used his other to free his cock. He let go of me long enough to unzip and tear off my shorts. I didn’t have time to say a word and his hands and mouth were back on me. Without warning, Jag rammed his cock home, driving deep with one brutal thrust.

  Jag held my face and dove back on my mouth, licking and biting and staking his claim as he tilted my head so he could get as far inside my mouth as humanly possible. Desperation and relief poured off him in tangible waves as his hips pounded fast and hard. I clutched at his waist, digging my fingers in so I wouldn’t slide up the hood of the shiny red car. One of Jag’s arms wrapped around my lower back and he pressed his weight down on me, his bulk so heavy I had to work to breathe. I didn’t care. I had Jag in my arms, warm and safe, and reclaiming his ownership of my body as if the world would end if he couldn’t make me his.

  “God I missed you.” Jag huffed when he tore from my mouth and licked a path up my throat. His teeth sank into the pulse point beneath my ear and my entire body jerked as electricity skittered down my spine.

  “Jag… don’t… don’t leave me.”

  “I’ll never leave you again, doll. I promise.” He lifted his head and pressed our foreheads together, locking eyes with mine. “Never.” I nodded and Jag punched his hips forward, making me cry with pleasure. “Come on, doll. Give it to me. I want it all.”

  I clutched his shoulders and let my head fall back on the slick metal. My eyes rolled up in my head when Jag grabbed my ass and lifted my lower body off the car, jackhammering at a brutal pace.

  “Jag… I’m close… oh!”

  “Fuck, doll. Oh my God, ungh, yes! God yes, you’re so fucking perfect.”

  He ground down on my clit and I detonated around him. My body went rigid and every muscle clamped tight as the orgasm was ripped from me. Fireworks exploded and my vision went dark. I gasped for air and trembled violently from head to toe.

  “Yes, yes, give it to me, Miri.” Jag’s rhythm faltered and he slammed in one last time, roaring as he came. “You’re mine! Fuck yes!”

  I watched as his beautiful face twisted with pleasure. His temples glistened with sweat and his neck flushed crimson where it was exposed above the collar of the shirt he still wore. Jag’s arms tightened and his biceps flexed, fingers digging into my ass, where I was sure I’d have bruises in the morning.

  When the last pulse of semen drained from his cock, Jag collapsed on top of me, completely still and breathing heavy. I ran my fingers lightly up and down his spine, loving the feel of his smooth skin and hard muscles. Loving the feel of him.

  After a while, we both caught our breath and our heart rates slowed to a steady pace. Jag reluctantly stood and I suddenly felt cold and exposed. My gaze darted around the garage.

  Jag chuckled. “There’s no one here, doll. I made sure of it.”

  My face burst into flames. Of course. I was positive Jag would never let anyone watch us have sex.

  “You’re adorable.” He held out a hand. “Let’s go take a shower.”

  I had a million and one questions to ask, about the men on the jet skis, where he had been for the past two days, whether or not we were safe. But when Jag smiled at me, a sight that had been hard to come by since he brought me home from Los Guerreros’ compound, all my worries vanished.

  I took his hand and let him fuss over me, gently pulling up my shorts before tucking his cock back into his pants. Jag led us to the main house and up the stairs to the master bath. When we stepped under the hot spray, Jag ran his soapy hands over my body, and for the first time in a long time, I had hope.

  This man was my future and I had no doubt he would do whatever it took to make sure I was cared for. That I was happy. That we were happy.

  I closed my eyes and allowed Jag to lead the way. I would follow him anywhere.

  Jag

  “I assume everything was taken care of?” I fussed with the items on my desk, all new since I broke just about everything I could get my hands on during my many furious bursts of rage when Miri was missing. The pencil holder was wrong and I just couldn’t seem to make it square with the corner of the desk. None of my stuff looked right. It was pissing me off.

  “All done, Boss. No one will ever find him,” George assured me.

  “Good.”

  I unsuccessfully attempted to line up the pencil holder one last time to no avail. Growling, I picked it up and dropped it in the trash. Now my hands were itching for something else to do. So I fussed at my shirtsleeves, straightening the cuffs and double-checking the cuff links to make sure they were fastened.

  “How is the search for El Cuchillo going?” In my peripheral vision, I caught George flinching. My eyes flicked to my new second in command—soon to be under Brick’s employ—and were met with a worried expression.

  “Not good, Boss.” George tried to stand tall and unaffected, but his body language screamed nervousness. He was waiting for me to lose my shit.

  “I see.??
? George had good instincts. I did want to lose my shit. Miri would never be one hundred percent safe until that motherfucker was either six feet under or chopped up and used for chum, digesting in a shark’s belly.

  “Feyo said maybe expand the search to Mexico. He said he knows El Cuchillo’s hometown. He might be hiding there.” George shifted from foot to foot. He needed to grow a bigger spine if he wanted to survive under Brick’s heavy hand.

  Or maybe his behavior was merely a direct result of my angry scowl. I fixed my face and George visibly relaxed.

  “Do it. If men have to travel there to find him, they go. Use our contacts in Mexico to procure weapons. No expense will be spared. I want Cuchillo dead, preferably at my own hand, but I understand the complications of bringing him to the States if he crossed the border.”

  I drummed my fingers on my desk. My skin felt tight and my hands ached to wrap around Cuchillo’s neck and squeeze the life out of him. Restless and agitated, I kicked my chair back when I stood and it slammed into the wall with a loud crash.

  “You can go,” I said to George, tamping down the urge to destroy yet another refurbished office.

  George turned on his heel and got the hell out of there as fast as he could. The second the door sealed behind him I pinched the bridge of my nose.

  How hard was it to find one goddamn motherfucking drug lord?

  The man had to have a money trail. Multiple accounts, shadow companies, fake names… My men were working on pulling the paperwork to all of Cuchillo’s holdings, specifically properties, to find out the different shell companies and names he used to purchase them. Once I had those, tracking him shouldn’t be hard. I just didn’t have the patience to wait while they did the groundwork. I wanted my revenge. Now.

  Fidgety, I stood at the window and gazed out at the garden while going over the events of the last two days. I knew Milo wouldn’t be an easy man to break, but the brawny man fell apart much faster than I imagined. After hacking off his hand at the wrist, he blubbered like a baby. When I cut off his foot, he began talking. Unfortunately, the piece of shit didn’t know much. He admitted to telling El Cuchillo about Miri, how she was my weakness, where to find us the night she was taken. He also told the bastard where Miri would be the day she was shot at by the jet skiers, who ended up being two of Cuchillo’s men, sent specifically to kill Miri in order to get to me.