Jagger (Broken Doll Book 2) (11 page)

“That’s it, doll,” he encouraged. “So goddamn fuckin’ gorgeous.” Jag took my mouth again, wet and fierce, teeth and tongues clashing as I continued moaning.

When my climax ended, I expected Jag to speed up his thrusts and chase his own release. Instead, strong hands clamped down on my hips and suddenly, I was off the bed and in the air. We ended up with Jag sitting against the headboard and me straddling his lap, still impaled on his thick length.

Jag mouthed at my neck, licking across his mark and gently sucking on it again. My core throbbed from the pleasure from his hot mouth on my skin, memories of how gently he brushed his lips across my broken body. How he took the pieces and made me whole again.

“Now, I want you to ride me, doll.” Jag’s eyes darkened and his fingers tightened around my waist. “Fuck yourself on my cock, Miri. Give me everything you have.”

I shivered at the way he said it, all commanding and husky and needy, with the slight Texas drawl that drove me crazy and sent molten lava pulsing through my veins. Jag’s hooded eyes were wild, his expression animalistic. One side of his mouth curled up in a domineering sneer.

He needs this and I would give him anything. Anything.

I nodded and slowly began raising and lowering myself, using my thigh muscles to slide up and down his steely length. I tried my best, bouncing faster and faster, but ran out of steam fast. A side effect of poor nutrition, lack of exercise, and continuous abuse at the hands of my captors.

Jag didn’t seem to mind. He growled and dug his fingers into my ass. Using his impressive strength, Jag easily lifted me up and slammed me down on his cock, biceps bulging and flexing as he brought me down hard only to pull me up again. Over and over, raising and dropping me on his rigid cock, establishing a punishing pace. Jag planted his feet flat on the mattress to thrust his own hips up from the bed every time he yanked me down, causing our skin to slap together with an obscene
smack
.

My eyes rolled back and my head hung limply as another orgasm unexpectedly tore from my body. I stiffened when it hit, threw my head back, and screamed, so overstimulated I couldn’t have held back even if I wanted to. Desperate fingers clawed at his slippery, sweat slicked pecs, my nails gouging hard enough to leave marks. Too far gone to acknowledge my hoarse shouts, Jag raised me up and forced me down one final time as he shoved his cock so far up inside me, I was surprised I didn’t feel it in my throat. The tendons in his neck tensed and he cursed as the pleasure overtook his body.

“Goddammit, doll. Yes! Holy shit, yes!” Jag roared as he came, his long, thick cock swelling before it burst, shooting jet after jet of thick, hot semen deep inside me. A few more smaller thrusts and Jag’s body went limp beneath me. I collapsed forward, resting my head on his chest, and we both promptly fell asleep.

I woke with Miri on top of me, my soft cock still lodged inside her warm body. A quick peek at the window and I saw it was still dark, which meant we hadn’t been out long. Careful not to wake my beautiful doll, I rolled Miri to her side and pulled out, feeling cold and immediately missing the incredible, tight heat of her pussy.

Stretching my stiff legs, I rose and padded to the bathroom. After a long piss and a quick wash-up, I braced my hands on the sink. My head ached as I thought about what I was going to tell Miri. She didn’t know El Cuchillo escaped the night I found her. I forbade anyone from letting her know he was still out there, afraid when she found out the man who tortured her was free that she would revert back to how she was when I found her—panicked, nervous to the point of vomiting every day, and scared of her own shadow. My doll was doing so well with her recovery, she did a little minor maintenance on one of the bikes the other day. Not much, but a good sign. I was worried the knowledge of Cuchillo’s escape would send her spiraling back into depression.

“Christ,” I muttered, rubbing at my forehead.

It was too much to think about and fuck, I was just too goddamn tired and pissed to deal with the subject of El Cuchillo. It would have to wait until the morning. Right now, I was in the middle of the horrifically complicated process of transferring all my property to Brick as payment for rescuing Miri. That was the deal. Brick would take over my Austin operations and I was effectively retiring. Only Shade and Milo knew the details. Shade was dead. The rest of my men didn’t know, but Brick would keep them on as his employees. That was something I insisted upon when we negotiated.

Brick got the territory and I got my house and my money. Everything else would belong to the Houston drug lord. It was merely a matter of making everything legal, which, considering all the various shell companies we both used, was a massive pain in the ass. Hours upon hours of boring legal bullshit when what I really wanted to do was hunt down El Cuchillo and kill him slowly and painfully for what he did to Miri. I would take great pleasure in tearing him apart piece by piece for taking what was mine. The rage I had suppressed, surged to the surface, and my vision turned red. I ground my teeth together to try and get myself under control. My fingers ached and I noticed I was gripping the edge of the sink hard enough to turn my knuckles white.

“Fuck.” I pushed back, shook out my hands, and headed for the bedroom. Agitation and anger clawed at my insides. There was absolutely no chance I was falling back asleep at this point, but I didn’t want to leave Miri. Instead of going to my gym to beat the shit out of the heavy bag, I slid under the covers and pulled my doll close, tucking her small body into my side with her cheek resting on my chest.

I kissed the top her head and buried my nose in her thick hair. Thank God I got her back. The depth of my love for Miri and my need to protect her both scared me to death and thrilled me at the same time. I didn’t want to pull her into my world, but it was too late for that. Fuck, what happened with Los Guerreros was a perfect example of why I shouldn’t have gotten involved with Miri in the first place. My selfishness put her right in Cuchillo’s sights.

While my broken doll slept at my side, I thought of all the different ways I was going to make El Cuchillo pay for what he did. Gruesome thoughts flicked through my brain, one after another, each one worse than the previous.

Hours later, when Miri woke, adorable and sleepy, I couldn’t hide the wide grin that spread across my face. I had figured out my plan and yes, El Cuchillo would regret the day he fucked with me.

“
H
e can’t have just disappeared
!” I paced the length of my office, Milo watching calmly from the far corner.

Nothing made sense. El Cuchillo up and fucking vanished from his compound during our raid and no one could find even the hint of his trail.

“We checked all the airports and Sammy even hacked into the nearest border cams, Boss.”

I glared at Milo, daring him to continue speaking. He turned red, but wisely held his tongue. Thank fuck for minor miracles.

“He left with nothing. No way was he prepared for us to show up and storm his house.” I clenched and unclenched my hands, itching for violence. “I want Sammy and George here in the next hour.” My gaze bored into Milo. “Got it?”

Milo’s mouth was pressed into a tight line. The skin around his lips blanched. “Yes, Boss.”

He turned on his heel and stormed out of the study. When the door hissed shut, I removed my phone from my jacket and dialed.

“Hey. I need you to do something for me and it has to be kept between us.”

I explained what I needed and my employee said he would get right on it. After hanging up, I stuffed the device back into my pocket and stared out the back window. Every muscle in my body was pulled taut as my mind went over the different scenarios again and again. Each time I came to the same conclusion.

Someone in my organization was working for El Cuchillo. And when I found out who it was—or more accurately, when I had evidence—I would tear him apart with my bare hands.

If one of my men colluded with Los Guerreros to kidnap and torture Miri… Fuck. My chest heaved and my skin was hot and slick under my suit. I heard a low growl and was surprised to realize it was coming from me.

Once I had my revenge, I would leave this shitshow behind and never look back. I needed to keep Miri safe, but I couldn’t allow the men who hurt her to live. Soon I could take her away and give her the life she deserved. In the meantime, all I could do was make sure she was healthy and happy.

No one would ever touch her again. I would die before that happened.

“
I
need
to figure out what I’m going to do with my life, Miri.” Cat drew dozens of random circles in the dirt with her toes. She let out a heavy sigh and shaded her eyes with her hand so she could take in the stunning view of Lake Travis. The sun was bright and high up in the sky. The rays glittered on the tips of the small waves that rippled the clear water.

On the same tiny strip of beach I visited months ago with Jag, I lay on my stomach, my chin propped on my elbows so I could watch my friend. Cat was incredibly sad to the point of depression, and I completely understood. My poor friend had been kept in that horrible mansion for almost a year, used and abused by El Cuchillo’s men every single day, sometimes multiple times a day. Thankfully, Jag already had Cat weaned down to half her usual daily dose of H. In the short time since our escape, Cat’s skin had regained its color and she put some much needed weight on her skeletal frame.

Speaking of weight, I had put on quite a bit myself, not that I cared. Even with the weight gain, I was still a little too thin. But I had to admit, Jag was enjoying the return of my curves. From the amount of attention he lavished on them, it was clear Jag loved my fuller hips and breasts. Plus, he told me quite often how sexy I looked.

“I have to figure out my life too, Cat. I mean, yeah, I can work on motorcycles, but I pretty much burned my bridges at the only bike shop around, and after I was kidnapped, it’ll probably be a long time before Jag is okay letting me work outside the house. Or more specifically, where he can’t watch me twenty-four seven.”

“You’re lucky to have the bikes, Miri. I don’t have any useful skills.” Cat waited until a pair of thundering jet skis roared by before continuing. “I was a waitress, Miri. At a crappy diner, not even a nice restaurant. I can’t support myself on the pathetic tips I used to get.”

“Maybe you should go to school,” I suggested.

Cat twisted her neck to stare at me and grimaced. “I didn’t finish high school.”

“So? Neither did I. Get your GED, find something you love, and do it.”

My best friend snorted. “Easy for you to say, you have a rich guy supporting you.”

The smile slipped off my face. Her words stung. So much so that it felt as if Cat slapped me. “I don’t want to be a kept woman. I am
not
a gold digger, Cat. I’ll be getting a job as soon as Jag says it’s safe.”

My tone must have let Cat know how much her comment hurt, because she looked mortified. “I’m sorry, Miri. I didn’t mean to imply you were lazy or anything. It’s just so hard, you know? Having no one.” Cat turned back to the lake to continue staring at the ground. In one sweep she used the sole of her foot to erase the circles she had drawn and started from scratch.

I reached out and put a hand on her arm. “You have me, Cat. You’ll always have me.”

Cat’s eyes shimmered with tears and she gave me a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

Grateful, I returned the smile. I glanced over my shoulder and saw the two
Men in Black
Jag sent with us for protection. I had to beg my stubborn man to get to let us come to the beach, and Jag only relented when I agreed to bring a few of his men. I understood his concern. After being snatched right out of his arms, literally, Jag didn’t want me leaving the house. But after being trapped in a similarly luxurious mansion, Cat needed to get out. The men were standing straight and attentive nearby, both wearing sunglasses so dark I had no clue where they were looking.

With a shrug, I lowered back down on the blanket to close my eyes. The sun felt so good on my skin, even though I had on SPF 1000+ or something like that. Red hair and tanning do not go together. The sound of jet skis skimming across the lake grew louder once more, starting as a dull hum and rising quickly to a rumbling roar. When the noise didn’t recede, but increased to the point where I wondered if they were going to drive right up the tiny beach and run us over, I sat up to look.

“Get down!”

I heard the masculine shout right before a heavy body landed on top of me, knocking the breath from my lungs. Cat shrieked and the deafening pop of gunshots rang out, echoing across the water. I was jerked to my feet and it felt as if my arm was torn from my body. Fire ripped through my shoulder, the pain so intense it stole my voice. One of the bodyguards shoved me behind him, holding on to me with one hand as he fired a pistol with his other.

Cat screamed again. My heart raced and my bare feet caused me to stumble over the rocky ground. More shots came, the two men returning fire while maneuvering Cat and me into the car. I looked up and saw the jet skis from before, bobbing still in the water. One was empty, a body floating next to it. The other had its driver, the man aiming a gun right at us.

There was a pop and my bodyguard grunted then roared, firing off several shots in a row. I watched in horror as the jet skier’s chest exploded and he lurched to the side, plunging into the lake. May car door slammed and Cat was shoved next to me from the other side. The engine roared as the driver stomped on the gas. He gunned it so hard the wheels spun as the SUV fishtailed on the dirt road, bouncing so violently my teeth clacked together.

The SUV flew onto the main road, the tires screeching as the driver executed a ninety-degree turn at such high speed, we should have flipped over and ended up in a ditch. Whoever was behind the wheel was really good because he downshifted and easily straightened the SUV, stomping the gas to race back to the house. My bodyguard, Thomas, was in the passenger seat, shouting into his phone while holding a towel to his shoulder. I blanched when I saw the bright red blood soaking the fabric, then I gagged.

“Y-you’re s-shot,” I stammered through chattering teeth. The adrenaline rush had hit full force and my body was struggling to deal with the flood of hormones into my bloodstream.

“I’m fine,” he said, just as calm as could be. Like he wasn’t bleeding all over the place after armed men shot at us from jet skis.

“Miri?”

In the chaos, I forgot about my best friend. I turned to Cat and gasped. Her tawny skin was deathly pale and she looked a little green. Cat’s dark eyes were so wide, more white was visible than brown. Her body was trembling and I could tell Cat was right on the verge of losing it. Even though I was basically as close to the edge as her, I swallowed down my fear and decided to be the strong one. We couldn’t afford for both of us to fall apart.

“It’s okay, Cat.”

I slid across the seat and pulled her into my arms. Cat clung to me, sobbing into my shirt. We stayed like that the entire ride home. In my head I said a little prayer for the bodyguard who literally took a bullet for me. Dozens of questions crowded my head, coming rapid-fire, one after the other.

Who shot at us?

Why does someone want me dead? Or Cat?

Jag killed El Cuchillo and his men, right? Was this attack by someone else entirely?

By the time we pulled into the drive of the mansion, I was a wreck. The vehicle barely had time to stop before the back door was flung open, Jag’s huge body blocking out the light.

“Miri, God. Are you all right?”

He reached in and pulled me out, crushing me against his chest. I buried my nose in his shirt and inhaled, so thankful to be back where I felt the safest—surrounded by Jag. A strong hand clasped the back of my neck and I sank further into his warmth, listening to his heart race. Jag was shaking, whether it was from fear or anger or both, I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that he was shaken up, maybe even more than me. I needed to let him know I was okay.

“I’m fine.” A tiny sigh escaped from my lips and I nuzzled into his shirt. “Oh.” I jerked back when I remembered my friend and the injured bodyguard. “Cat and Thomas… They’re—”

“All taken care of, doll,” Jag said, squeezing the back of my neck in a deliciously possessive way. Without warning, Jag scooped me up in his arms, my cheek still resting against his chest, and carried me into the house. I vaguely registered the sounds of voices, men fussing over the bodyguard with the gunshot wound, but all of it turned to white noise as I slipped further into a hazy fog from the adrenaline letdown.

Jag placed me on his bed and pulled the covers up to my chest. He leaned over and kissed my forehead, gently running his fingers through my hair while staring into my eyes. Jag stepped back, taking his comforting touch with him and leaving me cold and frightened.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” His voice was steady but I could hear the fury behind the facade.

“Wait!” I bolted upright, shivering. Half of me was scared to be alone, half was scared of what Jag would do once he left the room. “C-can’t you stay with me?”

Jag’s expression displayed the most extreme of opposites. His face was filled with love and compassion, but his eyes… His eyes were pure animal rage. I was right, he was about to lose his shit over me being attacked
again
.

“I need to talk to my men. See if we can figure out what happened.” Jag’s voice was tight and controlled. “Plus, Thomas was shot. I need to make sure he’s okay.”

I slumped down beneath the thick comforter and curled into a ball. “I understand.” And I did, but selfishly, I needed Jag’s strong presence right now. I felt as if I were about two seconds from having a complete nervous breakdown. “Can you check on Cat?”

My request caused a bit of the hardness in Jag’s stony gaze to soften. “Sure, doll. I’ll be back. Get some rest.” With that, he turned and left the room, closing and locking the door behind him.

Knowing I could trust Jag to keep me safe, in his room, in his bed, despite everything that happened, my eyes grew heavy and I slipped into a restless sleep.

“Tell me you got something.” I started in on George the second he walked into my office. After leaving Miri, getting out of the room about one second before I completely lost control and began punching and destroying shit in a furious rage, I stood in the hall and pressed my forehead to the wall. It took a full ten minutes to calm myself down. Someone attacked my girl
again
. And just like last time, they knew exactly where she’d be.

“I got something, Boss.” George swallowed nervously, but I could tell he was also furious. I wasn’t going to like whatever it was he found.

“Tell me,” I growled, slamming my fists down on my desk so hard something in the wood cracked.

George licked his lips and his eyes widened as he got a good look at me. I’m sure I looked insane. No longer the controlled, polished Boss he was used to, I was dressed in jeans and a tee, my wrist sheaths and blades showing. I had on heavy biker boots, and if I had a mirror, I was sure I was flushed red with rage from head to toe.

“You were right, Boss. It’s Milo.”

My stomach heaved and I bent over, gasping as if I’d been punched right in the solar plexus. I shouldn’t have been surprised. It was the result I expected. But the betrayal still hurt. It only took a few seconds for the hurt to turn to murderous fury.

“That son of a bitch!” I circled the desk and George flinched back as I approached. Not giving a shit, I got right up in his face and demanded more information. “What do you know?”

“Sammy hacked Milo’s phone and found a lot of calls to a strange number. It was a burner phone and it’s been disconnected, so he couldn’t tell us who owned it.” I snarled and George hurried to continue. “But he was able to get into the provider network and found out where the signal had been coming from for the last two weeks.”

George stood, sweat dripping down his temples. I scowled at the man and he jumped. “And—?”

“S-sorry, Boss. Sammy, ummm, he said the phone was in San Antonio, then here in Austin, then in the general area of El Cuchillo’s compound in Victoria.”

I turned away from George and dug the heels of my hands into my eyes. “So you’re saying Milo has been in contact with a phone belonging to someone in Los Guerreros.”

“Yeah. That’s what Sammy said.” I dragged my hands through my hair, suppressing the need to scream, the need to cause pain, the need for revenge. “But there’s more, Boss.”

“What?” I spun to face George again. “More?”

“After you called asking us to dig up shit on Milo, I had Sammy put a tracker on Milo’s car and phone.” He paused, waiting for my reaction.

“Fucking spit it out, George, or I’ll cut out your motherfucking tongue.”

George’s eyes widened and he nodded. “The phone went dead. He must have taken out the battery, Boss. But the GPS on the car is active.”

I went over to the safe and began opening it, pulling out weapons. “Keep talking,” I said as I loaded magazines into my guns and started strapping on the leather holsters.

“Sammy knows where he is.”

I grunted in satisfaction. “Call Four and tell him to grab a couple guys and follow us to the location. They are not to approach Milo if they get there first, got it?”

George pulled out his phone while I finished sliding the guns in their holsters. “Got it, Boss.”

I shrugged into a leather jacket to hide my weapons and opened the door. George trailed behind as I stormed down the hall like a dark angel of death, wearing ten pounds of lethal steel and ammunition. Frank pulled up as we exited the house.

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.

W
hen 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?”