“Go away,” I snapped, not moving to make eye contact.
Of course, in his usual, irritating, domineering manner, Jag ignored me and sat on the swing despite my obvious annoyance. The wooden structure swayed under his added weight. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught him studying me, his brows pulled together. Eventually, Jag gave up trying to figure me out and just asked.
“Want to tell me what’s going on?”
“Go away,” I repeated, hating that I sounded like a whiney brat.
“No. So let’s try again. Why are you angry, Miri? Did I hurt you last night?”
His voice was so sincere, so filled with apprehension, in my fury over the drugs, I forgot how Jag tenderly made love to me while looking into my eyes as if I meant something to him. But no, he sure fooled me. Jag got up and left as soon as I served my purpose. A fuck, a quick lay, a good time, then gone. Disposable. Garbage. Junkie.
“No.” I fiddled with my hair, twisting a long red curl around a finger over and over only to let it slide free so I could twist it up again.
“Miri…”
His low growl pissed me off. For the first time since he sat, I turned to face him. All of the anger, the cutting words I had prepared, got stuck in my throat. Suddenly nervous, I pulled a foot up onto the bench to hug my leg to my chest, resting my chin on my knee.
“You can’t make me take drugs anymore. I don’t want them.” The slamming of my pulse in my ears made it difficult to organize my thoughts. “I’m not doing it.”
Jag stared at me with blue eyes so intense, so focused, I squirmed on the bench under his scrutiny. I was about to argue my case further when the corners of Jag’s eyes crinkled and his solemn expression cracked, slowly morphing into a wide grin.
What the—?
I tilted my head. Was I seeing things? I blinked a few times and checked again. No, Jag was definitely smiling.
I huffed loudly and snapped. “What?”
For some reason, Jag’s response had me more on edge than if he were angry. Angry I could work with. Angry I could argue, pitch a fit, let out the hurt I felt from him fucking and ditching me last night. Happy? I had no clue what to do with happy.
“Miri…” Jag reached for one of my hands but I curled back into myself, tucking them under my armpits. He frowned at my snub, but collected himself quickly. His eyes shone and for the first time since we met, the fearless man in front of me looked… scared. “You’ve been clean for two weeks.”
My mouth fell open and it took me a minute to snap it shut. “I-I don’t understand.” With my hands still under my arms, I gripped my sides, digging my fingers into my ribs. “I’ve… I’ve still been getting injections—”
“Saline.” Jag shifted on the bench, moving closer. The breeze caught the scent of his cologne and body wash, blowing it to my side of the swing. I inhaled deep, the smell bringing back memories of last night, of the time in the garage, of his hands and mouth all over my body. My eyes closed as I replayed the tenderness of his kiss, how it turned demanding and possessive in a way I couldn’t explain yet it thrilled me nonetheless. I recalled the velvet slide of his tongue across my skin and the sharp bite of his teeth as he brutally marked me.
“Miri?” A light touch on my leg jolted me back to the present.
“So what are you saying? I’m totally clean?” A bead of sweat trickled between my shoulder blades. It couldn’t be that easy. I couldn’t possibly be drug free. No withdrawals, no pain, no diarrhea, no cramping, no vomiting?
Jag’s smile faded and his tentative touch became a heavy weight, pressing down on my leg. “I’ve been weaning you off since you got here. You deserve better, Miri. I couldn’t… I wouldn’t, keep you hooked on that poisonous shit.” He squeezed his eyes shut and his beautiful face contorted in pain. When Jag finally opened his eyes, the heartache reflected in their depths was as plain as day.
“But you sell heroin. You’re a drug dealer and you’re calling it poison? I don’t understand.”
Jag stood, extending his hand. He was giving me a choice, to go with him or stay here. As angry as I was about last night, and his absence this morning, my inexplicable need for him won over holding a grudge. I slid my shaking hand into his and every anxiety melted away. Somehow, Jag made everything better just by being nearby. Yes, he was a violent drug lord. Yes, he was capable of horrific, terrible things. Illegal things. Yes, he hurt me this morning.
But I needed to know more. I needed to know the real Jag, the man who loved motorcycles and fast cars and took
in homeless addicts only to clean them up and give them a second chance at life. He had his shitty moments for sure, but I knew deep down, Jag was a good person. A good man. A worthy man.
Jag pulled me to my feet until I was standing in front of him, separated by a couple of inches and a mountain of secrets. Secrets I intended on digging out one at a time, even if it meant revealing my own. His hand in mine, I threaded our fingers together and forced my body to relax. Jag gave me a crooked grin, revealing his swoon-inducing dimples, and tugged me down the stairs.
“Let’s go, doll.”
I’ll go wherever you want. You don’t even have to ask.
11
Boss