Jagger

 

 

 Every once in a while, you have to knock at death's door to put things into perspective. Trick didn’t send the Armenian’s my way, either time. The person who screwed me over, most likely included the African warrior into the gameboard, too, just to toss me off their scent.

I felt like someone has doused me in kerosene and tossed on a match. I slam into a seated position, gasping for air. Mikayla is kneeling before me, the same look of fear on her face.

She kisses me hard on the lips, grips my face and kisses me more. “You’re certified, Jagger, you could’ve died.”

“I don’t mind dying…” The usual, candid line comes with a shrug, but that was prior to me giving the name “Uthando lwami” to Mikayla Bryant. In the world between life and death just now, I saw the perfect future. A future with Mikayla–

SMACK.

I rub my jaw. She’s never hit me so hard before. “Damn, woman, I still have a few years…weeks…” Days left, if I continue to cave to this addiction. My hand rubs across her neck, clamps onto it and kiss her again.

“You’re all bloody,” she laughs, her breath feels good against my skin and lips. I devour her mouth again.

“Nothing wrong with a little blood?”

Mikayla reaches between us, takes my hands and gasps. “You may need stitches.”

No, I don’t need stitches. “Where’s Trick? Bed?”

She makes this odd noise that lands on a heavy sigh. “Are the two of you the best of friends or the worst of enemies, I can’t tell? Never mind, I’m learning that you are incorrigible and there’s no questioning you. Now, can I serve you, Jagger Johansson.”

I reach out to grab her hip. The blood from the gash on my hand smears against the ground as Mikayla hops up.

“Not so fast, Jagger,” she grins. “I love teasing you, but baby, your roughneck demeanor isn’t all that enticing, at the moment.”

I chuckle lightly, gritting my teeth to the gash Trick’s hook knife caused on the side of my abdomen. I stand up as she searches through cabinets.

“What are you doing,” Mikayla moves toward me, placing a steady hand on my arm in her brave attempt to help.

After all the times I’ve prayed for a good woman, who was not only great in the sack but more than capable of mending a few scrapes and bruises, I have to let her down. “Uthando lwami, I’m fine. Just a headache, probably from the venom.”

She stares at me, gaze lingering in thought. With a bite of her bottom lip, she asks, “Humph, so do you have another woman who cleans you up or…?”

“Nobody else, and I’m not declining your help, Mikayla, but let's step out of the weapons room.” I hold out a hand to guide the way, the inside of my palm is torn to shreds. I place my bloody appendage back down and nudge with my head instead, all the while trying to figure out how the hell I came to care so much for Mikayla.

We head up the steps to the second floor of Trick’s business, where he lives when in The States. The ambiance here is just as nice as our suite.

“Where are we going?” Mikayla asks, since I’ve led the way in the dark.

“Open that door ahead of us,” I tell her. She’s hesitant yet obedient.

“Don’t be afraid, Kayla.” I click on the light.

“I’m as equally afraid of the dark as I am of you,” she murmurs, looking up at me, and then around the room. “It’s very pretty in here.”

She turns on the faucet, which has a long-scooped neck and gestures for me to come closer. I walk over to her and Mikayla proceeds to wash my hands with tender care.

“Jagger, am I really a princess?”

I meet her gaze. “Yes, beautiful. You are African royalty.”

“You asked to have me.” She continues to cleanse the blood from my palms. “Can you have me?” she asks, shyly.

“Will you let me?” I retort, searching her gaze before I even realized I’ve placed my foot directly into my fucking mouth. Having her will be the death of me, but I can’t breathe while awaiting her response.

“Jagger…” her eyes never leave mine as she reaches over and grabs a towel. “I believe everything you’re saying now.  I just can’t see myself as a princess.”

“You can’t see yourself as a princess?” My hands grip her ass, the pain is momentarily, and I have her on the counter. “What’s there not to see? Kayla, you hold your shoulders straight and your head is held high. You are so fucking confident.”

She scoffs.

“You are.” I tip her chin.

“Oh, I know. I mean, I was. Had to fight for scholarships, stuff like that. But now…”

My hand plays with the inside of her thigh. “Now, you saved my life, Dr. Bryant.”

“Now, all of the rigid strategies I’ve lived by are lost to me. And I’m left with a primitive craving that had anyone asked me a week ago about, I’d blatantly deny. Jagger, what have you done to me?”

Do my ears deceive me? I’ve fought to keep her safe from the Armenians yesterday and with bullets flying, she feared me the most. I made her cry today while murdering Aram and attempting to take down one of the best assassin strategist in the world.

Fuck me, I assumed Mikayla still hated me.

It’s safer for the both of us if she abhors me. After I glance into those sullen eyes, I reach around, and grip onto her ponytail to pull her mouth to me.

God, that mouth of hers. Her tongue is obedient in how it twirls around following mine.

While I feast on her mouth my cock rises, ready to seize and dominate the moment. That sweet taste between her hips bewitches me. I can’t fathom leaving Mikayla alone after having more than one drink of her.

If I have her, the Prince of Zihula can drop off the planet. And with that thought in mind, I begin to kiss her down her throat.

“Jagger… baby, your hands need stitches.” Mikayla kisses at my shredded palms.

“I’ll heal.”

“Yeah, apparently you heal pretty well, scars and all.” She kisses my palm again. This innocence has me ready to leap all over her.

“Battle wounds are a sign of honor.” I press my forehead against hers. Damn, I have more restraint than my cock gives me credit for, but this craving is consuming me alive.

“You want me, Jagger, Don’t you?”

I rub a hand over my face, hardly feeling any pain now. My cock is stiff as a board. That’s the way it has to be. “Mikayla, you are a virgin, and I’m no fucking angel, Uthando lwami. I’m not gentle and have no idea how to be. I’d slaughter that pretty pussy of yours.”

She opens her mouth to speak, to challenge me in a debate. But my face hardens, I become the ogre she knows me for. I visibly shut myself off from her. My body is unflinching as she slaps my face, and my demeanor even less than apathetic as Mikayla sobs again.

Fuck me, I’ve caused this. There’s more than a kill-head I’ll have to deal with for having my way with Mikayla. Her nation would have their own consequences, too, and I won’t have her faced with that.

For the first time, I almost welcome the loud roar of either one of my motorcycles to that of my beloved truck for our return to The Aria Hotel and Casino. At least with her on the back of my bike, I didn’t have to look into her jaded eyes or hear the same sound my mother made when she disassociated herself with me at my father’s instance.

***

It’s after midnight when Mikayla and I leave Trick’s shop. There are men getting rowdy at the far end of the lot, where the strip club is on the opposing street corner. Two guys are trying to get back inside while a bouncer yells at them to leave. Mikayla takes a few instinctive steps toward me then frowns before reclaiming the distance she had before.

I tell myself not to care and then growl at her to, “Keep up.”

“How many people have you murdered, Jagger?”

219… Never mind, I calculate the men from tonight at 225. “Why?”

“Because I want a picture of exactly how ugly you are,” she says, I don’t take the bait, there’ll be no arguing with this woman. “Beauty is more than skin deep, Jagger. Oh, and I suppose I’m not the picture of beauty to your beast.”

I offer her a confused look.

“Beauty and the beast… I’m not your version of beauty. I’m not the right type that you’d… I retract that, it’s just a silly movie, I mean nothing by it,” she opens the driver side door.

“What are you doing, Mikayla?”

“I’m driving back to the hotel, you need to heal. If I make one wrong turn, feel free to finally put me out of my misery.”

I move toward her, blocking her path from leaving the truck. Instead of addressing me, Mikayla gets inside in one fluid motion. With my organization, we love to murder, but another clause included in any contract is that we can’t screw who’s on the profile - who essentially is the mission. This is usually an issue with female assassins. Fucking Mikayla Bryant would cause a kill-head contract, where assassins can come after me, and I won’t begin to scare her with implications about Zihula and what they do to dishonorable women.

“Move over, Kayla,” I command.

Her lips are bunched as she glares at me right in the eyes.

The screaming at the strip club entrance gets louder. My temple begins to throb harder I nudge my head to the dashboard. “I’m at 225 kills, sweetheart, would you like me to continue to get my numbers up tonight?”

“No, and you won’t. Deactivate the thingamajig you connected to your truck last night.  I’m driving. Someone has to have an ounce of empathy in this damn relationship...uh…in this…dysfunctional…er…association we have going on. So get into the passenger seat, Jagger.”

I stay entrenched within the open door.

“Can you even hold a gun, with the gashes on your hand?”

“Of course. But if I show you, one of those fuckers dies, I have a killer headache.”

Mikayla scoots over and folds her arms. I doubt that her initial fear of me is what got her to comply. And intuition tells me that I’m in the same type of dog house my father occasionally entered during my parents’ marriage. This is why we assassins prefer to shoot the target not hold them hostage. And as a side thought, I will not be giving Mikayla Bryant to the people of Zihula or her Nivean until I am aware of why the African warrior attempted to thwart my job.