Chapter 65 - Jag
I follow Dove through the cartel’s stronghold, every nerve attuned to her presence and the danger around her.
My mind builds maps, exits, and choke points in the corridors and rooms we pass. I mark the places where walls can slide open, panels can drop, and cameras can pivot, searching for seams undetected by the untrained eye.
But I keep losing track of all of that because she’s in front of me.
She navigates this viper nest like she belongs here, her hair braided down her back, and her luscious ass swaying in tiny black shorts, all easy confidence, undaunted by her surroundings.
Her bare feet pad across white marble, her toes and fingers painted the same blue as her hair. Being this close to her, watching her without a camera lens, fucks with my concentration.
The braid is slowly coming loose. A strand slips free, then another. My fingers twitch to fix it for her. I was good at that once.
I pry my gaze away before she realizes how fucking hungry I am for her.
The domestic scents of citrus polish and bleach ride the air. Beneath it lurks the undertow of violence, metallic and faint, the coppered shadow of what happens when debts are collected, and mercy isn’t on the menu.
I track the cameras in the ceilings, the motion sensors out of range, and the armed men positioned in every direction. This place is a machine, built to keep danger outside and control inside, while tucking its teeth behind a smile.
She glances back at me, braid shifting and unraveling, the blue strands catching the light.
How many times have I imagined locking her inside a fortress like this and making her stand in front of floor-to-ceiling glass to watch the world shrink into safety? The thought surfaces with the ache of possibility.
She would be protected here the way the inner circle protects its own, guarded around the clock, and folded into the family.
But she would never be allowed to leave this life.
A marble cage.
That’s precisely why I can’t make it hers.
“This is us.” She pauses at the entrance of a private suite and leans into the retinal scanner.
I need to break into that device and change the security so that only the three of us can enter. But it can wait.
Dove comes first.
The double doors swing open, and I follow her into a massive space with a bedroom and en suite bathroom at one end and a sitting room and kitchenette at the other. Splashes of blue and gold textiles break up the monotony of white marble.
The bed dominates my field of view, wide enough for three bodies without negotiation, dressed in layered linens that look too expensive to touch.
I don’t admire it. I clear it.
My eyes go straight to corners, ceilings, and shadows, looking for places to hide electronics. No visible cameras. No obvious recording devices. Nothing jumps out on a first pass.
The balcony doors open to a citrus grove and the rainforest beyond it.
In the walk-in closet, Wolf’s luggage lines up along the wall, ready to fill shelves and drawers. My single bag sits among the others.
I know Wolf packed an entire closet for me. And for her. Clothes chosen with intention and the assumption of time. Not days. Not weeks.
A while.
Maybe forever.
I cross the suite in long strides, opening doors and testing echoes. The bathroom is outrageous. My largest apartment would’ve fit into one corner of it.
This is more space than I would ever need. More luxury than I could ever give her.
I don’t have a life outside of protecting Dove. I’ve never considered marriage, children, or settling down with someone else. I wouldn’t know how to hold those things without breaking them.
Maybe that’s why no one has ever loved me. Not the way my little bird did all those years ago.
And now there’s Wolf. And the possibility of Dove choosing me again. Maybe this isn’t love by anyone else’s definition, but it feels like it is. It frightens me as much as it thrills me, making my head spin and knocking my balance off center.
“I didn’t request this.” I pause at the foot of the bed, staring at the promise of it. “There were no discussions about sleeping arrangements.”
“I know.” She sits on the corner of the mattress. “Matias told me how it would be.”
“And how is that exactly?”
“He has you locked in. He wants Wolf for some reason, and he made it clear that I’m part of the equation. I have to stay for it all to work.”
“Fuck that.” My neck tenses. “I won’t allow you to be caged by him or this place or anyone. Nobody decides your future except you. If and when you’re ready to leave, I’ll make it happen. Understand?”
“Go shower, Jag.” She stares at her hands on her lap. “Then we’ll talk.”
“Stay in this room.” I leave her there and strip in the bathroom.
In the shower, I let the hot spray pound my skin as my thoughts start to unravel.
Deep down, I know they aren’t going back to Alaska.
Wolf is already mentally and emotionally committed to me and Dove and a life with the cartel.
And the moment I tell Dove about the promise I made to her mother and the twenty years I sacrificed to keep her alive, it will upend everything she stands on.
She’ll need time to process it. Then she’ll forgive me. And she’ll want to stay.
Every instinct I have tells me to take that choice away from her, to lie to her and let her hate me if that’s what sends her running from this place and its teeth.
That’s how I’ve always handled things. I decide for her, absorb the damage, and move us forward, whether she understands or not. That was the job when she was a kid.
But she isn’t anymore.
She’s not my ward. She’s not the little sister who trusted me because she had no alternative. She’s a woman who deserves the truth, even if it drags her deeper into the cartel.
And it isn’t just her and me against the world anymore.
There’s Wolf.
A vote already cast. A third axis I’ll never control. A future already bending around him.
I scrub my hands over my face and down my chest, trying to wash off the instinct to manipulate instead of protect. I have to relearn where my authority ends.
Shutting off the water, I step out, reach for a towel, and freeze.
Dove sits cross-legged on the vanity, watching me with unreadable eyes. I was so buried in my thoughts that I didn’t even hear her sneak in.
“Before we dive into the topic of you and me…” Her gaze lowers down my naked body, lingers on my thigh tattoo, pauses on my hardening cock, and skitters back to my gaze. “I want to address my concerns about Wolf.”
“Go ahead.” I wipe the towel across my skin.
“You read his journal and probably know about his last panic attack.”
“I know I triggered a full-blown breakdown that started on the pier and ended in a freezing shower.”
“Okay.” She nods as if checking off a box. “Good. I don’t know if you and Wolf have already… If you’re, uh…”
“If we’re fucking? No. We’ve been taking it slow. Lots of kissing, touching, and coming.” I drop my voice to a purr. “I’ve had him in my mouth.”
“Oh.” A flush reddens her neck. “He enjoys it, then? Being with you?”
“No question.”
“So… That answers that.” She straightens, bracing her hands behind her on the vanity. “He likes men and women.”
“He’s attracted to you and me. That’s all that matters.”
“When you take the next step, please be careful with him.” She studies me, searching for any hint that I don’t understand what she’s asking. “He was abused by men, and I don’t know how he’ll handle sex with a man or what that means for you and him. I assume you’ll be the… One in control?”
“The top?”
“I guess?”
I spot a pile of folded clothes on the table beside me and lift a brow in question.
She nods and watches me dress beneath the veil of her lashes, her gaze clinging to my tattoo.
“This is weird.” She pulls in a breath.
“Which part?” I drag on briefs, jeans, and an aggressively normal white shirt.
“All of it. Talking about sex, watching you dress, making plans for the future… You know this is weird for us.”
“It is. But it’s necessary.”
“I don’t know much about your sexual history.” She exhales, shoulders loosening a fraction. “Only what I saw when I was younger. The things you did for money, the women in Cracker’s house, and the friends and boyfriends I found you in bed with, all of that was bad. Traumatic.”
“I’m sorry.” I erase the distance and step into her space. “I’ll spend the rest of my life atoning for the pain I inflicted. And yeah, I sold my body for the first five years we lived on the streets. That was the last time I bottomed for anyone.”
She looks up, meeting my eyes head-on. There’s no judgment there. She stares at me with concern and sadness, sparking a strange, new honesty between us.
“With Wolf…” She chews the inside of her cheek. “When you top him, it can’t feel like ownership or pressure. He needs choice. Safety.”
“I understand that.” And I do. More than she knows. “I appreciate you telling me. This—” I gesture between us. “This is vital. The talking and honesty. Instead of circling old land mines, we’re clearing new ground together. Without the yelling and wall punching parts.”
Her mouth curves into a small, uncertain smile. “If we’re going to do this, whatever this is, we can’t pretend the land mines don’t exist.”
“Agreed.”
“When you left Alaska, what did Wolf tell his family?”
“He didn’t dramatize it. He told them to be patient with his absence. Promised he’d be careful. He warned them it could be months before they hear from him.” I pause, choosing the truth carefully. “He told them this is his life now and that he needs their support.”
“Are they freaking out?” She swallows.
“They’re worried. But they see him.” I rest a knuckle under her chin, lifting it. “Wolf’s happy. That’s what they want more than anything else.”
She sits back and fidgets with her unruly braid, her fingers worrying at it as lines form between her eyes. She looks unsettled, out of place, and painfully, irresistibly beautiful.
I want her with every breath in my body, and it’s taking considerable concentration to keep my dick from responding.
“May I?” I nod at her hair.
The look she gives me burns bright and unguarded, illuminating her stunning face. She nods eagerly, letting a glimmer of eight-year-old Dove shine through.
I lift her down from the vanity, set her on her feet, and lead her to the bed. We fall into our customary positions as she sits between my knees, her back to my chest.
With patient hands, I untangle and smooth her soft hair, unable to stop myself from lifting the strands to my nose.
A rush of long-lost fragrances fills my lungs. Clean soap, California sunshine, and warm Dove skin. The scents unleash an avalanche of memories, drowning me in pinkie promises, pockets of stolen peanuts, open windows, and a Trail Cat named Little Jag.
My chest caves in, and stabbing heat pricks the backs of my eyes.
“You’re smelling my hair.”
“I’m reminiscing.” I let the strands fall to her back and steady myself.
“Yeah.” She rests her hands on my knees, where they bracket hers. “Me, too.”
“Ask me the question you always asked back then.” I take a breath, bracing for it. “The one you never let go.”
She stills, her fingers biting into my legs. “Will you tell me about our parents?”
“Yeah. I will.” I part her hair into two neat sections, my hands surprisingly steady.
“Celeste had gentle eyes and long blond hair. Whenever she sang, my skin pebbled in happy goosebumps. Her smile was her best feature. It went all the way to her soul, reflecting her bottomless kindness. That kindness made her even more beautiful. You look just like her. And she was… She was young, Dove. Only fifteen-years-old when she got pregnant with you.”
“What?” Her voice strangles. “How?”
And so I tell her.