Chapter 32 Jagger
JAGGER
What the hell is he doing here? Keeping my pace steady, I stride closer as Violet’s deadbeat of a father offers Ford a couple rumpled twenties.
How the hell did he know where to meet up tonight?
I’m too surprised. We might only give details to a few specific people, but word travels fast, and the cops have no issue turning a blind eye to our activities.
Honestly, we usually abide by the whole, the more the merrier sentiment, using the invitations as a way to attract more curiosity.
More interest. The only time it’s an issue are in circumstances like this.
“I’m good for the rest,” Virgil slurs to Ford. “You know I am—”
“Go home,” I interrupt.
If my brother’s surprised by my interruption, he doesn’t show it. Folding his arms across his chest, Ford leans back, letting me take the lead as he stands on the edge of the pavement, surrounded by other people waiting to place their bets for the evening.
“The race hasn’t started yet,” Violet’s dad argues.
“I said, go home,” I repeat. “We’re not taking any more bets. Not from you.”
“Bullshit!” Spittle flies from his mouth, and I can smell the whiskey from here. “My money’s as good as—”
“No.” I keep my voice low and controlled.
Like I’m not gnawing at the opportunity to teach the bastard a lesson right here, right now, when I’d give anything to take this motherfucker out back and beat the shit out of him until he pees blood for a week.
It doesn’t matter that I've already delivered retribution. It wasn’t enough then, and it sure as shit isn’t enough now. “Go home.”
Ignoring me, Virgil turns back to my little brother. “Come on, Ford. I’ll give you eighty now, and if I lose, which I won’t, I’ll drop off the rest like I did last time. You know I’m good for it—”
Aaaand, I’ve heard enough.
My hand finds the front of his sweat-soaked shirt, and I drag him toward me, bringing us nose-to-nose.
“You’re done here, old man,” I warn. “Now, get the hell off my property.”
Eyes glazed with tenacity, he spits back at me, “We’re not on your property. We’re in The Drift, motherfucker.”
The Drift? He thinks the fucking Drift can protect him? He had it locked and loaded, didn’t he? With a low chuckle, I squeeze the fabric of his shirt even more, cinching it around his throat. “Is that right?”
“Yeah.” His upper lip curls. “And you’re nothing but Harden scum.”
Scum? What I wouldn’t give to have a mirror on this bastard so he could see what scum really is.
Abusive little bitch.
Shifting in my periphery, Ford crosses his arms, and I realize we’re drawing attention. Everyone’s staring, and people are moving closer. They’re waiting to see what I'll do. How I’ll handle the situation. Guess it makes sense. We’re causing quite the scene. If only I cared.
A sheen gathers along Virgil’s forehead and upper lip as I keep my grip firm. I tilt my head, examining it. The fucker’s wasted. Nervous. And wasted.
What am I going to do with you?
My attention shifts to the crowd closing in on the street. It reminds me of the time I’ve spent in the ring. The charge in the air. The curiosity. Good. Let them look. Let them witness what happens when someone decides not to play by our rules.
Shifting the overweight asshole to my left hand, I cock my right back, close my fist, and deliver a brutal blow beneath his eye.
My knuckles groan in protest, but I savor the familiar feeling as his head slams to one side from the force.
Hell, it’s such a hard hit, I have no doubt he would fall to his ass if I wasn't holding him in place by the collar of his stained clothes. Now, he’s nothing but my own personal punching bag.
And this is why we don’t allow cameras.
My mouth lifts, and another low chuckle claws up my throat as more people gather around us. “Hear that everyone? This motherfucker thinks we’re nothing but Harden scum. Right, asshole?” I seethe.
Gathering the saliva in his mouth, Virgil spits onto my face, so I hit him again, pulling a few, “Oh, shits” from the spectators.
“Look around, old man.” I wipe the spit off my face. “I own everything. Every. Fucking. Thing. Including your future if you decide to keep pushing your luck. Tell me you understand.”
His glare would make most men cower, but I simply smile back at him, daring him to pull the same bullshit from two seconds ago.
When he stays quiet, I add, “Good.” I let him go.
“Now, get the hell out of here. You’re banned from placing a bet or attending any of these events ever again. Understand?”
Crimson dribbles at the edge of his mouth until he spits it onto the pavement at my feet. “Fuck you.”
With a subtle shake of my head, I grab him again and drag him into me until we’re nose-to-nose once more. “I see you? I kill you,” I warn, keeping my voice low enough for only him to hear before bellowing, “Roman!”
Like a ghost, my best friend appears out of nowhere and takes hold of Virgil’s shoulders, removing the worthless bag of bones from my grasp. “Come on, old man.” He drags him away as Violet’s father hurls obscenities like they’re confetti.
I wasn’t kidding. What I said to him. Hell, I’m tempted to change my mind and end his life right here.
Right now. Not only for what he did to Violet, but as a warning for anyone else who even thinks about following in his footsteps and hitting a defenseless person the way he did.
The way my father did until we learned how to fight back.
My hands clench at my sides as I watch Virgil’s sausage legs kick and twist before disappearing into the abandoned hangar.
When his curses finally fade, Ford claps me on the shoulder, shaking the red from my vision.
I blink in an attempt to focus on the present instead of being lost in the past while Ford stares at me.
It only lasts a second, then I give him a cocky smirk, sliding right back into my usual persona while placating my youngest brother as if to say, Yeah, I’m good.
Satisfied, Ford cups his hands over his mouth. “Bets close in ten minutes! Ten minutes only! Let’s get this party started!”
And just like that, it’s as if the altercation never happened.
People go back to sipping their drinks and searching their pockets for a bit of extra cash they can hand to Ford before the race starts.
Stepping back, I give my brother room to work his magic and squeeze a bit more money out of the people who aren’t here for the party, but to lighten their pockets.
My attention catches on the pretty blonde standing next to Roman’s ride.
She stayed.
Honestly, I’m still shocked she came in the first place.
I thought she would. Hoped she would. But I didn’t want to jinx it, let alone look desperate, so instead of receiving confirmation from the source, I kept my distance and counted down the days to tonight.
Seeing her in my hoodie a few minutes ago was like dumping gasoline on an already raging fire.
Now, she looks…guarded. Her arms are folded, and her head is down, but those eyes?
Those coffee-colored eyes are pinned on me and only me.
I’d give anything to know what she’s thinking, but her thoughts are locked up tight.
Too tight. Is she mad? There’s a difference between witnessing violence during an organized event and on the street.
There’s also a difference when the violence is directed toward someone you know, let alone someone you’re related to.
Is she pissed I intervened? I head in her direction, keeping my movements slow and unhurried.
Nodding to someone from the football team.
Smiling at a group of girls when they call my name.
But I don’t stop my pursuit until I’m nearly chest-to-chest with Violet.
I know the promise I made to my brothers.
I also know that as soon as those three weeks are up, the facade will drop, and people will see us together.
They can count on it. Besides, it’d be stranger if I wasn’t talking to a girl at a party.
So what if it’s Violet? We met in Econ. I was impressed by her badassery in the haunted house.
Then, when she showed up tonight, I made a move and… yeah. Yeah, it works, right?
She smells the same. Floral and honey. My fingers itch to reach out and pull her closer, but I don’t. I can’t. Not here. Not yet. Not after the display I just showed in front of everyone.
“You okay?” I ask as the memory of her bruises takes me hostage all over again.
“Why’d you do it?” Violet whispers. “Why’d you kick him out?”
“Did you want him to stay?” I push.
“That’s not an answer.”
“I could say the same thing.” Gently, I nudge her chin with my bruised knuckles until she’s forced to look at me. “Did you want him to stay, Little Thief?”
She shakes her head. “No,” she breathes out. “No, I didn’t want him to stay.”
“And now, he’s gone.”
“Yeah, but why’d you kick him out?” she pushes. “He would’ve given you money. Free money, since he’s a shit gambler and would’ve lost.”
I bite back my smile, well aware she’s not wrong. “I don’t want his money.”
“You’re a Harden.”
“And?”
“All Harden men want money.”
“Maybe money isn’t everything.”
“Says the Harden,” she replies, emphasizing my last name as if it’s tattooed into my skin.
And maybe it is. Sure, my last name has opened more doors for me and my brothers than a name has any right to, but it’s also messed with our heads in a way I’m not sure anyone will ever fully understand.
Not even me. I push the reminder away. “You sure you’re okay? ” I ask.
Her lips bunch on one side, but I don’t miss the way she looks down at the ground instead of meeting my gaze. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”
She’s not, and even though I want to push her on it, I won’t. “Come on,” I offer. “Let’s go for a walk.”
“And miss the festivities?” she volleys.
“Hawke will fill me in.”
“Jagger, I’m fine.”
My hand finds the small of her back despite the witnesses surrounding us. Call me a selfish bastard, but it’s getting harder and harder to care. “Come on, Vi.”