Chapter 42
The parking garage attached to Aegis smells like oil, exhaust, and the faint metallic tang of rain that never fully dries. My steps echo as Jagger leads me through the rows of parked vehicles, his hand firmly wrapped around mine, like he’s afraid if he lets go, I might disappear from his life.
We come to a stop beside a car, the glossy red paint catching the overhead fluorescent lights, the headlights flashing when he presses his key fob. I blink, confused, as I look from the car to him and back to the car.
“Really?” I say, deadpan. “Did you forget to tell me you already have a family at home?”
He turns toward me, genuinely offended. “What is that supposed to mean?”
I gesture vaguely at the vehicle. “I didn’t expect you to drive a dad wagon.”
His mouth drops open for half a second before snapping shut. “This is not a dad wagon.”
I lift an eyebrow, unconvinced, as he opens my door. “It’s practically a station wagon, Jagger.”
Slowly, his lips curl into a dangerously addictive grin. “First of all, her name is Stella. Second, Stella goes from zero to one hundred in under ten seconds.”
“Oh,” I sass sweetly. “So she’s an overcompensating dad wagon.”
A rich, deep laugh rises from his chest as he pulls the door wider. “Get in the car, Doc.”
I do, still smirking. Beneath me, the leather seat is cool. The interior is immaculate, clean lines, subtle accents, and understated luxury. He slides into the driver’s seat and starts the engine. It doesn’t roar. It purrs. And it’s sexy.
I barely latch my seatbelt before he peels out of the parking spot, tires squealing as we rocket toward the exit.
“Jagger!” I squeal, laughter ripping out of me before I can stop it.
He grins wider, one hand steady on the wheel, the other settling lazily on my thigh. Possessive in the most tender way.
The city whizzes past us as he drives fast but precise, threading through the streets with the kind of ease that tells me he knows this place by heart. He hooks a hard right onto the onramp, and he punches it when we hit the highway.
The acceleration steals the breath from my lungs as it momentarily pins me to my seat.
“Oh my God.” I giggle, my head tipping back against the seat. “You are crazy.”
“Still think it’s a dad wagon?” he mocks with bright, playful eyes.
I glance at the speedometer and then very deliberately look away. “I withdraw my earlier statement under duress.”
He chuckles, his thumb brushing against my leg in a way that sends heat straight up my spine. Ahead of us, the city stretches out, glass and steel catching the early light.
The drive doesn’t take long. He veers off the highway, takes a series of quick, confident turns through quieter streets, then swings sharply into another parking structure, tires squealing again, just to prove a point. He parks with surgical precision and kills the engine.
I’m still laughing as I unbuckle. “Fine. Stella is… a bad bitch. And definitely not a dad wagon.”
He beams as he rounds the car, opens my door, and offers his hand. I take it, letting him pull me up. He doesn’t let go as he guides me toward the elevator. Once we’re inside, the doors slide shut with a soft chime, sealing us in the quiet, humming box.
Behind me, he wraps his arms around my shoulders and tenderly pulls me against his chest. The contact is gentle, and I let my head tip back just enough to rest against him. “You okay?” he whispers with his chin on the top of my head.
I close my eyes and let out a soft sigh. “Yes. Very okay.”
“Good.” His chin stays against my hair as the elevator glides upward, numbers ticking by.
When the doors open, he guides me down a quiet hallway, plush carpet muffling our steps.
He pauses at a door numbered 1712, pulls out his keys, and unlocks it.
He steps aside, gesturing grandly. “Welcome home.”
I step inside and stop in my tracks.
The apartment opens up in a way that feels almost cinematic. High ceilings. An open floor plan that flows seamlessly from living space to dining area to kitchen. Sunlight pours in through floor-to-ceiling windows, washing everything in a gold hue.
The kitchen alone is enough to make my heart stutter, sleek countertops, high-end appliances, and a massive island that looks like it’s never been used for anything more complicated than coffee and whiskey.
It’s gorgeous. Immaculate. And a complete waste on a man who lives on takeout, protein bars, and semi-burnt grilled cheese sandwiches.
The décor is tasteful but unmistakably masculine. Clean lines. Dark woods. Steel and glass. The walls are a deep shade of gray and devoid of any art. Actually, there isn’t a feminine touch anywhere. No throw pillows. No unnecessary décor .
I walk straight to the windows without thinking, my breath catching at the panoramic view of the city. The skyline glows, buildings layered into the distance like a painting you could get lost in.
“It’s beautiful!” I exclaim quietly. Glancing over my shoulder at him, a smile tugs at my mouth. “It’s a far cry from that shithole in Jadiriah.”
He snorts. “I had a feeling you’d appreciate the upgrade.” I turn slowly, finding he has discarded his jacket and is watching me. He reaches for my hand, lacing our fingers together. “I haven’t even shown you the best part yet.”
“Oh?” I tease. “That’s a bold claim, given the view.”
He doesn’t answer. Just turns and gently tugs me with him, leading me across the apartment toward a hallway I haven’t explored yet. My pulse picks up with every step, with anticipation that makes me feel almost lightheaded.
With a panty-dropping smirk, he opens the door. I grin, letting him pull me into the bedroom. It’s simple but clean, with a king-sized bed covered in a soft-looking duvet. It’s a worlds away from the lumpy mattress and threadbare sheets we’ve been sleeping on for the past week.
“Much better,” I mumble to myself, my eyes scanning the room.
“Much,” he agrees, turning me to face him. His hands settle on my waist, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin just above the waistband of my jeans. “Now, where were we?”
“I believe you were about to sweep me off my feet and carry me to the bed,” I tease. “Or has that gunshot wound made you forget your chivalrous tendencies?”
His eyes narrow playfully. “Is that a challenge, Doc?”
“Maybe.” I shrug. “Guess you’ll have to find out.”
Without another word, he scoops me into his arms, lifting me as if I weigh nothing at all. I wrap my arms around his neck, laughing when he spins us in a slow circle. But all joviality dies in my throat when I feel him tense, a sharp hiss escaping between his teeth.
“Jagger. Put me down. You’re going to hurt yourself.”
He shakes his head, his jaw tight with pain, but his eyes remain determined. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not,” I insist, trying to wiggle free of his grip. “That wound is still fresh, and you’re putting too much strain on it. Put me down before you rip those stitches out.”