Chapter 24
Not Alone In the Darkness
Lolli-Gag
They took me out of the room screaming, but I heard him. Hillsboro changes when Jagger moves through it. The walls don’t hum the same. The lights don’t flicker, they blink. I giggle as the orderlies start sounding scared.
“He’s coming…” I sing as they strap me down again. Wrists. Ankles. Chest. Like they think the worst thing I can do is sit up. Silly little rabbits. I giggle again, because the worst thing I can do is remember… and I remember everything.
Master D’s deal. The needle. The fake warmth. The dream that tasted like want. The boys smiling at me like I hadn’t been hollowed out while I slept inside a lie.
My head lolls to the side as the room swims. Too white, too clean, and quiet. There’s a dull ache low in my body. Deep and wrong, a stolen kind of pain I don’t understand yet. I don’t like not understanding.
“Jethro?” I whisper, but he’s quiet.
“Someone is coming,” he warns, like he’s watching from somewhere behind my ribs. A smile twitches at my mouth.
“Who?” I ask as the door rattles once then hard enough to make the orderly beside me freeze. Another one reaches for the cart, but it’s too late. The second hit makes the hinges scream, and my breathing catches. That sound—that beautiful, violent sound.
The third hit nearly tears the door from the frame, causing the orderly to curse under his breath. “Secure her!”
I laugh then turn it into a giggle. “You’re in trouble now!” I giggle again as the door bends inward and a shoulder slams through it. Metal shrieks as my smile stretches painfully.
The lock finally gives and then—Jagger. He fills the doorway like a nightmare that learned my name. Bare arms marked and tense. Head shaved. Tattoos shifting over muscle as he breathes like he’s been carved out of rage and sent straight to me.
Our eyes collide and everything stops. Not the alarms. Not the shouting. Not the men scrambling around him. Just me and him. He stands there like he’s been burning alive and I’m the only thing left in the world that matters.
“Riot,” he says, and my smile widens.
“You came,” I say, and his face twists into anger then pain.
“Always,” he states, and the words land in my chest, burrowing so deeply that a lone tear falls from my eye.
The orderlies move, but Jagger doesn’t look away from me when he handles them.
That’s the terrifying part. He never takes his eyes off mine, not once, as bones break and blood splatters against the white walls.
Noise crashes around us. Metal clatters, and someone screams into the floor, but Jagger looks at me like the rest of the world is only weather.
Then he’s at my side. His hands working fast against the straps.
His fingers shake once at the buckle. He hates it, I see it written all over his gorgeous face.
“Who did this?” he growls, and I blink up at him.
“I don't know yet,” I answer, and his jaw flexes.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have,” I say as the wrist strap snaps open and my hand comes free.
He grips it immediately, too tightly that I wince.
Then he loosens, like touching me is a fight he's having with himself.
His thumb drags over my knuckles, causing my throat to close.
“I-I thought you weren't real,” I whisper, and he freezes.
For one breath, the monster in him goes still.
“What?” he says, and I hate the way my eyes burn and the way my voice shakes.
“I looked for you. All of you. They said no one knew your names. They said.” I swallow. “They said I made you up.”
Jagger's face darkens. Not angry. He’s past that. His expression is the kind that makes the air leave the room.
“I’m real,” he growls, and I laugh.
“You sure?” And he leans down so close his forehead nearly touches mine.
“I’m real,” he whispers as his hand closes around mine, bringing it flat against his chest. Under my fingers, his heart pounds.
Hard. Fast. Alive. “Feel that?” he says, and I nod as my fingers curl around his waist. His skin burning with rage.
“Real,” he says again, and I close my eyes. For a second, I let myself believe him.
“Careful,” Jethro warns. No. Not with this. Not right now. I open my eyes and cup Jagger's face.
“They took something from me,” I tell him as the words leave my mouth before I truly understand them. He stills and his gaze drops over me. Assessing the damage.
“What?”
“I don’t know.” My voice trembles. “I don’t know, and that’s worse,” I say as his hand moves to the chest straps, then he stops and looks at me.
“Can I?” he asks, and that nearly ruins me. Of all the ugly, monstrous, bloody things this man has done today, that is what cracks something open. A question—a choice.
“Yes.” I nod, and he unbuckles it. The pressure leaves my ribs, and I take a deep breath, wincing. He works quickly on my ankle straps, then I’m free. My body doesn’t feel like mine. It feels borrowed, drugged, and used. Jagger notices and he steps closer.
“Can you walk?” he asks, and I smile.
“Probably.”
“Bad answer.”
“Again, it’s the only one I have,” I say, then he scoops me up before I can argue.
I yelp, but not from fear, from the pain between my legs, and maybe relief, because I’m in his arms. Safe.
I’m fucking safe with him. His arms lock under me, solid and hot.
I stare at his throat—at the pulse dancing in his neck.
“You smell like smoke,” I whisper, and he chuckles.
“I broke a door,” he states, and I giggle.
“Just one?” I ask, and his mouth twitches.
“There were a few,” he whispers, and I laugh. It hurts but it's so worth it.
He carries me toward the broken doorway. The hall beyond is red with alarms and chaos. Patients screaming. Guards shouting. Locks slamming open and closed like the building can’t decide whether to keep us in or spit us out. Jagger pauses in the threshold. His arms tighten around me.
“Tell me who touched you.”
I look up at him and smile. I could point him at the world and giggle while he tears it open, but all I can do is snuggle deeper into him. “Don’t leave me,” I beg, and the rage in his eyes falters. Something else takes place. Something raw.
“I won’t.”
“Everyone does,” I whisper.
“I’m not everyone,” he says.
“They’ll take you again,” I say, running my finger along his jaw.
“Then I’ll come back again,” he growls, tightening his hold on me.
“What if I can’t find you?” I ask.
“Then I’ll make enough noise for you to hear me,” he says, his voice rough against my ears. I shiver, but close my eyes, knowing he will never let anyone hurt me. That shouldn't be romantic but it is. It’s the most beautiful thing anyone has ever promised me.
A crash erupts down the hall and Jagger turns, shielding me with his body. Three guards round the corner, and he lowers me carefully to my feet but keeps one arm around my waist when my knees wobble.
“Stay behind me,” he says, and I tilt my head.
“That’s Vinny’s line.” I giggle, and his mouth curls, showing all his teeth.
“Then he can fight me for it,” he growls as something inside me warms. Wrong time, wrong place but right feeling.
The guards advance as Jagger rolls his shoulders. The voice in him is there. I can see it. Sitting under his skin. Begging. But he doesn’t move. Not until he glances at me—a question without words. I smile. Lolli again.
“Go on, Big Bad,” I whisper. “Be loud. Then once we’re done here, I want you all to myself.”
He grins, and then he crashes into them and the hallway erupts. I lean against the wall. Breath shaking, body weak, but my heart is wild.
“He came for you,” Jethro whispers as I watch Jagger fight like the world owes him blood.
“Yeah, he did,” I say as my smile trembles. For once, Jethro doesn’t ruin it. For once, I let myself feel it.
Jagger finishes and turns back to me, breathing hard, eyes frantic until they land on me. Blood. So much fucking blood.
He spins the knife in his hand through his fingers, then reaches for me again, and I step into him as he wraps his arms tightly around me. I rest my head against his bare chest, listening to his heart drum. “You’re real,” I whisper as his hand slides to the back of my head, holding me in place.
“Yeah, Little Riot, and so are you.”
Down the hall, another alarm starts screaming, and Jagger lifts his head then his body tenses.
The moment is over. The war is not. But when he pulls back, he doesn’t let go of my hand.
Not this time. Not even when the lights cut out or when the hall goes black—not even when something in the dark starts laughing.
Jagger squeezes my fingers, and I smile into the darkness.
Because now… I don’t have to walk through it alone.