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JULIET
Not gonna lie, Poppy’s blessing makes me feel a lot better about my relationship with King.
After our first encounter, I wasn’t holding out hope. But now it feels like the two of us turned a corner. Like King and I may actually be able to make this thing between us work.
His strong hand rests on my thigh, and I haven’t been this at peace in a long time. Everything between us is right, and I can breathe again, really breathe.
We turn into the apartment lot, and King backs the truck into a spot close to the stairs. Not that I’m bringing much with me. I don’t have a ton of stuff to begin with, and I’ll need to get boxes to properly move out. For now I plan on packing up my clothes and a few personal items. I’ll come back and get the rest of it later, maybe sell some of the furniture online or something.
Climbing out of the truck, I’m careful not to ding the matte-black Porsche parked next to us. The car definitely costs more than my entire net worth, and in my experience, anyone driving something that flashy is always precious about dents and scratches.
King grabs the rat trap from the back seat, and together we climb the stairs to my apartment. I unlock the front door, push it open slightly, and step aside just in case the rodent squatter decides to make a quick exit. No gray furry flash runs by. I couldn’t get that lucky.
Muffled sound drifts from the apartment, and a chill slithers up my spine. A tinny laugh track echoes down the hall, and I know for a fact I did not leave the television on.
Someone’s in my apartment.
King holds his hand up to my chest, stopping me from entering. As if I was about to anyway. I’m beyond freaked out, between the rat and the possessed TV.
“Let’s just go,” I whisper, ready to hit the stairs. I don’t have anything that valuable anyway.
“Come on in, little sis. I’ve been waiting for you.”
Jagger.
His gravelly voice sends another shiver of fear racing through me.
King doesn’t hesitate, shoving through the door, undeterred by my asshole brother. I follow close behind, praying there’s limited bloodshed.
“What the fuck are you doing in Juliet’s apartment, asshole?” King shoots Jagger a withering glare, the light from the television giving my older brother a garish white glaze. He lost weight in jail, his cheekbones high, pronounced slashes.
“Well, hello to you too, Prince. We meet again.” Jagger doesn’t move from his spot on the couch, legs spread wide. Like he owns the place.
“Get the hell out of here, Jagger,” King growls, fists clenched. The rat trap swings in the air, rattling with King’s barely contained rage.
“And miss all the excitement of the rat hunt? Never.” Jagger’s lips turn up in a sneer, and I’ve never wanted to punch my brother in his smug face as much as I do right now.
“You’re an asshole, Jagger. Leave before I call the cops on you.” I scowl at him, and he laughs. Actually throws his head back and laughs.
I hate him.
“Like I’m scared of cops. Please, little sis. I’m friends with half the force. We have a mutual understanding. A real symbiotic relationship.”
Great. Now Jagger’s got connections within law enforcement. Wonderful.
“I’m a little hurt that you don’t like your new friend. I thought the two of you would get along well, seeing as you have so much in common.” He steeples his fingers, every knuckle inked, and sneers at me.
“Fuck off.” I spit the words at him, my gut quivering with anger.
“I’m gonna give you five seconds to get out of here, Jagger. After that, I’ll make you leave.” King drops the trap on the floor, his jaw tight, the vein in his temple throbbing.
Jagger leans back on the couch, kicking his feet up on the scratched coffee table, arms behind his head. Clearly not leaving.
“That’s it, you little weasel.” King lunges for my brother, jerking him up and off the couch by the shirt collar. But Jagger’s not going down without a fight. He throws a punch at King, knuckles glancing off his cheekbone. King drops hold of Jagger, and the two of them are in a full-blown fight in my living room. Fists fly, each of them making contact with the other’s face. King’s bigger and stronger than my brother, but Jagger’s fast, bouncing out of reach like a skilled boxer. He definitely honed his fighting skills in jail, his feet constantly moving and weaving.
Jagger takes another shot, missing King’s face by an inch as he dodges to the right. King swings at Jagger and lands a punch directly to his left eye. There’s a loud, sickening crunch, and Jagger staggers back, his hand covering his eye socket.
“You fucker! You’re going to pay for this!” Jagger cries, mouth twisted in pain.
