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That was Rosie.
And as she was fearless, she wasn’t heartless. No, her big heart was what got her in, and out of trouble. Not one fucking patched member in the entire country blamed her, least of all Jagger.
“I know,” she whispered. “I know what you lost. Because of—”
“You’re gonna stop right fuckin’ there,” Luke hissed, snatching her hand in ruthless tenderness. He brought it to his lips, not giving a fuck about what that kind of thing would look like in front of Jagger and half the club.
Jagger had a respect for the man. Because he didn’t hesitate to kill now, and because he wasn’t trying to get the rest of the club behind bars. And because he wasn’t afraid to show his woman affection, no matter who was watching. What they had, shit, a cold-hearted fucker like Jagger could taste it.
Only because he’d had a version of that sweetness on his tongue, no matter how long ago, that shit embedded itself. Like muscle memory. Like a parasite, sucking away at your soul.
And now he had the source of that sweetness locked in his room at the clubhouse. He was rotting quicker than death.
“This is not your fault,” Luke hissed at his wife, oblivious to the shit swirling in Jagger’s head, oblivious to anyone but the five foot nothing piston wearing a mini skirt and stilettos in a warehouse full of illegal weapons.
“Second that,” Jagger cut in, mostly because he meant it but also he couldn’t witness their shit. However fucked up it was, it was copasetic, and all he had was fucked up. He wasn’t a jealous guy, but for some reason, seeing two people he respected in whatever version of a happy ever after those in this world were afforded made him want to kill someone.
“No way is this your fault,” he said, meaning every word. “You know the men in these charters would’ve done the exact same thing as you, though likely not as effectively.”
She scoffed, looking at him but not letting go of her husband’s hand. “Of course you wouldn’t have been as effective as me.” She paused her bravado fading. “I brought this war to the club.”
“Said stop,” Jagger said roughly. “You are part of this club, your wars are our wars. We’ll fight to our last man.”
There was a chorus of agreements from behind him. Rosie was beloved, feared and respected in every charter in the country.
She rolled her eyes. “Okay, don’t get all Braveheart over it.” She narrowed her eyes. “And stop kidnapping high-ranking members of his crew and torturing and killing them. Unless you get useful information. Which you didn’t. Because you won’t. These men are trained to die before they give up information.”
“Well they’re gonna die regardless, so we were really just being efficient,” Claw cut in with a grin.
Rosie grinned back. “Well as much as I appreciate you trying to be efficient, efficiency could fuck up our whole operation.”
“What operation?” Swiss cut in, not smiling. “We’ve had nothing since this shit happened.”
Rosie didn’t react to the obvious hostility in his tone, despite the fact Luke did, glaring at the man in question and going on guard.
Jagger didn’t blame him. Swiss was a cold motherfucker. Named that way because he was a fucking Swiss Army knife when it came to killing and torturing. He had a plethora of ways to inflict pain and end a life. He wasn’t Army, Navy, or Special Forces. He was a fucking psychopath.
Rosie smiled. “You haven’t anything to do since you’ve been chopping off the digits of high ranking soldiers in the cartel.” She tilted her head. “I know probably peanuts considering your…skills, but we’ll have the rest soon enough. I know none of you have virtues, but pretend you at least have patience, for me?”
Swiss rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth quirked up. Rosie could even charm psychopaths. Which made sense, considering Fernandez kidnapped her and she managed to get out of his clutches without a fucking scratch. Probably one of the first women in history who could boast such a thing.
“Cade know you’re here?” Jagger asked conversationally.
Rosie scowled. “I’m a grown ass woman, he’s not my fucking keeper. He’s got enough to brood about over in Amber, like how shiny his hair is or if his grunts are manly enough.”
“So that’s a no,” Jagger deduced. “He won’t like you taking point on this.”
Understatement of the fucking century. Cade adored his sister, he’d gone through hell with the women in his life and he’d move heaven and more accurately, hell to make sure that happened again. He had a family to protect and Cade was a man who needed to be in control.
Rosie could not be controlled.
“Cade doesn’t like the color pink, but that does not stop his entire house being decorated in that shade since his daughter is currently obsessed with it,” she shot back. “He is not Oz, All Great and Powerful.”
