Jagger: A Caldwell Brothers Novel (4 page)

I see the green ribbon out of my peripheral, and then it’s gone.

Fucking ridiculous. I am absolutely ridiculous. This girl is a
girl,
and she’s not even really here, yet I’m convincing myself I see her. Utter bullshit.

“You did it, man!” My brothers are at my sides, holding my arms in the air as the announcer tells the audience what I already know: I’m the fucking champion.

I look down at Cobra, who is still lying there, but now he’s surrounded by his fucking thugs. I taste the blood pooling in my mouth and spit it out, making sure it lands by the fucker’s head.

“You better watch your back, Caldwell,” Cobra’s right hand, Tins, barks at me.

I bounce a little, trying to get rid of this post-fight overabundance of energy, the high, the rush.

“Your man should have watched his front.” I spit again, this time the blood landing at Tins’s feet.

He stands up. “You lowlife piece of shit.”

I beckon him with my hands and pound my chest. “Step, man. Step the fuck up. I’ve got a right for you too.”

“Fuck. Let’s get him out of here,” I hear Hendrix groan to Morrison.

“Get me out of here? I’m the motherfucking champion!” I say, still bouncing from my high.

“Come on, champ.” Old man Shaw smacks me in the back. “Let’s get you paid.”

“
Us
paid.” I nod. “It’s a big one, Shaw.”

“I know it is, Jagger. I know it is.”

Hendrix gets a call while Shaw and I are waiting for the moneyman.

“Go.” I point to him as I pull on a pair of gray sweats. “We’ll be fine. Both of you.”

“Go on,” Shaw says. “Get back to that bar of yours and get ready for a good night. We’ll bring a crowd with us. I’ve got seven of my guys from the gym here. Nothing’s going to happen except our boy is gonna get paid, and then, if luck will have it, the champ will get laid, blow off some steam, and be at Caldwell’s.”

“You coming down too?” Hendrix asks, gripping Shaw’s shoulder.

“You buying?”

“Yeah.” Hendrix laughs and gives him a half-hug, then points at me. “You made me proud tonight.”

“You made us both proud and made us some bank, too.” Morrison gives me a fist bump.

I nod, then pull my sweatshirt on over my head as a couple guys walk in and hand my brothers the envelopes with their winnings.

I have been waiting for this day for a long fucking time. I bet five grand on the underdog, and guess who won?

“I’m gonna run home and shower,” I tell Shaw, handing over an envelope after the moneyman makes his way to me.

He holds his hand up, which kind of shocks me. “I tell you every time that I don’t want your damn money. I want a win.”

“It’s been awhile since you’ve argued about money. Let me remind you, I tell you every time that I’ll stop coming if you don’t take it.” I pat him on the back and push the envelope in his hand. “Let’s roll.”

I grab my helmet out of Shaw’s Tahoe, having left it there so no one fucked with it during the fight, and then I walk down the alley to where I parked my bike.

She and I have a history. It took two years to build her back up and get her running the way she should. We didn’t use replacement parts. We dug through junkyards and flipped through salvage sites to bring her back to her original glory. The black and red, 1974 Harley-Davidson FLH Shovelhead Special. Okay, she really isn’t special except to me.

I straddle her and am about to turn the key when I see something move behind the Dumpster. I drop the helmet on the seat, then quietly walk over to where the movement came from.

“If you want trouble, he’s right here. Face-to-face, pussy.”

Nothing.

I walk over and blindly reach in the corner and grab what I assume is one of Cobra’s scum.

“Don’t hit me,” comes out in a whimpered plea.

“Then get your ass out here.” I half-drag the punk under the light and pull the hood off his head.

“What the hell?” I say, shocked when I see the object of my every fucking fantasy. “Tatiana?”

“Let go of me!” she says with a little more sass behind her words.

Regretfully, I let go of her arm and put my hands in the air. “I didn’t know who it was.”

She starts to move left to get around me, so I step forward. Her back hits the brick wall of the building, and I rest my hand on it, next to her head.

“You okay? He didn’t hurt you again, did he?”

When she moves right, instinct kicks in, and my other hand goes to the other side of her, caging her in. Her eyes dart everywhere, looking for escape, and then the flight response I know so well turns to nothing.

Her head hangs low, and she says nothing.

“Did he hurt you again?”

She looks up, anger displayed in her eyes. “You’re a bad man.”

Her words shock me. “Come again?”

“Y-you tricked me. I thought you were good. You aren’t. You’re like him. You are a bad man,” she says, now on the verge of tears.

“I’d never hurt anyone.”

“You hurt him, knocked him out. You are just like
him
.” Her voice is pained, and she is nearly shaking.

I feel an overwhelming need to explain myself to calm her. It pisses me off. I’m nothing like him. “That’s how I make money.” I shake my head. “Again, I would never hurt anyone for shits and giggles or because I was a bad drunk or because I was a shitbag excuse for a human being.”

“It’s never okay to put your hands on someone,” she says, trying to sound courageous.

“Listen to me and listen to me well, little one. I know what it’s like to be knocked around. My old man was a lot like yours. I am not, nor will I ever be, like that.” I step back and cross my arms, trying to tame my frustration.

“You don’t put your hands on—”

Still high on the adrenaline, the win, and now the desire I have coursing through my veins, I reach out and cup her cheek. She tenses at first, but then I stroke my thumb across her scar, and she closes her eyes, making me more aroused.

“There’s good touch and bad touch,” I tell her.

She leans in to my hand a little.

“This is good touch, Tatiana. Can you feel how good it is?”

She nods slowly two times.

“That’s a good girl.” I feel my cock growing inside my sweats, and I lean forward, then put my lips against her other cheek, kissing her softly as I whisper, “This is good touch.”

When she turns her head to look at me, the corners of our lips connect, and I groan.

“This is really good touch.”

Her lips pucker and press against mine, and it takes every ounce of strength I have to pull back.

“Did he hurt you again, little one?”

“I’m not little.” She is angry again, but so am I, at myself.

“You’re a minor. If you weren’t, that kiss would have turned into an unforgettable touch.”

“You like to hit people. I saw it.”

“I fight for money, little one, but I’m not into bad touch.” The ache deep inside me, the one that is burning in my balls, coupled with the high, the need to conquer, is almost unstoppable.

I lean in and nuzzle her neck. Then I scrape my teeth lightly on her skin, using every ounce of restraint I have not to sink them into her, consume her, fighting the unstoppable that wants to take this little one against the fucking wall.

“I crave good touch.”

She whimpers, her face pressing against mine.

“Tonight’s trophy fuck, Hit-
taker
?” I lurch back when I hear his voice. “Enjoy it. In three weeks, she’ll be on my dick, and the title will be back in my hands unless you’re too much of a pussy.”

I turn, holding her in place behind me, shielding her, protecting her. Fuck, I want to claim her, but she’s not mine to claim; she’s no one’s. She’s seven-damn-teen.

“Shove your dick back between your legs, Cobra. You lost, so now walk away,” I growl as I step back, making sure she is safe between the wall and me, making sure he doesn’t see her.

“Give me your word, Caldwell, and I’ll walk.”

“I don’t back down from a fight, but I ain’t giving you shit. Have your bitches contact Shaw, and I’ll be there.”

“If he ain’t man enough to give it to you good, angel, I’ll give it to you,” Cobra says as he walks away, limping.

Once he is out of sight, I grab her hand. “I need to get you somewhere safe.”

She looks confused.

“Are you ready to talk to the cops now?”

She shakes her head and darts left, but I catch her arm.

“You aren’t any safer up against the scum that hangs around here than you are with him, little one.”

“I have to go home.”

“How am I supposed to let that happen? I can’t let you keep getting the shit pounded out of you.”

“He isn’t hitting me as much anymore. I have it all under control.”

“Meaning what?” I still see marks.

“He sleeps, and I can breathe.” She tries to walk past me again, and again I grab her arm.

“You have to get the fuck out of there. I promise I’ll make sure you are taken care of.”

“You
have
been taking care of me.”

The way she says it confuses me.

“I don’t think that’s enough.”

“The things you leave me…they have changed my life. He eats; I sleep. But I have to go.” She surprises me by reaching up and kissing me quickly. “Thank you for everything you have done for me. Until you, no one cared.”

“That’s not true. You didn’t
let
anyone care.” I don’t want her thinking I’m a fucking hero. That’s never the way I want to be viewed by a girl I want to bust apart.

“I have to go.” She hesitates, and then determination fills her features. “Now.”

I grab her hand and pull her toward my bike. Then I put the helmet on her while she stands there, giving me those dreamy eyes.

I should tell her what she sees isn’t what I am, but fuck if I didn’t just convince her I wasn’t an abuser myself.

“I’ll get you there.” I straddle my bike. “Climb on and hang tight.”

She follows my command, and I start her up, then rev the engine and give it some gas. As Tatiana holds on more tightly, I go faster.

While I take the long way to her place, her prison, her hell, her body is wrapped around me securely. If I dismounted right now, I know she would still be attached.

I stop a block away, not wanting to wake the bastard whose life I will end if given the opportunity again.

She climbs off, and I get off to help her with the helmet.

“Do you know how to call 911?”

She shakes her head. “We don’t have a phone.”

“Fuck,” I snap as I run my fingers through my hair. “You will have one.”

She looks confused as she walks away.

She stops right before she crosses the road to the roach fucking hotel. “Thank you.”

Bad touch. Bad touch.
That is all I can think as each hit comes.

It has been three weeks since I snuck away and watched Jagger fight, and my mind has run rampant after that night.

Every time I touch my lips, I feel the ghost of his against mine. My first kiss. I have read about them, dreamed of the day my prince would come and save me, but my reality is a far cry from a book. The first person to ever care about my well-being also happens to be a man who makes money fighting. Yet, he says he craves good touch.

Well, so do I, Jagger Caldwell. So do I.

I was so busy today, I forgot about the pills that put Father to sleep. I was in a rush with dinner tonight. Things with schoolwork or the building’s needs had to come first.
Tonight,
I promise myself. I will face my fears, and tonight I will find a way out. If I can move when he’s done, that is.

“It feels good to beat the shit out of you,” Father slurs as I remain crouched in the corner of our living room. “Disobedient girl! The tasks are not hard: clean, cook, and stay out of the way.”

“Father, two apartments were having leaks, and I couldn’t find you since we have no phone. I had to do something,” I whine, hoping he can see reason.

I left our apartment to help our tenants who complained of a water leak in their closets. This meant going to the apartments above the two with damage to try to determine where the leak came from. Since I am certainly not a plumber, I broke multiple rules today when, first, I left my apartment, and second, I used his computer for something other than schoolwork. I am only permitted to use it when he is home and it pertains to school. He only allows me this privilege because it is a law that I attend some form of school here in America. If I don’t complete the homeschool curriculum online and pass, he says the government will send me back to Mother Russia. Everything is always done with a threat of ending up in our homeland that I can’t even remember.

“Don’t you ever fucking talk back to me—do you hear? You cost me money! You are like all of the other American losers,” he roars, his hand coming down across the top of my head.

At least I have some reprieve in this nightmare. The alcohol has made him sloppy tonight. The blows come, but they don’t seem to make their target, and the impact is less than usual. I can only hope he drank throughout the day and will soon exhaust himself, then pass out.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper right before a hit comes hard and fast to my face. My nose gushes blood as my cheek burns. “Momma,” I cry out instinctively, unable to remain quiet. I know this is his way of discipline, the old way—children are seen, not heard. My helping our tenants undermines his position and I know this, but no one understands. The tenants want things done and I thought I could help. He is in charge. He is the power figure. I did wrong in stepping in.

“Oh, your momma can’t help you, child! She’s dead, you see,” he slurs, and his words make my mind go wild. He laughs as I peer up at him. “Ana, you foolish girl, that is why we left Russia. All these years, I got away with it. Your momma can’t save you. As much as she tried, she failed.”

“What?” I question, the word slipping out before I can silence myself. Father killed her, is that his implication?

Humor dances in his drunken eyes. He finds my pain amusing. “You wouldn’t quit crying. Over and over, I told her to shut you up, but you didn’t. When she laid you in the crib, you got louder, and for every cry you made, she paid the price.”

I gasp at his admission, shocked at this with hate building inside of me. I am the reason she is gone. My mother paid the ultimate price for her love of me and protecting me. Anguish creeps in and I push back my emotions as the fear takes over again.

He sways in front of me as I prepare for him to hit me again. Only he doesn’t.

Instead, he crouches down in front of me, cupping my chin and forcing me to look at him. The smell of alcohol coming off his breath makes my stomach churn.

“She’s dead, Ana, and it’s all your fault. She hit her head on the corner of your crib as she fell.”

Tears fill my eyes. She was trying to protect me, to soothe me.

“Once she hit the floor, you fell asleep. I waited and waited for her to wake up.” His eyes look away as if he’s thinking back to that very moment. I want to run, I want to cry, I want to scream, and I want him to hurt. His tone goes from distant to sharp with anger. “She didn’t, but you did. Then we left. So cry out to your momma all you want. She couldn’t save you then, and she won’t save you now.”

Before I can react, brace, block, or even think about his next move, his backhand comes crashing down on my face. I slump into the wall as I see stars dance behind my eyelids.

“You are mine,” he roars as he stands over me. “No one can save you from me.” His fist comes down on my temple, and blackness engulfs me.

I don’t know how much time passes before sounds swim around me as I try to come to. The pounding in my head doesn’t stop me from feeling the pounding he is giving my body.

“Flesh of my flesh,” he chants, slamming a fist into my side as I lie slumped over. “Blood of my blood. It was all good until you came. She wanted a baby. I gave her you, and you took her from me, so I took her from you.” The words run together as he swings sloppily, hitting the floor instead of me.

I fight to breathe and stay awake. My mother is gone. There isn’t any other piece of me in this world except the monster over me.

As each hit comes, I can only hope this will be the last.

Is that how my mother felt in the end? I would rather die than continue to live like this. The next hit comes so hard my head bounces off the floor and slams down again as the pain radiates down my neck.

Give me the death blow,
I think to myself.
Take me out of this world
.
One can only dream
is my last thought as I take a hit to the head that sends me back into darkness.

Fight or flight is my first thought as I come to. The apartment is dark now, as it is late into the night. I blink, trying to allow my eyes to adjust as my head throbs in severe pain. I reach up to find my face covered in dried blood. Every breath hurts; every muscle aches.

As I try to get myself together, my eyes come into focus, and in front of me is the monster who took my mother away, the monster who has tortured me from the day I was born. He is snoring loudly on the floor in front of me.

O-U-T, out.

This is my chance, my opportunity.
Fight or flight?
rings in my hurting head.

Flee!
my instincts scream.
Get out before he wakes up and kills you like Momma.

The fear of staying, of what he is truly capable of, finally outweighs my fear of the unknown. He has held me back all these years, threatening me with a place I can’t remember. We have no family, at least that I know of. Certainly someone would have looked for me, right? He killed my mother. Accident or not, she died at his hands. Nothing can stop him from killing me should he get pushed too far. I have to get out of here…and fast.

I stand, fighting the urge to rush. I can’t wake him, or I will never get out, and I won’t die at his hands like my mother did. I refuse.

When all else fails, the streets have to be safer than staying here. If he remembers what he told me, I will be dead for sure.

Fight or flight, Tatiana!
I have no fight left in me.

Quickly but quietly, I grab my packed and hidden treasures along with the cash I have saved from Jagger’s gifts. Hiding them all this time from Father has kept everything together, making this much faster for me than I thought possible.

Jagger Caldwell. At the same time he scares me, he also seems to be my only hope. He fights for money, not for revenge…therein lies the difference.

I pull the well-worn business card out of the shoes he gave me before I slip them on. Jagger Caldwell.

My mind races as I step over the passed-out body of my father.
Please don’t wake up. Please don’t wake up.

Jagger Caldwell.

I focus my mind on my one escape. No one else ever stepped in. No one else ever seemed to care. They have heard the sounds, they have seen the marks, and yet only one person ever stepped in.

Jagger Caldwell.

I run my fingers over the tattered paper of the business card. It’s time to find my way to Caldwell’s.

I can do this. I have no other choice.
Be strong, Tatiana. Be strong.