Jagger: A Caldwell Brothers Novel (9 page)

It’s a damn good thing,
I think to myself as I lie back on the couch in the apartment above the gym. It’s a really damn good thing consent was fucking given because I can’t even hear her voice without nearly busting out of my jeans.

Regardless, I’m not going to go balls deep, not at first, anyway. She is too damn eager, and that scares the shit out of me. Being raised like I was proved to be hell, but I had Momma, and I had my brothers. She didn’t have shit except an abusive fuck who beat on her. I need her strong—first for her and then for me.

Some men need to break a woman to build them up the way they want them. I watched my old man break my mom down over and over. When she got stronger, he beat her more, trying his best to own her. I always thought that was just the way it was for some people. I also always knew it wasn’t fucking right.

You hear shit at school, on TV, or read about how if you were abused, especially men, you will likely be an abuser. Even though Momma stayed—I assume out of the fear she would lose us—and many looked at her with pity, she always took pride in what she had, and what she had was us, her legacy. It was her choice to stay, and the hell she endured made us stronger. Not in the physical sense, but in knowing right from wrong and the loyalty and brotherhood the three of us always had for her and one another. That shit is unbreakable.

I watched my brothers and the way they dealt with the girls they were drawn to by something stronger than a need for a fuck or the physical release of pumping come into a warm, available pussy. I never wanted that responsibility. The fear of becoming an abuser by buying into the shit those shrinks and so-called experts spewed did me in. I wasn’t like Hendrix, who could walk away for self-preservation, or Morrison, who would take blow after blow from a drunken fuck like the old man or walk away when he knew it was what was best for someone. I fought back, and when I wanted something, I fought for it too.

All that changed six months ago when I saw Tatiana cowering in a corner. For six months, I had a need that superseded logic, desire, or reason. I had a need to take care of her the best way I knew how. The best I know how is to make her strong on her own. Then, and only then, will I allow myself to give in to the craving to kiss her, taste her, touch her, everywhere.

I hear Kid in the kitchenette and stand up, adjusting the semi I got that’s straining my workout pants, and walk around the corner. He catches me out of the corner of his eye and grabs the bottle of pills on the counter, shoving them in the pocket of his sweats.

He swallows something down and glares at me. “I don’t need a babysitter, Caldwell. You can go.”

“What did you just take?”

“None of your business.”

“They Shaw’s or yours?” I ask as he brushes past me, avoiding answering my question.

I grab the back of his shirt, and he turns around, swinging and nearly hitting me upside the head.

“You better be quicker than that, motherfucker,” I snap at him.

“Don’t ever grab me from behind, Caldwell. As a matter of fact, don’t ever grab me again,” he snaps back.

“How do you think he’d feel if he knew you were popping his pills?”

“He’d understand I’d had enough and needed some fucking sleep.” He turns and storms to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

“Fuck this.” I look at my watch, seeing it’s eleven o’clock at night. I yell, “You have my number, man. Keep in mind, he thought a whole hell of a lot of you, so don’t disrespect him, dead or alive! We have a service to plan, so you better be ready to do that when I come back!”

I grab my keys and my hoodie and head out the door, needing to blow off some steam. I open the door to the gym, throw off my shirt, and hit the elliptical.

I need to get my head on straight. I need to grieve, protect, and move the fuck on.

Life is sometimes a shit storm, and today is one of those days.

Five miles in, I don’t see a light at the end of the tunnel. I see her.

I look down at my watch. It’s five till midnight. I have flowers in my hand and a fucking Happy Birthday balloon with a little fucking pink unicorn. They seriously need a better selection at the corner store. A fucking unicorn? I should just pop the bitch, but I don’t. I resume pacing. Four minutes and twenty seconds left.

When it’s finally time, I hit the door harder than I expected, three times, but shit happens. Nothing, no answer, so I grab my key card out of my pocket and swipe it. Then I open the door and immediately understand why she didn’t hear me.

Rock-hard isn’t nearly a strong enough phrase to explain what it feels like to see Tatiana sitting in a tank top and slippers with her long brown hair piled in a sloppy bun on top of her head, a bag of microwave popcorn between her legs that are twisted in a pretzel, and her jaw nearly unhinged as she sits on the floor, looking up at the television.

Each moan that comes from the television, each groan or sexual sound that comes from the speakers makes her cheeks flush. Hell, she even covers her mouth.

I decide it is a hell of a lot safer to simply lean back and observe her as she watches Skin-A-Max than to walk within arm’s reach of the girl who already gave me verbal consent to fuck her.

When the man on the screen gives the girl a facial, she gasps, covers her mouth, and giggles. Fuck. It’s priceless, but it also makes me even harder if that’s possible.

“Oh my God,” she says when the credits start rolling, and she stands to turn off the TV. “Wow, just—”

“That good, huh?” I chuckle.

She jumps ten feet in the air, popcorn flying everywhere as she screams.

“Shit, little one. I didn’t mean to—”

“Have you ever seen anything like that?” she gasps, pointing to the TV.

I don’t respond, only look at her.

Her mouth slowly falls open. “Oh. Oh, wow.”

I clear my throat before I speak. “Happy birthday, Totty.”

She looks at the clock, then back at me as I walk over and hand her the white roses and the balloon.

“For me?” A smile that could bring daylight to the midnight sky spreads across her face.

“Of course for you.”

She takes them and smells the flowers, then lays them on the table, pushes herself up on her toes, grabs my sweatshirt, and lays her soft, full lips on mine.

“I would have gotten you more, but I hadn’t planned on showing up until morning,” I mumble as she rubs her lips across mine.

“Good touch,” she whispers with a wink.

“Yeah, that’s good touch.”

“You’re good touch, Jagger Caldwell.”

I pull back, and she runs her fingers over her lips.

“That feels good, right?”

She looks at me in confusion.

“Your fingers on your lips, little one. That feels good.”

As she nods and looks down at my bulging erection, her face flushes. She glances up into my eyes and then back down before she licks her lips and starts to kneel.

Quickly I grab her arm. “Come up here. Eyes on me.” I lift her chin so she’s looking at me. Then I rub my thumb across her lips. “That feels good.”

“I want more,” she says with no hint of shyness in her voice. It makes me chuckle, and she smiles softly. “I want
you
.”

I am in predator mode. With one wrong move, she will get exactly what she’s asking for and then some. With one wrong move, I will never get back this moment and the ability to give her strength.

I take her hand and groan. “Come with me.”

She follows behind as I move to sit on the couch. She sits on my lap, and I groan again when the buck-ten she is pushes against my dick. I hoist her up, throw my leg on the couch, and drop her between my legs. My dick is still pushing against her, but not the damp fabric covering her sweet little pussy.

My prey.

I pull her head back against my shoulder, and she looks up at me. “I’m eighteen, Jagger.”

“I know, Totty.”

“I gave you consent.”

“I know that too.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Unable to control myself, I lean down and kiss her hard on the mouth. I seek entrance aggressively with my tongue, and her lips fall apart, giving it to me. I taste her, tease her, suck her, and lick her.

I am feeding.

“Mmm,” she moans, and I growl in response.

She lies back and maneuvers herself so her back is on one of my arms and she is looking up at me. “More,” she whispers in a sultry rasp.

While I rub my tongue up and down hers slowly, but with more pressure, her arm crosses her body, and her hand seeks my cock. She moves her fingers lightly up and down the fabric, and I feel the knowing burn.

I continue sucking her tongue as I take her hand in mine and place it on her sweet little tits. I can’t feel them since her hand is my shield and my tool to show her how to feel.

I lead them in a slow circle, and she whimpers into my mouth. Then I squeeze my hand around hers, and she cries out, “Again.”

I regretfully pull my mouth away and look into her glassy, lust-filled eyes. “Show me, little one. Show me what you like. Show me what you want.” When her hand moves to my dick again, I capture it and bring it to my mouth, kissing, licking, and nibbling on it. “Tell me what you are feeling.”

“Heat,” she whimpers.

“Where, little one?”

“Everywhere,” she says, and I seize her lips again. As I kiss her, I set her hand on her tit.

“Show me,” I say against her ear.

“Here,” she says, looking me in the eye as she lifts her shirt.

“I want you to touch them, find out what you like best, and tell me exactly what it feels like.” She hesitates. “Show me.”

“I’ve never…” She bites her bottom lip. “Not in front of anyone. What if I’m doing it wrong?”

“If it feels good, it’s not wrong.” I reassure her.

She rubs her hand across like I did and then harder. Then she looks down at her little pebbles. It hurts, I can tell. I want to ease that. I take her hand to my mouth and lick her fingers, then set them on her tit.

“Squeeze gently.” She looks confused. “Show me, Tatiana. Show me.”

She squeezes her dark-red little nubs and cries out again, confusion showing on her face.

“Don’t you fucking stop, little one. Show me more.”

And she does.

With her eyes glued to mine, she tweaks, rubs, pulls, and cries out. She lifts her fingers to my mouth, and I give her what she wants. I suck them, and then she continues.

“So sexy, Tatiana. So fucking beautiful.”

As she looks up and tilts her head, something flashes in her eyes, in her expression.

“Little one, I have never seen a woman more beautiful.” I lean down and kiss her.

Her breath becomes shallower, and I fucking know she is on edge. She just needs a little something more.

I take her hand and slowly run it down her stomach. Using my finger to lift the waistband of her panties, I then guide her hand under them, and she gasps. I move our hands up and down slowly at first, and she tenses as her eyes open wide. Then her legs start to close, and she pulls her hand away.

“No,” I say in a much gentler tone than I feel.

“What is—”

“You’re gonna come, Tatiana. You’re gonna let the burn consume you until you fucking blow up.”

“But…” She looks scared.

“Would I let anything hurt you? Would I do anything that would cause you pain?”

She shakes her head as I work her hand lower.

“Finger inside, little one. That’s it….As deep as you can, beautiful.”

Her head falls back as she moans, “Oh my God.”

“That’s right,” I groan, pressing firmly on what I can only imagine is the sweetest little ball of nerves.

“I’m,” she sputters, “I’m—”

“Come for me, baby. Come hard. That’s good touch. So good, little one.” My voice is thick and strained with so much fucking need I half expect to come in my pants.

“Oh, so good,” she cries as her body trembles in orgasm.

I should make her ride it out, show her how to call the next one to the ring, but I don’t. I want to give that to her.

I pull her hand up and lick her fingers, and her mouth falls open, forming an O.

“Tastes good. Damn good.”

Her face flushes, making me smirk.

“You can’t seriously be embarrassed after that erotic-as-hell display.”

“Erotic,” she says and closes her eyes as a slight smile creeps up.

I wipe the sweat from her brow, then kiss her head over and over until she is on her side like a little kitten, curled up around me, falling asleep. I push her hair away from her face so I can watch her closed eyes flutter as she fights sleep.

When I know she’s out, I lift her up, cradled in my arms, and walk her into the bedroom. As I lay her down, she wakes up.

“Please, don’t leave. Please.”

I pull my shirt over my head and toss it on the chair, then climb in bed next to her.

I pat my chest. “Get over here.”

She does, curling up on me again as she drifts off, her cold little feet rubbing up and down my calves. If it wasn’t so cute, I would get her some fucking socks. However, I like it. I like that she is content.

Little does she know, she is the prey and I am the predator.

As hot as tonight was, that won’t be happening again. One lick of her fingers after they had been inside her was all I needed to know she is mine.

Warm. Safe.

I snuggle in more deeply, and the steady thumping of his heartbeat lulls me into the place where dreams may really become reality. I am sated, satisfied, and safe in the arms of Jagger Caldwell.

For the first time in my life, I believe in the future.

All the worries of my past, my father, and what may happen disappear the minute he’s around. The only thing I can think about or feel is him. Is this what love is, an all-consuming need to be with someone, like a volcano ready to erupt, always feeling full? When Jagger is around, I am full of emotion, full of life, and full of possibilities.

Unable to stop myself, I rub my feet up and down his muscular calves. The sensation of his hardened body against my soft skin has me heating up from the inside out.

I didn’t have television with my father. When I was little and Old Lady Simmons would babysit me, I would watch stuff with her that came in on the antenna. Being here in this hotel with nothing other than time on my hands, I have seen a world of possibilities through cable television.

Watching the people have sex was one thing, but Jagger being here and kissing me…That is an entirely different experience. Him guiding me and showing me how to bring myself to a high unlike anything I have ever felt before only made the experience that much better. I have touched myself, I have felt, but nothing like with him. Does he know what he does to me?

When I wake, I open my eyes slowly and inhale the smell that is spice and all Jagger Caldwell. I trail my hand over the tight skin of his abdomen, enjoying each ripple of muscle under me. Biting my lip, I think about the shows I have watched, then lift the cover, peeking down to see his hard mass straining against the material of his pants.

Jagger is still sleeping. Good. It’s time for me to play.

Carefully I move down and open his pants before sliding my hand under his boxers to find the engorged length. Feeling brave, I move my head down and flick my tongue, licking the top of his penis. His legs shift, and I pause, holding his shaft in my hand. When he doesn’t wake, I stroke the velvety skin before swirling my tongue around the tip. Then I open wide to take him in.

“What the fuck? Totty!” Jagger jolts up, flipping the cover off my head and revealing me and my playground.

Immediately, I pull back and release him.

He leans back against the headboard, blowing out a frustrated breath. “What am I gonna do with you?” he asks more to himself than me.

Without thinking, I mutter, “Love me like no one has before.”

He bangs his head against the bed. “If only it were that easy.”

Confusion fills me. Why do all this for me if he can’t love me? Why, for all these months, be concerned just to turn me away? Why give me the best release ever last night and not allow me to return the favor today?

“I’m eighteen, Jagger,” I whisper. I don’t know why my age matters. I have kept my father’s home clean for my entire life. I cook, I am smart, and I feel like I am thirty-five, not eighteen. I know I haven’t had much life experience, but what I have experienced is real-world hell. Still, I endured and overcame. I am not some little girl.”

“Little one—” he says, and I snap.

“I am not little! I am a grown woman with a period. I am a legal adult here in this country. According to the law, I can have a job and live in my own house. I can even vote. I may not be able to drink alcohol here, but in Russia, I can! Do not call me little!” My voice pitches higher than I want, but I am tired of him thinking I am not grown. I have survived hell, and I have no idea what the future holds, but I won’t let my age keep me from having good in my world that has been full of bad. I want to scream that at him, but something stops me.

I look into his eyes to see his confliction is real.

“Totty,” he says calmly to my crazy outburst. “I know exactly how old you are. I know how strong you are. You’re so damn tiny.”

The rejection stings. I climb out of the bed and shuffling around, I then slide on pants. I know he doesn’t think I’m too young, but it’s about my size. Something I’m not comfortable with. The denim against my thin panties feels new to me after my explosion last night. The rub feels nice. Ugh, why did he have to show me something else so great, only to take it away?

I hear him move from the bed, but I refuse to look at him. My breasts are small, so I tug on a shirt over my tank, skipping a bra. I need to be covered so I don’t feel so…so…so exposed.

Two arms circle me from behind, and the tattooed word
Legacy
gets my attention.

His breath comes down hot on my neck as he says, “I’m trying to do right by you, Tatiana. For once in my life, I’m trying to get it right.” Then he whispers, “Let me get it right, please.”

I sigh, not knowing what to say.

“Lil—” He stops himself. “Totty, we both have been through a lot, especially in the last week. We have to go down and talk to Johnny and the boys in blue about your father. Now that you’re legal, social services can’t step in. You need to think about services for your father. Bastard or not, things have to be handled. And I have to set up some stuff for the man who was more of a father to me than mine ever could have thought to be. I don’t want to add anything more to either of us.”

I nod my head, trying to be understanding.

“I’m not going anywhere, Tatiana. You have my word. Nothing is more solid to a Caldwell than his word. No matter what the future holds, I’m here for you for anything.” He kisses the top of my head and simply holds me with his chin resting on my head.

Wrapped in his arms, secure in his embrace, the safety that is all Caldwell engulfs me. He’s right. No matter what the future holds, he will be there for me. I know that.

Now it is time to face the past.

The police station is just that, a station. Entering the building, there are no feelings of comfort. No, it is all business. There is a harshness to the atmosphere that I felt the night I had to come down with my father to press charges on Jagger.

Fear grips me. Father said they would send me away if I talked.

I tug on Jagger’s hand, stopping him.

He turns and meets my eyes. “Totty, I’m not gonna let anything happen to you,” he states, reading my fears. We are so connected, yet still have so much to learn about one another.

I nod my head and allow him to guide me through the place until we stand in front of someone Jagger clearly knows.

“How did I know you would be the one to bring her in?” he asks Jagger smugly.

“Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, you should be ashamed of yourself that a punk like me can do your job better than you can.”

“Don’t be a prick, Jagger. Tread lightly.” He extends a hand in greeting toward me. “Miss Rand, I’m Johnny Adkins. Have a seat.” He gestures to the chairs in front of his desk. “I’m going to need to verify some information from you, and then we will head to a room where I need to ask you a few questions.”

After confirming my identity so he can close the missing person’s case, he leads me to a small room with a table, two chairs, and no mirror, but a camera sits in the top corner. I take a seat and notice belatedly that Johnny has stopped Jagger in the hall.

“Can’t have you in here, Caldwell.”

“Why the hell not, Johnny Law?”

“Law, that’s your answer.”

Without giving Jagger a chance to reply, he turns into the room and shuts the door behind him. The lock clicks in place automatically, and I feel my body heat up in anxiety as he places a file on the small table and takes the seat beside me.

“Tatiana, I am not the enemy here.”

I wring my hands together, then stop myself, thinking this may make me look guilty.

“I don’t understand,” I say honestly, not knowing what he thinks might or might not have happened.

“Let’s start with where you have been.”

“With a friend.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Jagger Caldwell?”

“No,” I answer. Technically, I was with Cobra when my father was looking for me.

“No?” He smirks, and I realize I need to elaborate a little. It’s obvious we were together.

“Not the entire time. I left my father’s home and stayed with a friend. Then I went to a hotel.”

“Okay. Then describe your father the last time you saw him.”

“He was sleeping.” I decide short and simple is the best course of action. I won’t say he passed out in the hallway, and I stepped over his unconscious body as I made my escape.

“Your father is dead, Miss Rand,” he states, studying me.

“I have been informed.” Tears fill my eyes as the fear grips me. Will he send me away?

“Do you know how your father died?”

“No, sir,” I state firmly because I don’t.

“The last time you saw him, he was sleeping?”

“Yes, in our home.”

His eyes flash quickly before hiding his intrigue. “Your father was found at the bottom of the stairs of your apartment building, Miss Rand.”

I gasp and cover my mouth. Jagger was right. I didn’t do it. Relief fills me.

“My father, he…um…liked to drink.”

He points to the yellowing bruises healing on my face and arms. “He liked to do other things too, didn’t he, Tatiana?”

“He liked to drink, Mr. Adkins.”

“What made him wake up and leave your apartment?”

“I don’t know. Once he passed out, I packed a bag and left.”

“Someone had to get his attention. Someone hit him in the back of the head. Blunt force trauma. Then he took the tumble down the stairs.”

My eyes grow huge.

“Who would want to hit your father in the back of the head? Maybe someone who sees the marks on you and knows what you went through?”

I shake my head.

He opens a file and shows me a report. “The Caldwell brothers lived a life similar to yours. Only they weren’t alone. Your boyfriend can’t be a vigilante. We have laws in this country for a reason.”

“Jagger Caldwell is not my boyfriend. He’s a good man.”

“I don’t doubt you would think that, but he has a reputation for violence and a rap sheet to back it up.”

The date and time on the report in front of me keeps my attention. This was the night I was with Jagger at the fight. We got in the car with Shaw and Kid, and later we switched to Jagger’s car and had the night alone. He was with me. I was with him, so Jagger didn’t have anything to do with my father’s death. Why doesn’t Johnny see this?

“Mr. Adkins, why are you so sure Jagger had something to do with this?”

“I’m just doing my job, Miss Rand. I’m seeking justice for those who can’t do it for themselves.”

His statement makes a rage build inside me that I have never felt before.

I raise my eyebrows at him. “I was with Jagger Caldwell that night.” I am not sure the fights are exactly legal, so I watch my words carefully. “He picked me up and took me to the hotel, where the cameras will show him checking in.”

“Lying to an officer is a criminal offense.”

I pull out the phone Jagger gave me. “Here, look at the messages. I texted him and he received it, sitting next to me. Pull those
reports
.”

He shakes his head at me, and I see red.

“You talk about criminal offense, but I’ll talk about personal offense. Mr. Adkins, do you know what I find offensive?”

“I’m sure you’re about to tell me,” he replies snidely.

“I find it offensive that you, an officer of the law, sworn to protect and serve, can’t see past your own issues to the matter at hand. You say you’re just doing your job. You’re seeking justice for those who can’t do it for themselves. Your words, am I correct?”

“Yes.” He nods.

“Well, where were you when
I
needed justice? Where were you to seek justice for me when I couldn’t? You saw the marks, yet you set me up to have to speak for myself. Well, my father sure can’t speak now, but you are pushing this, and yet when I couldn’t speak, you did nothing!” Tears fall down my face.

So many times, I wished someone, anyone would just speak for me, but no one came to the rescue until Jagger Caldwell. Now, because of my father, this man in front of me is out to pin Jagger down for something I know in my heart of hearts he didn’t do.

I sniffle and dry my tears. “A drunk fell down the stairs, Mr. Adkins. What more do you need than that?”

“Miss Rand—”

“No, Mr. Adkins, you stand behind your laws, but where is your heart? I have lived in hell at the hands of
that
man.” I point to the picture of my father on the file. “I have no mother. I have no one who has ever cared until Jagger Caldwell. And I’m telling you right now he didn’t do it. Frankly, I don’t care who did it beyond wanting to send them a thank-you for saving me. I ran away because I knew the next time he hit me would be the time I couldn’t take it, and he would kill me. Slowly, slam after slam, I have been dying inside. Next time, I would have given up. Next time, it would have been me in the file, not him. If you stand for justice, well, let there be justice in my chance at life for the first time ever.”

Jagger bangs almost viciously on the door, and Johnny moves to open it. I turn my back, not wanting him to see me such a mess.

I want to have life. I want to live. I want to be free from the past and its hold on me.