“That works.”
* * *
The sound of the Harley came to me, bounding off the low hills. I was standing in the middle of the road, just past where Cupcake had squished a dead man with the truck on our last trip this way. I was unarmed except for a blaster strapped to my thigh, and as the rumble of the bike approached around the next bend, I uncrossed my arms and put my fists on my hips, waiting, legs spread, feet planted, riding boots steady on the cracked asphalt.
Jagger came around the bend, and I knew the moment he saw me. That awareness was like being stabbed straight into the solar plexus. I missed my next breath, pressure in my chest. He slowed, and the bike came to a stop. The motor died.
This time he got off the bike and stared into the sun’s glare through sunglasses he hadn’t worn at Marconi’s fortress. He hooked his thumbs into blade sheathes in his armor. It was the same kind of Dragon Scale armor we had taken from Morrison’s, the same kind I had brought to barter. Looked as if he’d taken the suit he wore when we fought together last. I hadn’t asked. I hadn’t given it to him. Jagger was the kind of man who took what he wanted. Best I remembered that.
But . . . I wished I had been able to see Marconi’s face up close when he caught sight of Jagger wearing the military’s best and latest gear. I bet he nearly pissed his britches.
“Asshole,” I said by way of greeting.
“Little Girl. I got some things to say. Things McQuestion hasn’t sanctioned.”
Hasn’tsanctioned. Notwouldn’tsanction. Meaning McQuestionmightsanction? Mightintendto sanction? Had maybe given a nod and a wink at a private agreement to something that might someday become public? There were a lot of loopholes in that, but I tilted my head in agreement.
“Your wire off?”
Jagger nodded once, a disgruntled expression on his face. He had resented the wire and the questioning of his loyalty. Being an Enforcer was power, status, and honor. Being mine had threatened his world and his position in it.
“Then I’m listening.”
He pulled off his sunglasses so I could see his chocolate-brown eyes. I shoved my orange lenses up onto my head, revealing my orange eyes. Some things needed to be face-to-face, literally.
“I want you,” Jagger said. “And I don’t think it’s the nanobots. Not anymore.”
I wanted him too, but there were a lot of problems with that scenario. Always had been. First and foremost was that Jagger belonged to McQuestion. Even if McQuestion gave Jagger to me, he would intend his gift to watch me, eyes and ears on everything I did, and report back. Probably even bedroom talk and bedroom acts.
But I remembered Jagger’s arms around me, demanding, his mouth plundering, remembered his taste, his scent. He was a big man, both physically and in that thing calledpresence: part charisma, part machismo, part brains, all powerful, capable, violent, and smart. I liked smart. I’d have liked Jagger even without the nanos binding us together. But the silence had stretched too long.
“You want me,” I said. “Sex.”
“More than sex. Way more. That said, I promise you it would be”—he slowed his words—“mind-blowing. Screaming. Hot. Sweaty. Sex.” His words were like melted chocolate dripped from a big spoon.
It took a few heartbeats before I could find a breath and respond. “I’m not someone you just”—I mentally apologized to Pops—“fuck.”
He blinked at the crudity, knowing I never used that word. His eyes widened and something passed through them, too fast to read. “That’s not—”
“I’m Little Girl,” I interrupted. “A made-man. I’m worth more than a turn in the sheets. And I don’t want a man given to me by someone else.” If Jagger and I had a chance at anything, and that didn’t look likely, he needed to see me for everything that I was. He needed to be able to get mad at me. Argue and fight back with me. Spar with me and not worry that he might hurt his queen. “I don’t want a slave in my bed.”
Jagger turned red. That was a good start, so I pushed it a bit more. “And I want a man who wants me for me, not because of nanobots turning his brain to mush, or because his boss said to woo me, screw me, and report back.” I dropped my arms and let one hand dangle near my blaster. “For now, I’ve got a parley and then, hopefully, I’ll be putting together a crew to go after Warhammer. When she’s done, maybe I’ll call you.”
“You’ll call—? And what am I supposed to do until then?” Jagger ground out.
He had clearly never been told by a woman that she’d be the one to call.
I chuckled. “Your job. The job of a national enforcer. Arrange safe transport for the leaders, I assume. And then, if McQuestion agrees to assist, help plan and carry out the attack on Warhammer’s nest. Just do your job, Asshole.” I started to turn away and tilted my head as if I’d just thought of something. “Oh. Cupcake found some jewelry you might like. I’ll make sure she brings you the stash, and you can pick out some pretties for yourself.”
“Pick out jewel— You’re . . .” He stopped. Jagger was not used to being treated like a woman usually was in the OMW. “You can’t lie to me. You want me.”
“Why? Because you’re so good in the sack?”
He blinked.
I walked away, calling over my shoulder, “You look pretty today, Asshole.”
I approached the truck to see Cupcake standing in the middle of the road with our cohorts, three sets of armor in boxes and a donning station in a huge wooden case sitting in the middle of the road behind them. She said, “You told him to go away, didn’t you?”
