Page 63 of Jagger
Even thinking of Aphrodite makes my chest hurt. She's so wrapped up in investigating her parents' death that we barely speak, and when we do, I tell her everything is fine.
Because it's easier that way.
But she does the same to me—telling me she's fine when I know damn well that she isn't dealing with her parents' death at all. I know because Kaden tells me.
I step into the private elevator that leads to Jagger's penthouse suite and wave at Jon. He nods stiffly but crosses his arms, making it clear he's not happy with my choices.
If only he knew.
The elevator is super-fast, and when a polite robotic voice announces my arrival, Jagger is already waiting for me. He's wearing loose grey joggers and a white tee, his hair damp. My core tightens with pure desire, and I curse her.
Does she not remember what he did to me?
"Thank you for coming," Jagger says, his eyes locked on mine. "I know you didn't want to."
I move out of the elevator and clear my throat, grateful I wore my sky-high stilettos. I've gotten used to them now, but somehow Jagger is still taller than me.
Bastard.
He breaks his gaze and enters his penthouse first, holding the door open for me. "I can leave this open if you want," he remarks, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.
My eyes move to the sofa, then the floor-to-ceiling windows. It doesn't matter—if he tries anything, I have a gun.
But I appreciate him thinking of me, which is more than he's ever done before. His cologne fills the room, and my heart aches.
Why is my body betraying me so? First my core, now my heart. What next?
At least my brain is on board.
"What do you want?" I ask coolly, crossing my arms.
Jagger sighs and dips his head. My heart does its thing again, prancing around with a violin, screaming about what could have been.
Fuck my heart. I'm here with my brain and my gun. "I want to explain." Jagger's shoulders slump forward as he lifts his head. "That's all."
I tap my foot. "About?"
"Why I raped you." His gaze meets mine, and hatred uncurls in my stomach at his ability to say those words so easily.
Do I want to know why?Yes.
Why?I don't know.
But more than that, I want to punch him in the face. I want to hurt him so badly. It's all I can think about.
"You raped me," I say, stepping closer to him. "Any reason isn't forgivable if that's what you expect."
He meets my gaze and nods stiffly. "I know. But I'm responsible for…" His hand waves over my body, and he swallows hard, his jaw clenching. "You. For this."
"This?" I twist my head and narrow my eyes. "What the fuck do you mean,this?"
Suddenly I feel ugly. I see myself the way he must: the skinny girl with a drug problem, with thin hair and a gaunt face.
"I'm not the girl you raped, you mean? My curves are gone, my hair isn't silky anymore, and you think I'm ugly. I don't care, Jagger."
He looks stricken, his mouth falling open as he shakes his head in what looks like genuine disbelief.
"I don't care," I whisper as tears of fury fill my eyes. "So say what you want to say so I can go."
