I glance back at Jagger. His long blond hair, muscular arm and leg spill over the side of the bed now. My side—as if even in sleep he’s searching for me. These past few months, he’s put more into us than I have.
There is no us, Kayla, don’t be stupid. I curse myself then my heart calls out to him. Please read the letter, Jag, and don’t come for me . . .
Fifteen minutes later, my hands grip the steering wheel of the Mercedes that he bought. The car creeps along the road. There’s a cliff to the right of me and to the left. My car will soon be swallowed up by the bright green thicket of trees. Jagger truly has a mansion hidden away from the world. About half a mile away, I glance back through the rearview mirror, praying that he understands the thought-provoking letter I left.
The tires move along the smooth road trailing to a stop. A shudder slams through me as I watch the trees soaring just a few yards away. I was almost there . . . almost about to coast down the hill and away from him.
It’s like déjà vu as the electronic voice rings out from the radio, “You are no longer authorized to drive this vehicle, Mikayla.”
Tears prick my eyes, and I slam my foot down on the gas, sending the powerful engine growling. The tires tread up dirt, tiny stones, smoke, though the car will not move.
“Jagger, you fucking asshole,” I grit under my breath. He disabled the vehicle. Through the rearview mirror I see him stalking toward me, sweats riding dangerously low on his muscular hips. The letter is clutched in his hand.
I roll the window down a fraction of an inch and wait for him, bristling in my anger.
His fist slams against the bulletproof window. The letter is laid out just for me in the peripheral of my eye. I refuse to glance over, won’t give him the dignity of it. He didn’t read the damn letter!
This is the same move he pulled our first night together. We were in Long Beach with him attempting to take me to an extrication point. Armenians shot at us and the cargo plane he’d commandeered to get me out of the country. Somehow, I’d gotten away from him while he killed a slew of men. I ended up in his truck, but the damn thing was computerized to only work for him.
Here we are again. Tears streaming down my face. Him disappointed in me. And another one of his tricky moves, in which a vehicle stops—not allowing me to run away!
Fingers tensed now, grinding around the wheel, I stare forward and speak in a callus tone. “We had a good run, Jag. You need to read that letter and let it go.”
“It? What the fuck is it? Do you mean us?” He punches a fist at the bulletproof window. His hands grip the top of the window and his biceps flex. He can’t force it down at all. All his cars can double as safe rooms, virtually impenetrable.
“You know I can get in there, Kayla. Do not regret not taking this initial display of kindness,” Jagger growls.
I stare over at him. He’s still holding up the letter, but I glance at his face. The tangled tresses flying in the salted wind. His pleasing mouth pulled into a sneer.
“You have to let us go, Jag.”
“So what? I’ve been patient during your reign, Mikayla. Then you spend a night with me—not even an entire night. I fuck you ten ways to heaven, and you suck my cock like that’s one last hoorah?”
“And done.” I stare forward, hardening my heart to the one who always owned it. “Read the letter. Let me go!” My fists assault the steering wheel, issuing a series of eclectic beeps.
“Let me in, Uthando Lwami, let me in.” His tone is deceptive, sweeter than honey. “I’ll forgive this mistake of yours.”
“You must not have even read it, Jag. This cannot be a mistake. This is me choosing.” My voice breaks. I clutch a hand over my chest. Pain burgeons over my heart. It kills me to hurt him. So much for putting on a strong front. “This is me choosing my nation over one person, Jag. I love you with all of me. Read the letter.”
“I did.” His tone is heavier, slower, as if he’s still ruminating over it all. “You said you were marrying your closest South African ally. You’re in love with me and marrying another man.”
I sniffle, rubbing a hand over my tears. For a moment, I’ve forgotten that my boyfriend—ex boyfriend—rigged my car, and so, I grant him one last look. Sorrow clings to me as I press my foot on the gas. “I’m sorry, Jag.”
The luxurious ride fails me. The automated voice taunts me once more.
“Not as sorry as I’m about to be.” He holds up a remote, similar to the one that he used the first time I got away from him when he abducted me.
Did I survive away from him?
No.
Did I ever really want to be away from my captor?
A resounding hell no.
Is he going to let me go this time?
No.
I guess there are certain lessons we never learn. The door clicks open, and he reaches inside, gripping the back of my neck to pull me out of the car.
“But I’ll lose my entire nation, Jag . . .”
His cerulean gaze burns hot. I realize that I’ve made the mistake of my life. Jagger Johansson will never forgive me this.
“We broke up, so that you could focus on your country then we got back together, Mikayla. We made promises. You swore that there’d always be an us,” he says, pressing my body against him. “I’m a man of my word, Kayla, and I took you at face value. So, fuck this misconstrued concept of love you have for me, baby. I don’t need it because either way—I still own you.”
My arms are stuck at my sides. His hand still grasps my neck. He assaults my mouth with a kiss that pulls the oxygen from my lungs, leaving me broken and wanting more. But I’ve almost died to have my home, the Nivean nation back, so I use all my might to break away from him.
It’s like an ant accosting a bear.
“Look at me.” Jagger lowers his head, so his eyes are level with mine. His hair is wild around him. Gorgeous and delectably angry, he growls, “I shared you with all your Nivean people, Mikayla. You could always count on me for putting your kingdom first. Not only being the man who loves you but understands your mission.”
“So let me go to my people!”
“You didn’t know how to divide your time, Kayla. This fucking letter . . .” He gives a maddening scoff. “You will conduct your queenly affairs from my home! You will stay here with me forever.”
“Niveans will riot! The Zihula nation will riot. I’ve already accepted Prince Fari’s hand, Jagger.” My voice squeaks. The latter was a lie. I haven’t agreed to Fari’s request, yet it is a means to weed through the stubbornness Jagger thrives on. “They’ll come looking for me.”
“Let them!”
* * *
Black Queen, Dark Knight II will launch in January 2019. Haven’t read the first one, well, here are a few things that you should know:
This story is jam-packed with a whole-lotta action and sex. Yup, I had fun writing it.
In Make Me Stay II, Alexander mentioned X-Member’s as another type of assassin organization, and he snubbed his nose at the them for even crazier hitmen . . . so just expect the testosterone for sex and murder to be heightened.
Lastly, the alpha, Jagger loves his Black Queen just as much as he loves his .357 Magnums.
Already one of the many who made this romantic suspense a best seller? Join my newsletter. Jagger and Queen Mikayla’s new story is about complete, and I’ll be posting erotically teasing excerpts soon.
Did you know: I just recently had a super discounted deal on BookBub. Also My Facebook group is where I get threatened, ahem, I mean encouraged to write more stories for characters like Jagger and August (who is actually a Vitality member, which Alexander obviously approves of.) I have so much fun getting inspiration in that group. And for a shy girl like me, it has been extremely awesome!
Alright, I must return to the mayhem that Black Queen, Dark Knight II will cause. For now, please consider leaving a review of Make Me Stay II, I beg of you.
, Make Me Stay II: A Second Chance Romance
Make Me Stay II: A Second Chance Romance Page 36
