Page 99 of Ghosted

By the time I get there, my anger hasn’t cooled. If anything, the walk made it worse. Every step gave my brain more time to picture him in that cage across from Johnny while people scream for blood and pretend it’s just another Friday night.

I pound on his door harder than necessary.

Nothing happens at first.

Then it opens.

Jagger stands on the other side in black sweats and no shirt, damp hair pushed back from his face, a towel thrown over one shoulder. There are bruises across his ribs, one blooming along his jaw, and his knuckles look awful.

Split. Red. Swollen.

Hands that don’t just know violence. Hands that enjoy it.

His eyes move over me, quick and sharp, taking inventory before he can stop himself.

For half a second, surprise cracks through.

Then he buries it.

“What are you doing here?”

I shove past him into the apartment. “Apparently stopping you from doing something stupid is becoming my unpaid internship.”

His place looks too much like him, which pisses me off because I don’t want to know that. Rough. Sparse. Too neat in some places, a disaster in others.

A couch with a tear in one cushion. Fight tape on the coffee table beside a lighter and three empty water bottles. Laundry folded on a chair. Boots by the door. The air smells like detergent, old smoke, and oil from the shop downstairs.

Jagger shuts the door behind me. “Alice.”

“No.”

His brows pull together. “No?”

“No, you don’t get to say my name like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to calm me down before I remember I’m pissed at you.”

“I didn’t know you were pissed.”

I turn on him. “You’re going to fight Johnny.”

Something in his face goes still.

No sign of surprise or guilt.

Which is worse, because that means he already had his answer ready before I even got here.

I laugh once, but it comes out meaner than I expect. “Wow.”

“It’s handled.”

“Oh, okay. Great.” I point at the fight tape on the table. “Love that. Very fucking mature. Nothing says healthy conflict resolution like scheduling violence in advance.”

His jaw tightens. “This isn’t about being mature.”

“Well no shit.”