Free Jagger: A Caldwell Brothers Novel by Chelsea Camaron, Mj Fields

and grabs a phone. “It’s all set up. My number is under here.” He hits the green square with a phone on it and hands it to me. “Click favorites. My name is in there. The only one you’ll ever need.”
    I nod my head.
    “Now hit the thing that looks like a cartoon bubble, and then type me a message and hit send.”
    I do as he asks while he pulls away from the curb, and his phone starts playing music.
    “Good. Now your number is in my phone and you know how to text. If you ever need anything, anything at all, you call who?”
    “The champ,” I say with a smile that always takes over my lips when I think of him.
    He smirks and nods. “That’s right, little one.”
    “You don’t have to do all of this for me, you know. I’m not helpless. I managed to get by the last few days.”
    He growls at me, yes, growls. “You stay away from Cobra.”
    “He’s a bad man,” I say smartly. “I know. He told me.”
    “He told you?” He raises an eyebrow at me.
    “Yes, he found me outside of Caldwell’s when I was looking for you. He kept me safe and we talked. He’s my friend.” I try to defend Cobra. Obviously there is a history between the two and it’s not a good one. Cobra told me, but I didn’t think Jagger would hold such a grudge as well.
    “He’s nobody’s friend, little one.”
    “He was nice to me, Jagger.”
    He looks away from me and I decide not to press it further. For now, I want to be in the moment with the person who has given me the drive to push through the last year of my hell.
    Nothing else is said, but I can’t stop looking at him. Once in a while, he looks over, but only for a second. Each time he seems to wiggle in his seat, so I look away, not wanting to make him uncomfortable.
    We stop at a hotel where Jagger has me wait in the car while he secures a room. Once inside, I can’t help gawking at the suite. I have never in my life stayed some place so nice.
    I trail my finger along the crisp, clean soft-gray wall as I make my way inside a bathroom that is larger than my father’s bedroom. A tub large enough to drown in sits to the right, and a shower that has a bench is off to the left. Directly in front is a countertop with side-by-side sinks along with every toiletry I could imagine.
    I listen as Jagger moves around in the room behind me, and I wonder if he can afford such a luxurious place. After all, he did live in the apartment next door to me for over a year, and the people who live in our building rarely pay on time or in full. Looking around, I can’t help wondering if one night here costs more than one month’s rent to my father.
    Nervously, I make my way to the bedroom, which is just beyond a nice sitting area with a couch, chair, and flat-screen television. The king-sized bed is huge compared to the twin I normally sleep on. The bedding is fluffy and done in blues and yellows, making everything feel brighter. I want to flop down on the bed and wiggle around, but because Jagger is watching me intently I stop myself to avoid coming off as childish.
    When I meet his gaze, he turns his lips up in a half-smile that has my girlie parts clinching. This man is powerful, sexy, and everything I could ever dream about.
    “This all you got?” he asks, holding up my backpack.
    “Yes. I didn’t think too far ahead,” I admit, seeing it as a failure.
    Jagger’s smile grows bigger. “Little one, you brought the essentials.”
    I laugh at him. The essentials, sure, if that’s what he wants to call them. I brought my treasures. I brought the gifts he has been leaving me for months now. I left behind my father’s belongings and took only what I could claim as my own.
    I sit on the plush bed and watch as Jagger finishes unpacking the few things I managed to grab when I left, and embarrassment fills me as he touches each item. They probably mean nothing to him, but they are
everything
to me.
    When Jagger’s phone rings, stopping any further conversation between us, his brows draw