CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

MCKINLEY

I watch from the stage helplessly as Erik repeatedly strikes Jagger with the bat on his back. The chair splinters, and he falls face forward onto the floor. Erik is laughing, but I can’t hear him. The only sound I hear, beyond the blood rushing in my eardrums, is Jagger’s grunts of pain.

He lies motionless on the floor, as the rope hangs loosely around him, now that the chair is in pieces.

Erik stands over him with the bat gripped firmly in both hands, and a sinister grin on his face, as he prepares to give the final blow to Jagger’s head. He won’t survive this.

“Any last words for your piece of shit boyfriend, McKinley?”

“Jagger,” I scream.

There’s no response from him and I’m kind of glad. Maybe that means he isn’t feeling pain. The screaming is so loud in my head I don’t hear the footsteps. Suddenly, three men appear in my vision, led by Jett, the keyboard player from the band, and Jagger’s closest friend. They are all dressed in black, but Jett looks psychotic. It’s the dark expression on his face, his eyes a darker shade of coal. He holds some kind of wire in his gloved hands, but I don’t know why.

He grins at Erik, but there’s no friendliness behind it.

“Good to see you again, dildo. I suggest you move away from my brother.”

I’m not sure if Erik has history with Jett, but he’s clearly afraid of him. He trembles slightly as Jett slowly moves closer to him.

“If I don’t-t-t?” he stutters, which catches me by surprise, because I have never heard him do this before.

Without taking his eyes from Erik, he says to me, “McKinley, why don’t you come down here with Jagger.”

“He told me to stay here.”

Jett chuckles and again steps closer to Erik.

“He isn’t going to hurt you. In fact, I think he’s done hurting anyone. Aren’t you, dildo?”

As I move off the stage and run to Jagger, Jett growls, “Drop the fucking bat.”

I place my hand on the side of his face. “Jagger. Please let me know you’re alive.”

The bat is loud as it hits the floor, and Jagger groans. He doesn’t speak to me, but I know he’s at least alive. I lay down beside him and place my arm around his shoulders, above where he got hit, as I keep my eyes on Erik.

Jett lifts his leg and kicks him in the stomach, knocking him to the floor. Jake and Hendrix walk over to them, and stand over Erik, staring at him menacingly.

Jake kicks Erik in the face.

“When you fuck with one of us, you fuck with all of us.”

Jett asks, “McKinley, did he hurt you?”

“He hit me three times.”

The sound Jagger makes causes my heart to hurt. What he did to him is far worse than the couple of punches I took. Even lying broken like this, he is more affected by my wellbeing.

Moving closer to him, I kiss his cheek. “I’m okay.”

Jake and Hendrix pull Erik up from the floor.

“On your knees, dog,” Jett says.

I watch in shock as Jett walks behind Erik, and places the wire around his throat, pulling it tight. The wire cuts into his skin as Erik stares at me with wide eyes.

Jagger whispers, “Look at me.”

Running my fingers through his hair, I say, “I love you, Wild.”

The smallest smile graces his lips. “I love you.”

I glance over at his bandmates when I hear a loud thud on the floor. Erik’s body lies on the floor with blood pooling around him, his head nearly decapitated, and Jett and the others walk over to Jagger.

“This is going to hurt, but we need to see if you can stand, or need to be carried.”

I move away from him, but I can’t imagine them carrying Jagger, because he’s not a small guy. Jett grabs his left arm while Hendrix grabs his right, and they lift him while Jake stands behind him, at the ready, to not let him fall. I watch them curiously, because it’s almost as if they’ve done this before, because they seem to know exactly what to do.

“Thank fuck,” Jett says as Jagger begins to move slowly, causing Jake and Hendrix to chuckle.

“Let’s get you both home,” Jake says, but I hesitate.

“Wait. What about Erik?”

Jett laughs. “Someone will find him at some point, but it’ll be awhile. Nobody has used this space in nearly two decades. And Hendrix has the rope, because there will probably be DNA on it.”

I shake my head. Can they be this stupid?

“You just killed a man, and I’m sure there’s more DNA here than whatever is on the string.”

Jett chuckles, as he and Jake continue walking Jagger to the door, and he speaks, but it’s to Jagger, not me.

“One day, you’ll need to tell your girl how much fucking money you have, and what you can buy with it. You know, like police officers, and for investigations to vanish, along with evidence.”

My brain must be scrambled because I cannot wrap my head around this. Are they serial killers that happen to play music? Or a rock band that happens to be serial killers? I intend to find out the answer to those questions, but it’ll have to wait. Besides, maybe I’m still fucked up after all, because I’m not so sure the answer would even change my feelings about Jagger.

Jett nods to Jagger’s car. “Get in the back. He will sit with you, and I’ll take the front. Hendrix and Jake will take my car and meet us there.”

I get in, and they help Jagger into the backseat and lay him down as best they can, with his head on my lap. Immediately, I run my fingers through his hair. The need to touch him is powerful.

“Are you in pain?” I ask as his driver pulls out of the parking lot.

“Oh yeah. Being hit with a bat fucking hurts.”

Obviously, that was a stupid question. I think I just needed to hear his voice.

“I’m sorry. Jagger, I’m so sorry.”

He lifts his hand to my leg with a groan. “Don’t do that. You internalize everything, and this was not your fault.”

His voice comes out raspy and strained. I don’t respond to what he said, because it appears that maybe it hurts to talk, and he has been through enough pain today because of me.

We get to the house and Jett helps Jagger out of the car slowly. He hasn’t complained a lot about the pain, but I think it’s a lot worse than he’s letting on.

I hold on to him on one side, and Jett is on the other, as we go up the stairs at a snail’s pace. He stops moving after the fourth step.

“Fuck. Give me a minute.”

Jett glances at me, concern written all over his face, but he doesn’t say anything.

Once Jagger is ready to move, we continue on.

“Jesus Christ. I am fucking rich. Why don’t I have an elevator?”

Jett chuckles softly.

“That’s a good question, man. I told you to not go in by yourself.”

We finally make it to the bedroom, and Jett tries to help Jagger get undressed, but he isn’t having it.

“Fuck off. You just want to see my dick.”

Jett glares at him. “Yeah, you figured it out, Jagger. All these years, I’ve been your friend because I want your cock.”

I grab the waistband of his pants and pull them to the floor.

“Now, sit on the bed so I can get your shoes and shirt off.”

After helping him get undressed, I lay him down, and ask Jett, “When will the doctor be here?”

“Soon,” he says, “I’m staying until I can talk to the doctor.”