Page 85 of Chaos & Carnage
“We’re not sure just yet. Possible miscarriage. They’re not back from the hospital.”
“And what do we do with Magnet’s bike?” Reap asked.
Indie shook his head, gripping the bridge of his nose.
“I can take it back,” Jake offered, and the big tent went quiet again. “I left my car in Kirkby Stephen and hitchhiked here. It was as close as I dared get it with automatic number plate recognition cameras all over the place. Thanks to all you bikers speeding all over, I might add. Anyway, I can get it home.”
“Magnet will have a fucking bitch fit if he knows we let you, of all people, on his bike.” Big Red shook his head.
“Fine. Leave it here then,” Jake retaliated. “Sure he’ll be fine about that.”
“Fine. Fine. You take Magnet’s bike home. Take it to the clubhouse and post the keys and then fuck off. Ok?” Indie instructed.
Jake nodded.
“Now we just need to figure out where to put the women then. I’m not having Heidi on the back of Beanz.”
Indie opened his mouth to say something, but outside something distracted us.
“Whoa. Whoa! Get your hands off her!”
A woman’s voice. Heidi’s. We all glanced at each other, the commotion building outside.
“I’ll rip your fucking head off!” An unknown woman’s voice screamed.
“Fuck!” someone shouted, a body falling through the door of the tent.
The woman landed on her back, her legs almost coming straight over her head. Jazz stood at the doorway, her hand rolled into a ball, a tiny drip of blood running down from her nose.
“You’ve let Jazz come here?” Jake shouted, the woman lying on the floor of Indie’s tent, dazed.
“What do you mean ‘let’?” Fury snarled. “Since when have you known our sister do anything with permission from any of us?”
Jacob turned to Fury, squaring up to him even though he was over four inches shorter and even less than that in width.
“The fucking Hand are about to rain holy fucking hell down on you and my sister is here in the middle of it all. Fuck’s sake, Fury, can’t you keep any of our family safe?”
Fury’s fist shot out before the young police sergeant could even read the cues from the darkness that swept over our vice president’s face. Jacob staggered backwards, surprised, and then his nose exploded with blood.
“Fucking hell!” Indie folded his hands behind his head, exasperation and frustration telling on his face.
Chapter Thirty Two
Voices surrounded the tent. The low drone of conversations, the odd snore from somewhere nearby. The tents were crammed so close together that it seemed I could hear everyone around me. And if I could hear everyone, then so could everyone hear me, us.
The sleeping bag was empty. Both Cade and Caleb had gone. I rolled over, the movement shifting the remnants of aftershave, the scent tickling my nose. A collection of clothes had built at the bottom: underpants, knickers. All cast off at some point last night.
Rolling over, I lay looking at the ceiling of the little dome tent, grey and boring. The day had built enough daylight that the tent was naturally lit, and my mind wandered with worry and regret. I shouldn’t have let that happen. I shouldn’t have let Caleb touch me, let alone let him enter me. But I’d lost all control, taken over by carnal urges and the pull from between my legs.
Where had they both gone? Were they arguing? Was Cade upset with me? My stomach was heavy, dread sneaking in and refusing to budge.
The surrounding voices changed. Women’s voices now. Lots of them, and I couldn’t make any of them out. But there was an urgency to the tone, and it grew closer.
“You fucking bitch!” I heard the voices more clearly now. “I saw you giving him eyes.”
“Babe, I wouldn’t touch him with a barge pole. No way would I flirt with that arsehole. Get back to your fella and stop making a tit of yourself.”
I crawled out of the sleeping bag, fishing around in the holdall for some clean underwear. My little tent shook, someone tripping over a guide rope.