Page 25 of Jazz

“Fuck’s sake,” Chase hissed, the words vibrating from his chest through me. “She’s not going back up there.”

“Then what?”

There was a pause. I could almost feel his brain turning. I should fight now. Take an opportunity at the faintest sign of hesitation. Kick him in the balls and run. Blindfolded. Probably straight into the next fucking Rat.

“Back room,” he said eventually.

Nobody else answered. They were probably nodding. Or looking at him as if he was an idiot.

And now I was moving, still clutched against him, but the very faintest of air brushed my cheek, moving through it.

Now it was time to struggle. Because I didn’t know what ‘back room’ was, and I didn’t fancy finding out. Summoning all my strength, I wriggled and convulsed. Chase’s grip on me moved. Shocked at first and then tightening, clutching me harder to his chest.

“Fucking stop it,” he grunted, his arms tightening around me further.

I grabbed at his bicep, trying to pull him off me. Strong, firm arms. The bulge of muscle under the soft fabric of his jumper contradicting, my fingers lingering over the definition just a little too long. And now I pushed against his chest, trying to break free, forcing the heel of my hand into the hardness of the pecs I could feel underneath. How big was he? He carried me with ease, unfazed to my squirming, thrashing limbs.

I kicked out my legs, the dull thumping of pain in my left thigh a reminder of my frailty.

“Fuck’s sake,” he grumbled again, lowering me quickly to the floor.

Then, dipping his shoulder, he ducked, pushing me against him, flipping me upwards. And now I was hanging again, but this time upside down, dangling over his back. He pinned my legs tight, stopping me from kicking him, the top half of my body swaying as he walked. I tried to prop myself up, to push against his back, but my arms were still numb.

Blood rushed hot to my head, the blindfold pressing tighter across my eyes as I dangled. Through my stomach, I could feel him. Heat and bulk, every muscle shifting like a machine as he walked. My cheek brushed the fabric of his jumper, the softness electrifying my nerve endings, smoothing against skin raw from the cold.

I thrashed or tried to. My arms were useless, pins and needles shooting fire through them, my legs clamped fast in his grip. Every jerk, every wriggle only seemed to lock me tighter against him, ribs pressed to the hard flexof his body. His scent poured over me, suffocating me in smoky spruce. Too sharp. Too Chase.

My heart hammered against my ribs, equal parts fury to panic. I should’ve kept fighting, should’ve found some way to make it hurt, but my strength bled out with every useless kick. All that was left was the humiliating awareness of him, the steady rise and fall of his chest under me, the brutal ease with which he carried me like I weighed nothing.

Fear curled in my stomach, sharp and cold, but tangled up with it was something hotter, creeping through my nerves in a way I couldn’t smother. I ground my teeth, swallowing it back. Whatever this was, back room, hook, chains, I couldn’t afford distraction. I had to find that fight again. And this fucking brain had to stop thinking up ways to fucking submit to him. Because that was never going to happen.

Footsteps echoed. And I counted. There was more than just Chase. The Scottish president. Someone else. Maybe two others. Not Skinny. I couldn’t smell him, even with the smothering notes of Chase’s aftershave; the intrusive stale smell of cigarettes wasn’t piercing the scent like it had done earlier. A door creaked, the screech harsh but not quite echoing, the sounds closer, not lost in the hugeness of where they had me hanging.

And then I was falling. Again. My stomach lurching, that same weightlessness from minutes before. Panic shot through me, white and raw, blinding for an instant. Mybody bracing for concrete, for bone-shattering impact. I gasped, waiting for the smash of it.

My back hit something soft. A dull whump, not a crack. Air rushed from my lungs, but nothing broke, the frightened gasp letting more out than the impact. The surface dipped under me, springs groaning, the faint stink of sweat and mildew rising. A mattress.

I lay frozen, every nerve still screaming like I was plummeting. My body didn’t believe it was safe, not yet. The ghost of the hook tugged at my wrists, phantom pain searing through torn flesh where the ties had bitten deep. Real pain burning in the same place from flesh almost flayed from bone. My shoulders still spasmed with the memory of being wrenched higher and higher, the brutal snap, the world rushing up to meet me.

But my hands. My hands were free. I blinked uselessly into the blindfold, flexing stiff fingers, half expecting the bite of plastic to cut me again. Nothing. Just skin. Skin and blood and freedom that I didn’t trust.

My chest heaved, pulling in air thick with dust and leather and faint traces of him. I wanted to move, to fight, but all I could do was lie there, caught between the memory of the fall and the mattress beneath me holding me up. Of lying on my back, not hanging from my shoulders. Exhaustion swarmed at the periphery. Unconsciousness ready to take me.

I flexed my fingers again, slow and cautious, waiting for the sharp bite of plastic, for the yank of the hook abovemy head. Nothing. Just raw skin and the stickiness of blood drying over torn wrists.

I turned my hands, palms up, palms down, the smallest movement like testing the edges of a cage. Still free. I pushed my elbow into the mattress, the springs whining under the weight. Muscles screamed, shoulders locked in protest, but I forced myself up an inch, two. The blindfold stayed dark, stealing every bearing, but I didn’t try to rip off. Not yet.

The stink of mildew and dust clung to the mattress, but underneath it, faint and stubborn, was him. His aftershave soaked into the fabric where he’d dropped me. That grounded me more than I wanted. More than I could admit.

“So what now?” The President’s voice broke through my tiredness, and I jolted, my body firing back up to fight mode.

“Leave her here.” Chase’s voice rumbled in the dark.

“We got anything to tie her up with?”

My teeth pulled on my lip. My wrists and shoulders burned at the thought.

Chapter Sixteen