Page 26 of Jazz
Jazz lay on her back. If I could have seen her eyes, I would have said she was staring at the ceiling. In the bike suit, her chest rose and fell in a long, slow rhythm.
“So, what now?” Dougal grumbled from behind me.
I hadn’t heard him at first, my attention only on the woman that lay on the mattress in front of me. The long, dark plait lay out to one side. Her lips parted slightly, half in surprise. Blood streaked her face, the dull light from above casting shadows over bruises. But despite that, there was no mistaking that profile of her face. Well-sculpted cheekbones leading down to a defiant tip of her chin, even when she wasn’t doing anythingat all. Fuck how I needed to see those eyes. See what was behind that blindfold.
“Leave her here,” I said eventually.
“We got anything to tie her up with?”
I gazed at her again, watching her lips twitch with tension.
“Door on here locks,” I shrugged.
“Aye, but she’ll fucking try to escape. And I don’t want the fucking Kings finding her before we get what we need from this. Or before Grim sanctions anything else.”
Now when I glanced back at her, those lips were pursed. Like she refused to give me, or anyone else, the satisfaction of fear. Christ, even blindfolded and half-broken, she had fight in her.
I should’ve looked away. Should’ve given Dougal the nod, played it like I didn’t give a shit either way. But I couldn’t. My eyes stuck on her. She still didn’t move. Just waited. I wish I could tell what she was thinking. Other than fear. Because no matter how strong she thought she fucking was, I knew she was grappling with the siren call of panic.
Behind me, the weight of the brothers pressed in. Silence heavy enough to choke on, suspicion rolling off them in waves. I could feel it, all their eyes on me, reading too much into the way I hesitated, into the way I kept looking back at her.
I shifted my stance, squared my shoulders, but inside it didn’t feel like strength. Inside, something tore me open. Loyalty had always been simple: club first, no questions. But now? Watching her on that filthy mattress, her body fighting just to keep from giving in to exhaustion. It twisted everything I thought I knew.
I’d killed for less. Hurt men and laughed about it, because pain had always been power. But this wasn’t power. It wasn’t clean. It was wrong, and it burned in my gut like poison.
“There’s rope in the storage cupboard.”
I hadn’t taken my eyes off her. But those words made her flinch. And now she was pushing up onto her forearms. That fight in her returning as she chose that over exhaustion. She was fucking incredible. Any normal woman would be a crying, screaming heap right now. But not her. As resilient as a fucking tiger. And as fucking deadly if we didn’t keep her restrained. Dougal was right.
Feet shuffled behind me, retreating from the room.
Jazz swung her legs, pulling them off the single bed in the corner of the room. I crossed that room faster than I’d ever done, standing in front of her by the time she’d got into a seated position, her knees knocked off my legs. And now I towered over her, the woman in the leather suit. The suit clung to every fucking delicious curve of her body.
“Don’t go there, Jazz.” My voice was soft, and for a moment she paused, looking up at me.
Fuck. Heat swelled in my stomach, rushing at me like I was being ambushed. If she hadn’t been blindfolded, if I could have seen her eyes, seen her watch me like that, I would have lost all control. Visions soaked my brain. My dick fucking reacting to every single one.
I needed her restrained. And I needed to get out of this room.
She pushed to her feet. And I knocked her back onto her arse. Onto the old mattress on the single bed.
The movement shifted the smells around us. Must. Dirt. Damp. The mattress carried a trace of rot, a stale sourness mixed with rusted metal and old sweat. It had settled deep, beyond scrubbing, beyond fire. Maybe it was still there, or maybe it was only in my head. I knew what had bled into those seams. I’d put it there. And every time the scent rose, thin and stubborn, it reminded me she would end the same way. My stomach tightened again at that thought.Think about Mike. I pulled his image from the dark recesses where I was keeping it. Locked away so I could have rational thought. Mikey. His face hadn’t even had time to contort. To work out what was happening. He’d been here. And then, just like that. Gone.
Someone shoved something towards me. Just in time. Blue rope. The sort of stuff I tied exhausts and equipment down with to transport. Now I was tying her down with it.
“Legs,” I grunted the instruction at someone.
“Get the fuck off me!” She erupted, finding energy from somewhere, and that wild cat stuck in a trap, fighting for its life, was back.
She threw out her hands. But they weren’t fists this time. They were talons. Her fingers curled. This time she was after maximum impact. And blood. Her legs kicked and thrashed, and I ducked under one of her claws.
“Fucking hold her!” I shouted behind me.
“You fucking hold her, Chase. Those fucking boots are heavy.”
“Fuck’s sake. Fucking amateur.”
I ducked another swipe, dipping under her arm and sliding my chest across hers, pushing my weight on top of her to holdher down. Underneath me, she still wiggled. Her legs thrashed furiously, a brother behind me stepping back out of the way, watching her fight me. Fucking twat.