Page 31 of Jazz

I sighed. I knew what she was saying. And I knew that she wasn’t really a Northern King, any more than my sister was a Teesside Road Rat. The boulder in my stomach dropped a little lower, like it might just take me off a cliff with it.

“To us, you’re a King.” My voice trailed off, and no chanting in my head was going to make me believe the shit that was coming out of my mouth.

“My brother is a King. Not me. I didn’t ask for this life. I don’t ride their bikes. I barely go to the club. I spend more time away from them than with them. My rules aren’t their rules. Or your rules. I’m free of your rules.”

Her voice was strong. Her chin tipped up to the ceiling defiantly, and her hands balled into fists. If she wasn’t tied to a fucking bed, she would have swung for me. And that’s what I loved about her. What drew me to her.

Fuck. Close. I was too close. I needed to treat her like what she was. Payback for Mike. A currency. A sacrifice to the MCGods. To Grim. An offering in exchange for the Bloody Hand’s patch over ours.

“You know, you lot talk about freedom all the time?” She continued. “But you’re chained to your presidents and your rules. You do what they say, or you’re out. That’s not freedom.” Her chest rose fast now, her voice biting despite how broken she was. “I ride a Hayabusa. You know why? Because it’s fast. Because when I’m on it, nothing else matters. It’s two fingers up at my brother, at the Kings, at their rules, at this bullshit. They might run the Kings, but I’m free. They’ll never know that. You’ll never know that.”

She pulled on the ropes instinctively. A gesture reminding me we held her in captivity. Like a tiger in a cage.

I froze, her words cutting through me like nothing had in years. A Hayabusa. The fastest bastard thing on two wheels. The way she said it wasn’t just about the bike. It was about her, about the need to break out, to breathe in something other than orders.

Mike used to say the same before everything went to hell. He used to ride like the devil was snapping at his back, and I’d ride with him. We weren’t on club runs. Just the two of us. No colours. No orders. No weight of this patch on our shoulders. Just brothers, closer than blood. Now it was gone. Mike was gone. And no patch, no Rat, no kill, would fill that hole.

My hand moved before I realised it. It went to the blindfold, fingers brushing the knot. I could undo it. I could see her. Those eyes, whatever they held. I needed them. Needed to know. My thumb pressed against the fabric.

But I stopped. Because I knew what was happening. I wasn’t supposed to care. I wasn’t supposed to want to protecther. She was leverage, nothing else. Pity had no place in this life, and the feeling digging its claws into me was far worse than pity.

I pulled my hand back. Got up. Left her there, wrists raw, blindfold still on, my head a fucking mess.

I turned at the door, looking at her one last time. At the anger on her face. At the way her arms strained against the ropes. At the way, when my mind lingered on her, that fucking mass of guilt and uncertainty in my stomach grew that little more. At her, watching her spread-eagled and subdued, it was as conflicting as it was compelling.

Fuck.

*****

The clubhouse stank of smoke, stale beer, and sweat. The Notorious were there, lounging like they owned the place, and The Hand had slithered in, too. A table between us, bottles scattered, the conversation circled the Kings.

“They’re tearing Middlesbrough apart,” Grim smirked. “Can’t find their princess. Don’t even know where to start.”

“They’ll find her,” I muttered.

Dougal cut me a look sharp enough to pin me. “Not if we keep our shit together, they won’t. Kings are bleeding out. We keep the pressure on, they’ll crack.”

I nodded, but my head wasn’t in it. I could hear her voice, feel the heat of her skin under my hands, the way she said Hayabusa like it was holy. The void Mike left had been a wound I let fester. Now, somehow, she pressed her fingers right into it.

“Aye, but they’re tearing the place down looking for her,” Thrash grumbled. “I’ve got our lot riding in twos everywhere.And rumour has it the north west clubs are talking to them. If they get those fuckers on board, they’ll outnumber us.”

“You were supposed to have put a stop to that at the Frost Bite.” Grim studied Thrash over the rim of his pint glass.

“Aye, well, I didn’t expect the Kings to fuck off the way they did.”

“You’ve got a fucking mole, though. How did you not fucking know?”

Thrash shrugged, staring at his feet like a schoolboy getting a bollocking in the headmaster’s office.

“We had no intel on that. We had no idea that would happen.”

“Aye, well it did. And it didn’t look good for the Notorious, Thrash. You really let us down.” Grim continued, setting his pint back onto the table and leaning back in his chair. “I need people I can rely on, trust. I need to know if I give them a job, they’ll be able to fucking do it.”

Thrash nodded, looking humbled.

“Won’t happen again, Grim.”

“Too fucking right, it won’t.”