Page 4 of Jazz

My stomach lurched. Where the fuck was my bike? I’d dropped it. I’d felt the fairing scratching and buckling, heard the scraping of metal on the lumpy road surface. And now I had no clue where she lay. Whether she’d been left on the road or whether one of these bastards had claimed her as their own.

The noise of the bike cut off. The air vibrated in my ears for a few seconds, but when it cleared, it wasn’t silent. There were voices now. Low. Rumbling. Not quite intelligible. Men’s voices. How many? I tried to count. Tried to sort through the distinct tones. But they weren’t close enough. Conversational. At least two. But the rumble was persistent. So probably more.

I strained my ears, holding my breath. I knew they would come, these men. I just didn’t know when. And with my hands and legs bound, the blindfold wedged so tightly into my face I couldn’t work the fabric over my eyes, I had no defence. There was a click. A lock unlocking. Something moved in my vision. A swirl of blackness, the darkness from my blindfold disturbed, and cold air rushed at my face. The doors. Someone had opened the doors of the vehicle. The floor underneath me creaked with weight. Someone moving closer. Coming to get me. I pulled my legs back, listening. The swish of fabric on metal. And then again. Closer. I kicked out, withdrawing my legs and kicking out with both of them again. Changing direction and repeating.

Pressure wrapped around an ankle. A hand. I kicked again, putting my whole weight behind it.

“Get the fuck off me! Take your stinking, fucking hands off me! I’ll fucking kill you!” I shouted with each thrust of my legs, my voice echoing in the metal box.

“Fuck,” someone groaned loudly. “She got me in the bollocks. Fucking bitch.”

The vehicle creaked, the suspension underneath complaining. The force across my face took me by surprise. A sudden sharp pain in my mouth, and then a pulsing heat. Darkness swarmed around me. Thick and suffocating, my head spinning. Then I felt it, the dribble of something down my chin. I wiped at it with bound hands, smearing warm wetness across them.

“Fucking ugly cunt!” I growled. “Cut me free. See what happens, cunt!”

Hands grasped my legs again, pulling hard, knocking me backwards and sending the back of my head crashing into the floor. A hand grabbed my thigh, and I kicked out, dislodging it. But it grabbed again at my wrist and then another on the other side, pressure curling round my biceps. Closer to my face. To my teeth. I snapped my head sideways, sinking my teeth hard into flesh. A man screamed beside my ear. Good. Hope that hurt the fucker.

And then maybe it was lighter. The blackness covering my eyes faltered. Greyer. Hands gripped my arms tightly, lifting me off the ground and moving me forwards. I tried to keep up, but my legs couldn’t move, and the toes of my leather bike boots scraped off the floor.

Now I heard the men’s voices. Lots of them. Sneering and leering, shouting and laughing.

“Look at the fucking arse on that,” someone said to the side of me.

“I never thought I’d get to fuck a King,” another voice beside him.

Around him, a chorus of deep laughs erupted.

“We gonna get to see what’s under all that leather, boss?”

Not too far away, a Scottish rumble answered. “Not just yet, boys. The Kings need to know we’ve got her. Then you can have your fun.”

Bile rose in my throat. My heart hammered in my chest. And for the first time ever in my life. I was truly frightened.

Chapter Four

They dragged the dark-haired woman across the yard, kicking her legs and thrashing her body. At least someone had the sense to tie her up. She was like a wildcat caught in a trap. Terrified. Dangerous. Out for blood. What the club was going to do with her, I didn’t know. I didn’t make those decisions. I did as I was told. Whatever that was. And I did it gladly. These were my brothers. If we were told to take a life, we did. No questions asked. Well, not many. I liked to know who I was killing. Why I was ending their lives. Because that would direct how I did it. Slow and painful or quick and all businesslike. She would be no different, if and when the time came.

But I still watched the angry, hissing woman yanked towards me, and listened to the jeers of the men in the club. Men with blood pumping in their veins and cocks, yelling out what they were going to do to her. The death of a brother did a funny thing to the club. To the men. It stoked anger and fired up retribution. And we didn’t care who answered for it. So why did I feel a bubble of anger each time one of those men grabbed his crotch and insinuated what he was going to do to the blindfolded woman paraded past them? She was just payback. A life for a life. It was the MC way, after all, even if she strictly speaking, she wasn’t a King herself. Her life would be taken as they had taken one of ours.

She must have sensed the opening of the building approaching as suddenly she burst with energy once more. Forcing her weight against the men holding her, pulling and kicking, throwing her head into the surrounding air as she thrust it in any direction to hit someone. The crowd of bikers surrounding her cheered, and it sounded like a goal had been scored at a football match. The woman’s effort intensified, battling against the hold of the men. Only this time her aim caught as she spun hard, flinging her bound wrists over her shoulder and catching Tommo square in the nose. The pussy fell to his knees, letting go of her, clutching at his face.

She swung the other way, hoping to connect but getting nothing but thin air instead. The other man stepped away from her too, more concerned for his face now that his brother was on the floor with blood running through his fingers.

“Fucking bitch broke my nose,” Tommo groaned from his knees.

The woman hopped around on two bound legs, escaping blindly, but going nowhere.

“Fuck’s sake,” Skinny bellowed. “Someone fucking get hold of her.”

Men moved forward. Desperate to get their filthy hands on her. The first touch. Hoping they’d get the chance to slip them somewhere else. The woman stumbled, teetered sideways and fell onto her shoulder. The yelp from her throat came out involuntarily. The sign of real pain as she landed heavily. I pushed through the men surrounding her, who’d pulled her to her feet as she tried to fight them off again.

“Fuck!” another shouted. “She fucking bit me.”

The surrounding bikers wrestled her back onto tied feet, diving and ducking as she flailed her arms.

“Fuck’s sake,” I grumbled, barely audible over the commotion in the yard. “Out the fucking way,” I ordered.

The men cleared my path, and I waited for the swing of her arms, stepping underneath the arc as she threw them towards me, and ducking. I pushed into her with my shoulder, the momentum sending her over the top of me. And then I stood, the screaming, fighting woman pounding on my back with the heels of her tied hands.