Page 43 of Jazz

My mind spun, weaving between reality and a shitstorm of possibilities. What if they’d found out she wasn’t just some pawn, that she mattered to me? Skinny was suspicious. I saw it every time he looked at me, his stare trying to catch me out. As if I’d cave and tell my brothers that I cared for that woman, and I’d been thinking of every viable scenario to get her out.

What if they’d gone too far already? What if she’d fought? Because she fucking would, and that fight had cost her.

The thought burned into my brain as I twisted the throttle harder. The front wheel lifted an inch off the ground before slamming back down, my body jolting forward, the Yamaha snarling like it felt what I felt.

For a split second, it wasn’t the empty streets of Middlesbrough under me. It was the racetrack. The world reduced to speed and corners and the blur of other riders in my peripheral. The same heat in my veins. That rush that made me forget everything else. But tonight, the finish line wasn’t glory and payday. It was her. And the thought of what I might find when I got there made the adrenaline turn poisonous.

The speedometer climbed. Seventy. Ninety. One hundred and ten. Streetlights couldn’t keep up now. Every nerve in my body was firing, electric, the bike an extension of me, dangerous and barely controlled. My jaw clenched so tight that I could feel the ache in my temples.

The rational part of my brain, the one that always kept me alive, was shouting, clawing for attention.Think, Chase. You don’t know what you’re riding into. You don’t know what’s waiting for you.

But the other side drowned it out. The side that heard her voice. That growl of defiance. Brimming full of confidence. And that side remembered the feel of her lips, the way she’d kissed me back. Challenging me. I’d only meant to make her quiet. I could have just shoved my hand over her mouth, but I feared the snap of teeth. The kiss had worked better. Caught her by surprise and, for the first time in these short days I’d known her, she’d actually done as she was told. I liked and hated that all at once.

And that side of my brain couldn’t lose her. Even though she wasn’t mine to keep.

The wind forced tears from the corners of my eyes and froze them against my cheeks. I blinked hard, forcing focus, forcing breath, forcing my attention back onto the road before I killed myself trying to save her. The Yamaha’s engine howled as I took the A-road bend too tight, the back wheel fishtailingfor a heartbeat before catching again. A truck flashed past in the opposite lane, horn blaring, lights strobing white across the black of my visor.

Didn’t matter. Nothing fucking mattered.

Just the road. Just her.

Every gear shift was violence, every turn a threat. My stomach twisted with the same sick exhilaration I used to get when the flag dropped. Only this time there was no crowd, no finish, no prize. Just that building dread eating at me from the inside out.

The road finally stretched into the long straight that cut between the warehouses. I crouched low, throttle maxed, chest pressed against the tank. The Yamaha howled, feral, wild. Wind battered my shoulders, my ribs, my helmet.

And still, it wasn’t fast enough.

The gate of the warehouse took an age to move. Metal scratched, and the motor whirred, and it seemed to think about it for a minute before there was a deep, heavy clunk. And then, mercifully, movement. My grip tightened around the throttle, willing the heavy steel barrier to slide more quickly. But torturously slowly, it slid centimetre by centimetre. My heart beat four pumps to every tiny increment, heaviness building in my chest like a fucking pressure cooker ready to blow.

Still, the gap wasn’t near enough. Maybe three feet, four pat the most. Not wide enough for comfort. I squeezed the throttle, the bike louder amongst the sleepy industrial units on either side of me, screaming like a pissed-off banshee. I leaned low; the bike leaping forward, my shoulder grazing metal as I shot through. The mirror clipped the edge with a sharp crack, sparks flicking like gunfire. My pulse slammed in my throat,the bike jolting beneath me as I straightened up on the other side. Didn’t matter. I was through. And every second I’d spent hesitating was another second closer to too fucking late.

I almost dropped the bike as I swung to a halt in front of the warehouse, missing the kickstand with the first swipe of my boot and catching the full weight of the Yamaha as it tilted. Two hundred kilos of angry metal lurched against my thigh, the bars biting into my palms as I fought it upright. My pulse hammered with it, one heartbeat for every tremor of the engine still snarling beneath me. I didn’t have time for this.

The warehouse was eerily quiet. Not much out of place. I didn’t turn on a light; the old emergency lighting glowing green, giving me enough to see by. I placed each foot carefully. Quietly. I wanted to run. To thunder down the corridor and yank her free of them. But I had no idea how many of my brothers were in there and what the fuck I was going to do about it, anyway.

My heart hammered in my throat with each step I took down that corridor. I couldn’t run; they’d hear my footsteps. I needed them unprepared. The door was ajar when I got there; the frame battered and splintered from where they’d kicked it in. They were holding her face down on the bed. She wasn’t fighting. She was just lying there, with her wrists and ankles restrained how I’d left them, but someone had retied the knots. She’d been fighting though. The bed had moved from the wall, a gap between it and the headboard, and there were two brothers on top of her, using every bit of their weight to keep her still.

The deep vibrations of the drill filled the room, the odd mutterings of conversation. I counted four brothers. Five with the tattooist, Shade. He was one of us. Ran a shop out of the centre of Middlesbrough. Five. I could probably take two withthe element of surprise. But five? I needed a plan, and really fucking quickly.

Retreating, I glanced around. An old fire extinguisher hung on the wall beside the toilet. A dried-up mop in a bucket. And my flick knife. I felt my pocket. These were my brothers. Comrades. I patted the knife again, the noise of the machine grinding away in the background. Fuck. Got a mess to clean up, I guessed. I grabbed the mop, pulling the fire extinguisher from the bracket. Element of surprise, I told myself.

I nudged the door with my shoulder, following the movement as it opened. The two men on top of her looked up, eyes searching and narrowing with familiarity. I didn’t give them the chance of realisation. I pulled at the lever, the stiff metal biting into my hand before it finally gave. The old canister coughed first. A dry wheeze and a splutter of white dust. Then it roared to life, belching a thick jet of powder. The hiss filled the room, angry and alive, smoke-white plumes rolling through the air like a storm. They shouted, swore, someone hit the floor with a thick thump, but I couldn’t tell who, as the fog swallowed the room.

Shouts of confusion joined the smoke, men moving and even I couldn’t see them properly. The drill of the machine shut off. Guess I had their attention now. Skinny came at me first, limping through the smoke.

“Knew you were a fucking traitor, you cunt!”

I waited. Just a step closer that’s all I needed, and then I twisted the extinguisher, forcing it into his face as hard as I could. He didn’t get time to scream. His face exploded, his nose a flattened mess, and he sank to my feet, crumpling like I’d just plucked all the bones from his body. Four.

The room erupted in shouts, and the extinguisher smoke gave me the perfect early warning, plumes swirling on both sides as I rushed. I swung the extinguisher left then right, missing with my first swing and connecting with the right. Three.

The elbow cracked hard against the back of my head, sending me staggering into the abyss of white cloud. Stars burst behind my eyes, the world tilting hard as the extinguisher slipped from my hands, clattering loudly at my feet and coughing its last like it was winded. For a second I didn’t know which way was up. Just noise, smoke, and dizziness.

The boot to my gut drew a groan, pulling my brain out of the tailspin. Get up. Get up. It kicked into gear now. From my left, the heavy-booted foot came again. I caught it, wrapping my arms around a brother’s leg and pulling it hard until he hit the ground behind me. I pushed to my knees. Then a weight. Hard and heavy on my back. Thick arms wrapped around my neck, pushing under my throat. Turning my head, I dropped my chin. The man on the floor was getting up. I was soon back to three, and that element of surprise I’d created was disappearing as quickly as the white cloud from the extinguisher.

I staggered to my feet, the man on my back heavier than me. My legs shook under our weight, his arms gripping as hard as he could. This fella lifted weights, arms like fucking tree branches, and if he didn’t choke me, he was just gonna crush my neck. And then, game over. For both of us.

The vice around my neck was closing in, my legs shaking under our combined weight. To my left, something moved, connecting with my knee. It cracked, giving way, sending me forwards. The extra weight added to the momentum, the man on my back coming with me. His grip loosened, the slightest millimetre of space forming at my windpipe. I ducked out,ignoring the grating, bony pain in my knee, adrenaline dumbing my senses.