Page 5 of Jazz

“Get her inside, Chase. I’m fucking bored with this shit now,” Dougal’s Scottish tone instructed from my right-hand side.

*****

She hung heavily from the winch lowered from the ceiling. The tips of her toes dragged on the floor, her arms stretched above her, cable ties binding her hands and slipped over the big metal hook. She would wobble every few minutes, tirednessmaking it hard to support her own weight on the very end of her feet, her head sagging forwards momentarily.

“What we doing with her now?” I asked Skinny, who stood smoking on my left-hand side.

“Dougal wants her videoed. Send a message to the Kings that we’ve got her.”

“Who is she anyway?”

“Fury’s sister.”

“Fuck,” I groaned.

“What?”

“You know how fucking wild this is going to get? Thought she was just a club whore or something.”

“You reckon the Kings would let a random woman ride with them on their own bike?” Skinny chuckled.

“She rides?”

“Aye, Chase. A fucking Busa.”

“A Hayabusa? You sure?”

“I chased her fucking down on it. She was pretty fucking fast too. Took us twenty miles to catch her. Reckon she would give you a run for your money.”

I shook my head. No one in this club could outride me. Not anymore. And there was no way a woman could. I looked again at the woman hanging from the winch, at the tight racing leathers, the material straining around the arms as she wobbled. Her lips pursed, resistant, stubborn, in control. For now. But the Rats would break her down. Bit by bit, we’d rip her apart. Because Mikey needed to be avenged, and I didn’t care who itwas hanging from the ceiling, dangling in the middle of the floor for all of us to see.

The factory lights flicked on everywhere. Bright white light illuminated her body, scattering her shadow in all directions. The woman winced. Sensing the light even behind the blindfold tightly wedged over her eyes. The men in the room hushed. No one speaking. The whirr of voices stilling and silence swooping in to take its place. The woman’s head snapped up, turning left and right, looking and searching and seeing nothing.

Dougal stood in front of her, mobile in hand, the camera running, capturing her strung up and hanging from the winch hook like a piece of meat. Exactly how the Rats would treat her.

“Got one of yours here, Indie,” his Scottish tone drawled.

The woman’s head pricked up, her blindfolded eyes staring straight at the spot where he stood.

“You killed one of ours today, Indie. You know the rules. An eye for an eye…” Dougal glanced over his shoulder, nodding at Skinny.

The gangly vice president sauntered over to the woman hanging from the winch. He smiled towards the camera, flashing a mouth of gaps and marbled teeth, then reached round behind her, grabbing her plait and yanking hard. Her head snapped back, her throat bared to the president she couldn’t see. The woman kicked out again, flailing her legs, her weight sinking onto her shoulder blades.

“Fucking stand still,” Skinny hissed, pulling the knife from its sheath on his waist.

He placed the metal against her throat. The woman stilled, recognising the feel of steel against her throat. Her chest heaveda breath. Steadying herself or preparing for another fight, I wasn’t sure.

“We’ll gut her throat to cunt,” Dougal continued, the camera moving down her body then moving back to where Skinny held the blade against her. “But not before we’ve all had our fun with her.”

I pushed my lips together, watching her intently. She didn’t react in fear; her face scrunching up like she suddenly had a bad taste in her mouth. And then she exploded wildly, like nothing I’d ever seen before.

Skinny hadn’t been ready for her. Too fixated on parading her for the camera. The heel of her boot connected hard with his knee, his leg twisting out from under him, before he hit the floor like a blown-up high rise. The Vice President yelled, then groaned, grabbing his kneecap.

“Fucking bitch,” he pushed out through gritted teeth.

The woman on the winch stilled, tipping her chin up defiantly. She couldn’t see where the rest of us were. But stared straight at us, anyway. Then her face pulled, transforming, and the smile broke on her lips, wide, animated, smug.

“Don’t just fucking stand there, Chase. Help me up. Bitch has busted my knee.”