Page 8 of Jazz
“She’s Fury’s fucking sister. What did you expect her to be? The whole family is nuts.”
“Aye. But she must know what is coming. What we’ll do to her. She should be fucking terrified. But she’s not, just angry.”
“It’s just the adrenaline,” I studied the woman hanging up in my warehouse. She was quiet for now. But her head was no longer sagging. She was alert again. Listening. “It’ll wear off. Then we’ll see her crack.”
“Is that what you want, Chase?” Dougal asked, staring through the glass like I was.
“I want blood, Prez. I want redemption. And I don’t fucking care who pays. As long as they pay. She’s a good choice. It’ll hurt them more that it’s her. Maybe we’ll tattoo a Rats’ Sigel into her back before we finish with her. Then they can have her body back.”
The flat of Dougal’s hand thumped me in the back. “I like the way you think, kid. In fact, I fucking love that idea.”
We stared again out the windows. Watching her silently.
“Right, then,” Dougal’s Scottish rumble rolled into the silence. “I’m off home. You coming?”
I shook my head. “Nah. I’ll lock up here. Besides, don’t want the neighbours to see a shitload of bikes coming and going or she’ll not stay hidden for long.”
“What fucking neighbours? Nae one’s here.”
“Ya never know who might be pulling an all-nighter in the other units. Best not get complacent.”
Dougal rolled his eyes. “Aye. All right. See ya tomorrow.”
“We start on her tomorrow?”
“Dunno yet, mate. Might give her a few more days just hanging around. See if we can’t break that spirit a bit.”
I nodded this time, saying nothing, my eyes fixed on the woman. The pat on my shoulder almost made me jump, my attention already drifting off elsewhere.
“Catch ya later, Chase.”
A draught whirled around my legs, filling the office with an icy coldness. Behind me, the door clanked, hissing as the heavy seals pulled the fire-retardant structure back in place.
Whether she had sensed that someone had left, or felt the building descend into quiet, I wasn’t sure, but her head snapped up again, her blindfolded eyes staring straight at me, as if she could see through the heavy black fabric. But I knew she couldn’t. That behind the mask she had absolutely no vision, and I could watch her safely, knowing she didn’t know I was there.
I didn’t move, only watched. Decisively, she stood on the very tip of her toes, the ends of her fingers feeling over the hook. Her movement was careful, diligent. Stretching and reaching. Trying to slip her hands over the ends of the hook. Clever. Measured. The corners of my mouth twitched, an involuntary smile. One I couldn’t allow to fully form.
After five minutes she stopped, slumping forwards, her chest moving heavily in the leather bike suit she wore. Her lips pursed together, the muscles in her neck straining, just enough that I could see the sinewy lines disappear under the collar of the leather. She was tired. The little burst of effort had taken its toll on already sore muscles. She’d been on that hook for over an hour now. But that was just the start. We wouldn’t need to break her spirit. That metal hook hanging from my warehouse ceiling would do it all for us. By tomorrow morning she’d be as compliant as a starved hamster.
Yet she wasn’t done. Her head snapped upwards once more, regaining her balance on the balls of her feet. Adjusting her weight against the winch. Then her hands moved, slowly at first. Then the pace picked up, and I realised what she was doing. The cable ties would hold. The metal of that hook was far too smooth for her to catch the tough plastic against anything. They wouldn’t snap. There’d be no give. She probably knew that too. But she kept going, dragging the plastic back and forth against the hook. Relentlessly. Stubbornly. She wobbled, a slightindication of fatigue. Her toes caught on the floor. And then she winced, her weight falling onto the hook, onto weary shoulders. The first sign of weakness, and it had only taken a couple of hours. A couple of hours longer than the men I’d hung from that hook before her, who had screamed and begged the minute I’d strung them up there.
The woman drew in a breath. Air inflating her lungs, pushing her chest out into the leather suit, evident curves now more obvious than before. Then she started again, rubbing her wrists on the hook. Again and again and again. And I just stood watching. Watching the tightness of her jaw, plump lips pushed together as she concentrated, and well-shaped brows hinted at a scowl, partly hidden by the thick blindfold. I imagined the colour of her eyes. Blue maybe? They would shine like jewels. Fiery, angry jewels when that mask came off.
I shook my head. I was tired. Emotional and this wasn’t the release of anger I needed. I needed to hurt something. Someone. And she wasn’t it. Not yet, at least.
The woman stopped now, her weight sagging back against the hook. Her chest heaving from the effort. The scowl had morphed to pain, her jaw tight and the muscles in her neck flickering. She nipped at her lip. Maybe to stop them wobbling? To stop from crying? Was I seeing the first wave of emotion from the wildcat that hung on the hook in front of me?
The door pushed open in front of me without me even realising. My legs moving. Stealthy, soft steps as I crept into the bowels of the empty warehouse. There was nothing in there tonight. No product to move. No bike parts to hide and no bikes to break down. It was completely empty. Apart from her.
I could smell her as I got closer. The warmth of her skin in the leather, just turning into the first sweet smell of a woman’ssweat. The remnants of perfume, almost completely gone, just the gentleness of something that might have once been floral. Much more delicate that the dark-haired woman that hung in front of me. She wasn’t small. Just above average height. But her waist nipped in, bulging just enough over hips. Not an hourglass shape, but immensely feminine. Just enough to rest your hands if you were fucking her from behind.
She sniffed the air around her, blindfolded eyes tracking me.
“I know you’re there, fucker!” She launched her legs out in front of her, kicking the air, her voice echoing in the emptiness.
I said nothing. Didn’t breathe. Treading carefully, so she didn’t know exactly where I was.
Her arse was round and tight. My eyes swept over her body as I stepped around her. The long, dark plait swayed as her head snapped up. Her head tilted towards me, her nostrils flared, and I could almost swear she could see through that blindfold right then as she tracked the movement of my body, straining to look over her shoulder.