Chapter Six
“Tommo!” Dougal growled at a hoodie-wearing brother, watching on from inside the glass-fronted office. “You and Doug get Skinny to hospital. That’s gonna need looking at.”
“I’m going to fucking kill the bitch,” Skinny groaned as I handed over one side of the man the president and I carried, Doug the Smug stepping under the injured man’s arm to take over. “When we start having fun, I want first dibs, brother.”
Dougal patted him on the shoulder, saying nothing, and then tipped his head to the two Rats’ riders who carried the injured man out.
“Don’t come back here tonight,” I called after them, watching as they turned to look at me quizzically.
“When Dougal sends that video, the Kings and what’s left of the coalition will be all over looking for her.
I don’t want anyone followed back here. Stay away and only come when we tell you.
They’ll never find this place if we’re careful. ”
The men nodded and then carried off our groaning Vice President with them.
“How long do you reckon we have till they find her?” Dougal asked when the door clicked shut behind them.
“Good week or two. And then they’ll be closing in. As long as our lot aren’t a bunch of numpties and lead them to the door, we have time. We keeping her around that long?”
Dougal fiddled with his phone, cropping the video to take out the part that the woman turned feral again and booted Skinny. Although I could have watched that part all day.
“For as long as we need to make the point.”
“And what point is that?”
“That they’re finished. The Kings are over, Chase.”
“So, this isn’t about Mikey?”
“Well, aye. We’re avenging him too. But The Bloody Hand are going to finish them this time, and there’s not a fucking thing they can do about it.”
“The Hand couldn’t finish them the last time, so I heard.” I shrugged, watching darkness dance on my President’s face.
“They will this time. The coalition came together to defend the North against the Bloody Hand. Strength in numbers and all that shite. The alliance doesn’t have the numbers anymore.
It’s already falling apart. It’s time for change, Chase.
And bit by bit we are destroying the Kings.
Her first,” he turned his head, gazing through the glass at the leather-clad woman hanging on the hook.
“We destroy the ones they love. And little by little we tear the Kings apart. They’ll scatter, trying to protect the women.
They’ve always been pussies like that. Even Ste.
And we’ll come for her too. His ex-wife.
Even if he’s snuffed it, we’ll destroy her in his memory. We’re just starting with this one.”
“What about the rest of the coalition, Dougal? They’ll not sit around and let us go after the families. There’s rules about that sort of thing, anyway.”
“There’s no rules in war, lad. Once we deal with the Kings, the coalition will fold, anyway.
It can’t survive without them. The Northern Kings are the coalition.
We all just came along for the ride, and some of those clubs just wanted the protection.
Without the Kings, they’ll either fuck off or join the Hand. ”
Dougal looked at his phone again, a smile starting across his face. The phone beeped. The message sent.
“Wish I was a fly on the wall of their church when they get this message.”
“They’re gonna come looking for us, Dougal.”
“Not yet. Only sent it to Grim.”
“What? Why not send it to the Kings?”
“Because I want them to be missing her. To be searching and looking. Not knowing. We left her bike at the side of the road. They’ll have found that by now.
But no trace of her. They’ll expect something.
They’ll know someone has taken her. They just won’t know who.
And then they will. And then they’ll know we’ll rip her apart.
We’ll start inside her first and send them videos as everyone uses her.
And then we’ll torture her. They’ll get every one of those videos.
One by one. Every day. I might even let them find her.
Let them think they can save her. But they won’t.
I’ll make sure she dies right in front of them. ”
I stood watching my president. His face was animated. Excited. Like the thought alone was turning him on. He watched through the windows, out into the bare warehouse, the only thing in there the woman hanging from the giant hook under the bright lights.
She’d quietened for now. Her head lolling slightly like she might be asleep, her weight slumped onto her shoulders, the slightest sag in her knees. Dougal watched too, steel-grey eyes alive.
“She’s pretty impressive though, don’t you think?” Dougal said eventually, his voice little louder than a hoarse whisper.
“What?”
“Impressive. A fighter.”
“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 slight indication 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’s sweat.
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.
From the back, her figure was amazing. The gentle sway of hips, a nice round arse, leather clinging to what I guessed were toned legs, bulging over tight, muscular calves, tapering away into thick-soled bike boots.
The dark plait hung long down her back, loose tendrils of hair falling around her face, sticking against her cheeks and forehead where a thin layer of sweat glistened in the bright lights.
I stepped closer. So close that I could really smell her.
The scent of a woman’s sweat, fresh and sweetly fragrant, mixed with the warm smell of skin, even though the bare warehouse welcomed the icy chill of early spring.
I could have touched her from here. Felt the smoothness of those cheeks, or the delicious bulge of her tits.
Maybe I could have tested the tightness of that arse.
Her breath caught in her throat. She held it in suspense.
Knowing I was close. Not knowing what I was going to do to her.
If her hands and legs hadn’t been bound, I was sure she would have caught me hard in the leg or groin as she kicked out wildly, the heavy metal hook groaning on the chain that suspended her and it from the ceiling.
“I can fucking hear you, cunt.”
Her voice was full of rage, the words harsh, dripping with Newcastle, the Geordie accent hiding a gentle feminine undertone, not so much that she sounded vulnerable. Just womanly.
I stood a little longer, watching her fight thin air.
Not knowing where I was, but knowing I was there.
There was something almost delicious about that.
About taunting her with my presence. About watching her fight and struggle, overly alert, using every one of her senses to find me.
I could do this for hours. Days. I shook my head.
A flash of rubber, the screech of metal.
And I remembered why she was there. Quietly, leaving no evidence I had left, I moved out, easing the office door shut behind me.
Behind the glass again, I watched. Her head swivelled left and right, held high like she was sniffing the air, not sure where I was but knowing something had changed. And something would change. Tomorrow.