Chapter Twenty
I’d heard the low mumbling of voices. The footsteps down the corridor.
Someone else was here. Dougal maybe? The only other person with a key.
But the steps were hurried. Distracted, I’d only heard half of what she said, and I was sure she’d fucking called me a dickhead.
One set was uneven. A limp. Fucking Skinny.
“Shush,” I warned.
“What do you mean, shush, dickhead?”
“Jazz, quiet.”
“Why? Because you don’t like what I’m saying. Because you can’t take the begging? Or because you don’t like being called a dickhead?”
Fuck’s sake. I loved that wild cat side of her. But sometimes, sometimes I really needed a kitten.
“Jazz. Really. Fucking shut up.”
“You’ll have to fucking gag me then, ya prick.”
I pushed her backwards, knocking open the door behind her with the heel of my hand and walking her backwards into another of the storage rooms. The room was an empty shell. Four walls and a door, and I kicked that shut behind us. But she still didn’t stop. The anger rose in her voice.
“Chase. What the fuck?”
“Fuck it,” I muttered.
My fingers tensed, digging into the padding on the shoulders of her bike jacket.
Her back hit the wall, my chest crushed into hers, and I crashed my mouth onto her lips.
Rough. Hard. Like I could silence every doubt in my head if I just pressed hard enough.
Her words stopped. She drew in a breath.
And now I was gone. Heat tore through me, raw, brutal, like fire racing under my skin.
She was all fight one second, rigid and bristling, fists curled against me, then her lips gave, softening, parting just enough to let me in.
I’d only meant to silence her. To shock her into shutting the fuck up.
But now? Fuck. The taste of her. Sweet, sharp, alive.
My pulse thundered in my ears, louder than her muffled gasp, louder than anything else in the room.
Louder than the footsteps down the corridor and the eager voices.
And now I wasn’t thinking about the club, or Grim, or what would happen if any of my brothers saw this.
I was thinking about the heat of her mouth, the way she tasted, something wild I couldn’t name but wanted more of.
I kissed her like I’d wanted to from the first moment she’d spat venom at me.
My tongue brushed hers, tentatively at first, then demanding.
She stiffened, fists pressing against me, and I thought she’d bite.
Scratch. Spit. But she didn’t. She gave.
Just a fraction. Just enough to let me in.
Her mouth answered back, sparking that wild rhythm, rough and desperate, until every inch of me was strung tight.
The blindfold cut me off from her eyes, and maybe that was worse.
I couldn’t see her, couldn’t read what was behind those lashes.
It made me greedy. Made me search harder.
Press harder. Twisting my fingers in her hair, sliding my thumb along the edge of her jaw.
She felt so fucking small under me, even though she wasn’t.
But every ounce of her defiance pushed back, her body refusing to surrender even as her lips tangled with mine.
Christ, it was like stepping off a ledge, sparking something I hadn’t felt in years. Raw. Alive. Uncontrollable. My blood roared, every nerve blazing. I angled my mouth deeper, greedier, hands tangling in her hair, thumb stroking her cheek like I could map her face in the dark.
I should’ve stopped. Should’ve shoved myself back before I fell headfirst into something I couldn’t crawl out of.
But her lips held me captive, every brush of that tongue.
Not weak. Not passive. She kissed me with fire, her mouth fighting mine, matching me beat for beat until I wasn’t sure if we were battling or devouring each other.
Her body pressed into me, heat searing through her leather and my denim, and I felt it, that dangerous shift inside me. Not lust. Not hunger. Something worse. Something that twisted low in my gut, tightening the muscles in my chest.
Gentle? Fuck, I went gentle. My lips slowed, dragging over hers, softer now, savouring her. Like I’d forgotten who the fuck I was. Like I hadn’t spent half my life breaking people instead of kissing them.
I had to stop.
I tore my mouth from hers like I’d been burned, breath ragged, forehead nearly touching hers. Cold air slammed between us. Shocking. Cruel. Her lips were parted, chest heaving, and for one insane second, I almost leaned back in. Almost lost myself all over again.
But I didn’t. I stepped back, fists clenched, swallowing down the ache in my chest. Because if I didn’t stop now, I never would.
And outside that door, the voices grew stronger.
I pressed my finger against her lips.
“Jazz. There’s people outside. The Rats. My brothers. I need you to be quiet right now. I need to think.”
And for once, she did as I fucking asked her. She said nothing. She stood still. I should fucking kiss her more often.
Their voices grew louder. Urgency. They were in the room. And that room was empty. The ropes cut, and no prisoner. No me. I needed a plan. And quickly.
“Do you trust me?” I whispered.
“You know I fucking don’t.”
I shouldn’t have expected anything less.
“Well, then can you just pretend to? For five minutes?”
“Fine.”
That was the best I was gonna fucking get.
“Scream.”
“What?”
“Scream.”
“No.”
For fuck’s sake.
“Fine,” I growled.
I grabbed her wrist. She yanked her arm backwards, but my grip was too strong. I drove my nails into the wounds, pressing hard.
The noise rang out in the storage cupboard, loud and shrill. I opened the door, pausing just long enough to let the noise spill out. Her scream echoed off the concrete, raw and panicked. Perfect. But I needed more. Evidence. Proof.
Without letting go of her wrist, I reached for my own.
The blade in my pocket flicked open with a snap, that metallic sound sharp enough to cut through the noise in my head.
I dragged it across my forearm, quick and shallow but messy, just enough to sting, just enough to bleed.
Warm liquid welled up instantly, sliding down my skin.
It hurt, yeah. But it was nothing compared to what I’d done to others.
Nothing compared to what would happen if they thought I’d gone soft.
I hissed through my teeth and smudged the blood down my neck with my thumb, dragging it to make it look like a struggle had gone wrong. Then I gripped Jazz tighter, hauling her against me like I’d just caught her mid-escape.
“Move,” I snarled, loud enough for them to hear through the open door.
My voice was a growl now, rougher, dirtier, the voice of an enforcer who’d just been blindsided.
She stumbled as I pulled her out of the cupboard, blindfold still in place, hair wild from where I’d grabbed it. She didn’t say a word. Thank fuck.
I slammed my shoulder against the doorframe on the way out, pain shooting up my arm, real pain this time, and I swore. Perfect. It would bruise. Another piece of the picture.
“She cut herself loose,” I barked as the Rats turned toward us, eyes narrowing, taking in the scene. “Came at me with the blade. Nearly got past me.”
I yanked her forward another step, making her stumble just enough to sell it. My blood dripped onto the old tiles, running into a crack in the lino. Every move now was a show. Hard hands. Loud voice. The kind of chaos they expected. But Skinny still stared, scrutinising my face.
Inside, my heart was still hammering from the kiss, from the heat of her mouth and the sound of her breath in the dark.
But I buried it. Tried to forget about it.
What they saw now wasn’t a man losing himself.
It was an enforcer doing his job. Returning a Rats’ captive to their rightful place, tied up on that bed.
Spread for all to use her if I wasn’t there.
That thought jolted. Like a punch to the gut. Skinny glanced at me again.
“Skinny, find me more rope. Need to get this bitch tied back up.”
Jazz didn’t utter a noise as I tied her back to the bed.
Her arms spread as wide as her legs. Not a whimper, not a sound.
She stared into the blindfold, her face pointed to the ceiling like she was concentrating on the old foam tiles, riddled with brown stains where the roof had leaked steadily for years.
She didn’t move, and she didn’t resist, and I closed the door on her, ushering my brothers out with me when she was once again secure.
*****
“What the fuck happened last night?” Dougal grumbled from the head of the table, his Scottish droning round the little room at the back of the Rats’ clubhouse.
All eyes turned to me to join Skinny’s, who had spent the entire night staring at me.
“Went back to give her some food…”
“Why?” Tommo interrupted, prompting a scowl from our President.
“Because if we want to keep her alive, she needs to eat and drink something, you muppet.”
The rest of the room split with grumbles and nods of agreement.
“So, what are you telling us, Chase? You went in to give her some food, and she broke free and beat you up?” Dougal continued.
The room stifled laughs.
“No. I cut her hands free so she could eat. I didn’t put the knife straight away. I don’t know how she found it. But next thing I knew, she’d cut me.”
Brothers round the room were silent. No ahs, no snorts. Nothing. The atmosphere around the table grew thicker, and Skinny still stared, as if he were manifesting all sorts of shit in my direction.
“And how did she end up out of that room and in the fucking storage cupboard?”
“She got past me. And I’d left the door unlocked. I hadn’t seen any reason to lock it behind me.” I shrugged.
“She got past you?” Skinny spoke up now, the sneer all over his voice. “The club enforcer and she got past you?”
“Aye, mate. You’ve seen how fucking wild she is. Least I didn’t let her dislocate my knee.”
“Fucking knob,” he hissed, rising to his feet, the chair he rose from scratching the floor loudly as it pushed out behind him.
“Enough.”
It wasn’t a shout. But it was an order. Dougal didn’t need to shout to be heard. Or to make us stop.
“You two can make up over the job I’ve got for you. I’ve got us a new supplier.”