Chapter Twenty Six
Behind me, the shower ran. It spluttered at first, coughing like a smoker who’d just woken up.
Pipes full of air locks. I stared at the woman in the mirror.
The woman I didn’t recognise. Bruises mottled my face.
A murky purple bruise sat under my left eye, my left eyebrow split, dry blood forming an ugly bulge just off centre.
My lip was swollen, making my lower one asymmetrical.
Bruising crept across the right-hand side of my jaw, an undertone of yellow over a more recent blue.
I teased the hair from my plait. Grease and dirt sticking it to my head. My skin was sticky and grimy, and my leather trousers were so stuck to my legs that they were trying to become one with me. I yanked them down, balancing against the sink as I wrestled with the last leg.
Under Chase’s hoodie, I wore nothing. My leather bike jacket had been left in tatters on the bed of my cell.
My bra and top with it. The mirror reflected the bruises back at me.
Marbled skin, with the imprint of my ribs pale against the bruising of my side.
I stroked down it with my fingers, wincing under my own touch.
Then I turned, glancing over my shoulder at the monstrosity on my back.
The skin around the fresh ink was angry, raised, raw, and swollen.
The lines of the tattoo were jagged where they’d gone too deep, scabbing already, the shape of the rat crude and cruelly deliberate, its eyes scarlet with anger.
The same anger I could feel welling in my chest. Black ink bled into the red of broken skin, a brand rather than art, ownership carved into me by men who wanted to mark what they’d taken.
My stomach twisted as I stared, bile burning at the back of my throat.
I pressed my palms into the cabinet to my side to steady myself, but the sight didn’t fade.
It felt like the thing was alive, crawling beneath my skin, every pulse of my heartbeat sending a sting through the tender flesh.
A fuse lit in my stomach. Anger sizzling, burning, creeping closer, the seconds slowing. Then it hit, ten pounds of TNT exploding behind my ribs, shrapnel made of everything they’d done to me.
I wanted to claw it off. To rip at the skin until it was gone, until there was nothing left of them on me.
Stepping into the shower, I turned up the dial, steaming hot water hitting my skin, a new wave of pain searing through my back, sharp enough to make my knees buckle.
The bastard had dug deep, pressing too far, again and again.
He’d enjoyed hearing me flinch, enjoyed the sound of the machine eating into my flesh, and my body tensing under his needle. It got him off.
My fingernails scratched at my back, like the combination of hellishly hot water and my own nails would peel it away. But all it did was burn harder. Hurt harder.
Steam filled the room. Hot. Stifling. Suffocating. The shower swirled, spinning. My heart racing against my rib cage, desperate to escape. I wobbled, staggering backwards against the wall. For a minute it held me up. Just for a moment. Then I slipped down the wet tile, clattering onto the floor.
Shadows and darkness rushed at me all at once. Chaos exploded behind my eyes. I tried to push back to my feet, but the message wasn’t getting to my brain, stuck somewhere else, trying to break free from the same black cage.
Did I hear a knock? I couldn’t tell. And I couldn’t call out. The sound came again, somewhere in the distance. Faint, like me.
Then fingers. Wrapping round my arms, an arm round my waist. Pulling me onto my feet. My back touched the tile again. A hand in my stomach now, propping me up.
“Jazz, what happened?” His voice was thick. Honey poured over gravel. Sweet. Rough. Worried.
I opened my mouth. A noise came out. But if it made sense to Chase, it didn’t to me. I shook my head, desperately trying to grasp onto something.
“Shit, this is hot.”
He reached across me. Turning the dial. The water cooled immediately. The contrast on my burning skin made me gasp. My vision cleared. Just a little, enough to see him.
The shower had soaked through his t-shirt. It clung to him. To the muscles in his chest, sucking in at his waist. Over the bulge of his arms, and I followed the shadows of tattoos, over thick, firm forearms until the ink stopped at his wrists.
“You’re soaked,” I breathed.
“Yeah. You ok?” he asked again, dipping slightly to pull my eyes up to mine.
“I’m naked.”
“Uh huh. Gathered. You’re in a shower. I didn’t look.”
I tried to smile, but it was like I’d almost forgotten how to. My lips pulled, the skin chafed and chapped, feeling like it would rip apart.
“You ok now?”
I nodded, and he let go. My knees crumpled. He darted forward. Catching me. Holding me.
“Maybe not,” I whispered, watching the water cascade over his head, through thick brown hair and soaking down his face.
Reaching towards him, I brushed it off his eyes.
His eyebrows were thick. Hazel eyes set behind.
Full of something I couldn’t make out. The furrows between them were deep.
Years of scowling. Stubble dusted over the cheeks of a beautifully shaped face.
Prominent cheekbones. A strong jaw. His nose slightly crooked, broken before, I could tell by the shape.
The stubble hid the tiniest of clefts in his chin.
I could feel it as I ran my fingers down his face, feeling every feature like I was blind.
Remembering the feel, but now I could see it. That face I’d felt in the dark.
I slid my thumb over his lips. Thick, smooth.
Did they ever smile? He exhaled. I felt it against the pad of my thumb, felt the little movement as he parted those lips.
And then those lips moved over my thumb, a gentle plucking.
Careful. Reserved. I closed my eyes for a second.
Feeling, not seeing. His arm slid back around my waist, fingers closing round my wrist. Pulling my hand away.
When I opened my eyes again, he was there. Right in front of my face. Those hazel eyes deep. Smouldering. Burning with an intensity I didn’t think I’d seen before. He focused on my face. Not my body. His gaze searched mine for an answer to a question I didn’t think he’d asked.
Even in the steam from the shower, I could smell that warm, spicy heat on his skin, infusing into the air like a scented candle. A Chase scented candle.
I moved my hand up to his face again. The fingers holding my other wrist tightened as if he was wary about what I’d do.
A chunk of thick hair had fallen over his forehead, spilling water down his face.
I pushed it back, tracing my fingers over the ridge of his eyebrow, following the flow of water over his skin.
His stubble scratched at my fingertips; his teeth raked over his lips.
He was holding back. Straining to stay in control.
I didn’t want control. I’d lost that days ago. But I wanted this. Whatever this was in the moment. I needed to feel something. Something other than the pain in my back, and the fear in my gut. I needed a focus. A distraction.
Chase.
I cupped the back of his head, pushing my face to his, my lips lingering, not moving. Just a tease. A test of the water.
And that fucking water hit boiling point really fucking quickly.
His arm tightened round my waist. His mouth meeting mine.
Hot lips grabbed for me. Rough. Fast. He took my breath.
His tongue darted out, and I opened my lips for him.
Welcoming. Forcing me to open my mouth just a little further, sinking into his body just a bit more.
He let go of the wrist he held, his fingers pushing into my wet hair, grabbing a handful and holding me there.
If I’d wanted to escape, if I’d wanted to change my mind, the opportunity was gone.
His mouth moved over mine like he was starved.
His tongue diving, probing, meeting mine and coming back for more.
The duel was harder this time. Faster. And the shower hammered down on top of us.
Chase pushed me backwards, my back glancing off the wet tile behind me. My flesh burned, heat surging, but not just in my back now. In my stomach, between my legs, in my chest. I was going to self-combust at any minute, and no amount of water from this shower would put that fire out.
I gasped, half for air, half involuntarily.
Chase paused, pulling his tongue from my mouth, sliding his lips down my chin, nipping and sucking.
The hand in my hair tightened, pulling my neck backwards, providing access for his mouth, his lips sinking lowering, tracing the vein in my neck and then stilling over the spot my pulse was the strongest. He waited a moment, his tongue flicking out, teasing over the heightening thump of my heart.
I waited. Impatiently. Fuck. Still, he didn’t move, breathing over the spot, the heat from his breath and the thumping beat in my neck echoing between my legs.
Against my bare flesh, I felt the roughness of his jeans.
The button nudged just over the top of my pubic bone, my skin tingling and my insides flaring.
I think I gasped, because something joined the hiss from the water spilling from the showerhead.
His mouth closed on that spot on my neck where my heart thundered.
A soft pluck. A flick of his tongue. And my knees wobbled when his teeth grazed that same spot.
“Chase,” I whispered, water falling over my face. “Take these off.” I pulled at the wet t-shirt clinging to his skin.
Chase stepped back, cool air rushing into the space he’d created between us.
He grabbed at the t-shirt that was by now almost translucent and peeled it off over his head.
His stomach tensed, a ripple of muscles straining underneath, dark hair smattered across his belly, thicker on his chest, but it didn’t hide the ripple of skin stretching over muscle.
He was fit. Strong. Manly. The tattoos only covered his arms, pictures within pictures.
Bikes. Women. Knives. Skulls and bones and, on his left arm, rats.
Their eyes glowed red, angry. Not the same as what was on my back, but the mark was there. His club affiliation.
He paused, his hands at the button of his jeans.
“Jazz?”
“I’m just looking at you, Chase.” I answered, the breathy light tone not sounding like me at all.
“You need more time to look?” There was a half-smile in his voice, and I glanced up at him.
When he smiled, his face changed, the hazel lighting, smile lines stretching from the corner of his eyes, those thick lips. I wobbled again, slipping slightly on the wet shower tray. Above me, the water temperature changed. A distinct coolness.
“Get washed, and get out, Jazz.”
I frowned at the instruction. The rebel in me wanted to hit out, tell him to fuck off ordering me around, but I was too heated. Too much blood pumped around my body, and so I nodded.
When I shut the shower off and pushed the door open, he thrust a towel at me. I pulled it across my wet skin, already cooling too quickly from the surrounding cold, my eyes gazing over the man who’d rescued me. And the man who’d chained me up in the first place.
Heat rushed over me again. A towel wrapped round his waist now, his skin dry, and his hair was a damp mess from where he’d dried it. And I stood looking at him wordlessly.
Chase stepped towards me, the smile receding, his lips growing taut. And then he dipped, scooping me up off the floor and into his arms as if I weighed nothing.
I wanted to complain. But the words had disappeared; only erratic breathing was left. His chest was warm against the bare skin of my arms, and I could feel the beat of his heart, matching pace with mine, a thick thudding, growing in intensity.
He nudged the door with his foot, then stepped out into the hallway and darted through the door to our room.
The door creaked closed behind us; the catch slipping into place.
And then he turned, dropping me gently at the foot of the bed.
I landed on my back, a whoosh of air slipping out, my angry tattooed skin prickling.
Chase stood over the top of me watching as I wriggled onto my elbows, sitting up. His waist was at my face, a towel covering him, hiding the rest of him from my view. I reached out, linking my fingers into the fabric, pulling him closer.
“You dry?” Chase asked, his voice thick with that low gravelly tone that turned my insides into turmoil.
I nodded.
“Good. Lose the towel.”
The command was there again. I shouldn’t like him telling me what to do.
I normally did the complete opposite. Rebel.
Push away. But I pulled the fabric free, letting it fall on either side of me.
His eyes followed the movement for a second before returning to me, scanning over my face and down my body, expressionless, his brows furrowed.
His fingers moved now over his own waistband, pulling at his towel and letting it drop away. It hit the floor with a muffled thump, and when I looked up again, he was already dropping to his knees in front of me.