Chapter Thirty
Even in the shadows, I could see his body tense. He was poised. Listening. All I’d heard was the creak of the stairs. The old house settling around us.
Chase had mentioned food. And now my stomach grumbled loudly.
“Jazz, quiet,” he warned.
“Like I’ve got any control over that,” I retorted, feeling a pang of irritation over that sharp stab of hunger.
“There’s someone in the house.”
I stared into the darkness, unable to read Chase’s expression.
“Baz?”
“He’s at work.”
“The wife?”
“Fucking hope not. He drugs her every night to stop her wandering around while he’s not here.”
Fuck. I reached across to the bedside cabinet, snapping on the lamp. An orange glow filled the room, shadows chasing over the walls. The tassels that dangled all around the base of the lampshade swung wildly, and now those shadows took on a life of their own.
“Turn it off!” Chase hissed, flapping his hand at me.
“What? Why?”
“They’ll know what room we’re in.”
“There’s only a choice of two, for fuck’s sake. We’ve got a fifty percent chance they’ll come here first.”
Chase scowled at me. I could see him clearly now that the room was lit. His hair flopped over his forehead, more stubble darkening the shadow already on his jaw.
“Fuck’s sake,” he growled, striding towards me.
I pulled the duvet up to my chest, bracing myself for an impact that didn’t come, but the light shut off, with an echoing clunk at my left.
Chase opened the door a crack, the light in the hallway shone through, replacing the light from the lamp.
The lamp that was now in his hand, upended and held over the top of his head.
The footsteps outside the room grew louder. They were at the top of the stairs and getting closer. Chase breathed, relaxing his arm, pushing his forehead against the door.
“Chase. Chase,” the hoarse, urgent whisper was familiar.
“What’s going on, Baz? Thought you’d just gone to work.”
“The Rats…” he trailed off, gasping for breath. “They were at my work when I got there.”
“At the care home?”
Baz stared at him like he was thick, and then, thinking better of voicing that opinion, continued.
“Aye. Four of them on bikes. Patches. All of that.”
“What did they want?”
“Dunno. I drove straight back home.”
“You didn’t ask them?”
Baz’s brow furrowed. “No. Why would they be there tonight unless they were looking for you?”
“So, you came straight back to warn me?” Chase asked.
“Yeah, I need you two gone. If they find you here with me. With us….”
“I get it, Baz. Did they follow you?”
Baz shrugged.
“Fuck.” Chase scrubbed a hand over his jaw, casting a glance nervously over his shoulder to where I sat. “Thanks, Baz.”
“I don’t know how long you’ve got, Chase. They could be here any minute.”
I watched Chase bob his head, nodding, saying nothing and then pushing the door back into the frame.
“Get dressed. We need to go.”
“Heard that. Slight problem of clothes though.”
The light hanging from the frilly light shade in the centre of the room flipped on. That dull orange glow from an exhausted light bulb returned.
“Stand up,” Chase ordered, his voice rough, filled with command.
Something inside told me not to argue. Not just now, and I swung my legs from under the covers, a shiver chasing down my spine at the first hint of the cold. Chase’s gaze swept over my body, his eyes darting left and right. And then he nodded, reaching into the wardrobe on one side of the room.
“Put these on,” he instructed, handing me a pair of Levi jeans and a black hooded jumper.
“Bit big, don’t you think?” I stared into the waistband at the label with the number thirty-two written on it.
“It’s those or you ride naked. At least you’ll have a patch on your back.”
“Fuck you,” I spat, the anger rising from almost nowhere.
A shadow cast across his face, deep, dangerous, and his hand shot out, too quick for me to move back. It caught in my hair, yanking my head backwards so that my eyes met his.
“You have, Jazz,” his voice was all rumble and control. “Now if you want any chance of getting home to your Kings, I need you to put some fucking clothes on.”
Fuck this Stockholm Syndrome. Every growl, every rumble, every heavy tone of his voice, it dragged heat up my neck and clouded my judgement.
Each syllable rolled from his throat like smoke and gravel, dark and deliberate, and my body reacted before my brain had the chance to catch up.
And that reaction was to comply, like some sort of fucked up little dog at its master’s feet.
His eyes raked down my body one last time, slowing at my tits, like he might just take a bite out of me, and then tearing away, his hand loosening in my hair.
“Get those clothes on.”
*****
The cold seeped through the fabric of the sweater.
The only place warm was under my helmet, and that felt like I was being slowly suffocated by Chase’s scent.
Even when I opened the visor, it was still as strong, spice and wood.
Expensive. Rich. And now it felt like I was drowning in it.
The roar of the engine, the vibration between my legs, the smell of him, and the deep throbbing frustration that it wasn’t me taking those corners or controlling that speed.
In front of me, between my legs, he sat.
The hood of Baz’s jumper was pulled up over his head, and he leaned down low over the tank, concentration fixed on the road.
We’d already driven out to the nearest countryside and then back into town, and I’d seen nothing in his mirrors, only the double spot of car headlights behind us.
Now, I was lost. Every street seemed the same, the only variance the size of the houses, road names passing by in a streak, too quickly to read.
But there was no mistaking the town centre.
The town crept up on us like a hangover, grey, grim, and unrelenting.
Terraces huddled tight together, bricks blackened by decades of soot and indifference.
Windows boarded, curtains yellowed, doorframes swollen from damp and neglect.
Graffiti marked the walls like bruises, the scrawled tags of kids who’d already given up on being anything else.
We flew past them, the Yamaha’s growl echoing through streets that had forgotten what silence sounded like.
Groups lingered on corners. Lads in puffer jackets with glassy eyes, bottles of cider in one hand and cans of Monster in the other, the glow of a cheap vape lighting their faces in sickly blue.
A woman in a parka pushed a buggy with one wheel missing, her eyes fixed on the pavement, not daring to meet anyone else’s, hurrying through the night.
The air held the smell of chip fat and garlic, and mixing with exhaust fumes, it coated the back of my throat, an unwelcome aftertaste.
Chase leaned forward, and the bike tilted with him, cutting through the lights and noise like we didn’t belong to it.
The streets thickened the closer we got to the centre.
The terraces thinned out, giving way to tall, narrow buildings, three, maybe four storeys high, their shopfronts grimy beneath peeling signage.
Off-licences, pawn shops, vape stores, and takeaways with flickering neon lights advertising promises no one believed anymore.
Behind the steamed-up glass of a kebab shop, a man in a hairnet stared blankly at a TV in the corner, the glow washing over his face like a cheap halo.
Above the shops, the windows of the flats were cracked open, curtains fluttering weakly in the exhaust fumes.
The Yamaha’s engine echoed off the brickwork, bouncing between the narrow rows of storefronts, louder and more alive than anything else on the street.
We passed shuttered pubs with broken letters on the signs, betting shops with their doors still open, and a pharmacy with a handwritten “CLOSED” sign curling in the window.
Middlesbrough’s heart, if it still had one, was running on fumes.
And then the bike slowed, Chase’s head tilted to the right, scanning each shop front like he was looking for something.
He braked suddenly; the bike responded instantly, and my weight fell against his back.
But he didn’t flinch, only stared off to the right at a closed-up shop, with a gold light glowing in the little square window of the door next to it.
Guiding the bike to the other side of the street, Chase half-walked it into place, kicking out the stand and turning off the engine. He pushed his hood down and watched the door, like he was expecting someone to come out. But no one came.
“Where are we?” I asked, my voice muffled behind the padding of Chase’s helmet.
“Wondering whether an old friend can help me out.”
Chase sat still, and I waited with him, but I wasn’t sure what we were waiting for. Seconds passed. The door didn’t open, and Chase didn’t move. The cold drew in around us, soaking through the jumper, not just seeping. The shiver caught me by surprise, and I shuddered.
“You know…you could just knock?”
“Not sure I’m ready to face her.”
“Her, huh?” A pang of something sharp hit my chest, swelling and expanding uncontrollably. “Well, I’m ready to get off this street.”
Cars passed at the end, a steady stream of traffic on the main road.
And we weren’t exactly discreet. One with a helmet, another without.
I swung my leg over the back of the bike, moving quickly.
Chase grabbed for me as I passed him, fingers slipping off my arm where I shrugged him free.
The knock roared in the sleepy street, and I didn’t bother to look around to see who was now behind their curtains, staring down at us.
Nothing happened for a few minutes. No hint of footsteps, no change in lighting.
But then I heard the rattle of a door chain, the scrape of a bolt, and then another bolt at the bottom of the door and finally the turn of a lock.
The place sounded like it was trussed up heavier than fucking Fort Knox.
But when she stepped forward, her eyes searching me quizzically, that swelling in my chest exploded.
She wore a red silk dressing gown, and her long dark hair fell in natural curves.
She was heavily made up, false eyelashes, bright eyeshadow, the most groomed eyebrows I’d ever seen. And utterly stunning.
This was her. Whoever she was. I turned to look at Chase. He wore a lop-sided grin, like a mischievous boy, his eyes aflame but a hint of pink on his cheeks, an unusual bashfulness.
“Charlie?”
Not Chase. Charlie. I stared at him. His real name? I’d never thought to ask it.
He grinned now, bright and full. I’d never seen him do that either.
There was always a smirk, a hint. A crinkle of the eyes but never a smile like that.
It lit up his face, his skin pulling across his cheekbones, and now he was even more handsome than I had ever seen.
The pressure in my chest built. I knew what it was.
Knew what I was feeling. Jealous of the way my kidnapper was looking at another woman. Captivity had me fucked.