INDIE

I wake with a start, and I have no idea where I am. The doorknob turns, and I glance around, realising I’m still in the gym. I watch the door and at first I think it’s Kick coming back to apologise, but then I get a good look at the guy, and while it’s definitely a biker, it’s not my biker.

“There she is.” The biker with the eye patch announces. I scramble to my feet, pulling the robe closed and wishing Kick hadn’t yanked out the sash. I clutch at the soft silk holding it tight, and then when the Cop follows the biker through the door and closes it behind him, I forget all about my robe and clamp my hand over my mouth to keep from vocalising my horrified gasp.

“Hello, Whore,” the Cop says, pulling his gun and taking aim at my face. “Father James is very disappointed in you.”

“Father James can suck my big fat clit,” I retort.

The biker laughs and moves towards me. “Can I suck your big fat clit too?”

“Don’t touch her,” The Cop orders, and the biker turns to stare incredulously at him.

“Don’t fuckin’ touch her? You wouldn’t have her if it weren’t for me. I took out my brothers for you,” he says, pulling his own gun from the back of his leathers. “I think it’s time I took a little piece of the fuckin’ action.”

Oh god. Kick.

I make a move towards the front of the room, but both men turn their guns on me.

“Not another step, sweetheart,” the biker says.

 He edges forward, but I refuse to be herded. If he gets the wall at my back, I have nowhere to go. As it is I have no weapons; all I have is fear and fight, but they won’t be enough.

I scream, as loud as I can. I scream Kick’s name and hope to hell that he hears me, but I know he more than likely won’t, because if this biker were smart, he would have put Kick down like a dog. He’d be stupid not to.

The biker circles me, stopping at my back. He leans in and sniffs my hair. One hand holds a gun to my temple, the other tries to slide inside my robe. I clench the material tighter in my fists, but he bats them away and grabs my breast in his big calloused paw. He presses his lips to my hair, and I turn away, but he shoves the gun against my head. Tears prick my eyes and threaten to spill over, but I won’t be that pathetic girl I was in the warehouse. I won’t be the girl that Kick stood in front of the mirror, crying and begging him to stop.

“This girl. Is she a fighter or a fuckin’ victim?”

 “A fighter. She’s a fighter.”

“Then fuckin’ show me.”

“Take your hands off the whore,” the Cop says through gritted teeth. His gun is no longer trained on me. It’s on the biker.

“I don’t think I will,” the biker with the eye patch says. He takes his gun from my head and points it at the Cop. “See, I already got my money. You can have your girl when I’m done with her, Sergeant.”

I spin while he’s distracted and fist my hand just the way Kick taught me, and I punch him with all that I have, right in the nuts. Shots ring out, and blood blooms on the biker’s shirt. He lets out a strangled cry and falls to the ground, and then I’m left in the room with the Cop. The man who tortured me for weeks. The man who tried to break me and failed.

The gun falls from the biker’s lifeless hand. I reach out to grab it, but the Cop kicks me in the stomach. I try to curl in on myself, try to protect myself, but he rolls me onto my back, straddling my waist as he shoves the gun up under my chin. Beneath my hand, I feel the silk sash from my robe, and I slowly gather it up in my fist.

“You can’t hurt me anymore,” I whisper.