He smiles and shakes his head, walking over to the dresser he produced the cuffs from a few hours ago. He holds the keys up in front of him as he walks forward and sits on the edge of the bed. “What I said before still stands. Until Prez gets the info he wants, if you leave this room, they will not hesitate to put a bullet in you.”
“Yeah, yeah, big bad bikers come equipped with lots of guns and big hurty bullets. If you don’t hurry up and uncuff me, I’m going to pee all over your bed.”
He sighs and then slips the key in the lock. The sound of that tiny latch unlocking has to be the greatest noise I’ve ever heard. I don’t remember the sound of him unbuckling the restraints in the warehouse—he knocked me unconscious for that—but I don’t think even that sound could have compared to this. When he saved me from that warehouse, I wasn’t truly free, and while I might be held in the tender loving care of the Savage Saints Motorcycle club right now, the fact is that once we find the arseholes who abducted me, I’m free. Forever. I’ll take karate, learn how to fire a gun—I’ll carry an entire bag full of pepper spray with me everywhere I go. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure another man can never enslave me again.
The knot in my belly twists and I fear that the half a pizza sitting heavily in my insides wants to revisit the outside. That could have something to do with the fact that I haven’t eaten a real meal in weeks, but it’s more than likely because the biker is sitting on the armchair opposite me, while I sit on this worn, shit-stain coloured couch. His dark blue eyes burn into mine. He waits, though not patiently, because the label from the beer bottle he finished almost as quickly as he opened, is torn into tiny pieces and strewn all over the floor.
“Start talking, Indie,” Biker says.
“Where did that name even come from?”
“I don’t know. You reminded me of the Indy 500.”
“I reminded you of a car race?”
“You reminded me that we’re runnin’ a race.”
“Shouldn’t I remind you of shoes then? I could be Nike, or Puma? Now that’s a bad-arse name.”
He sighs. “You’re wasting time. Tell me what you know.”
“Where do I even start?”
“At the beginning. Before you were taken. Did you see anyone, hear anything? You were a couple blocks from your house, right?”
“How did you know that?”
“I saw it on the news. CCTV saw you get off the train at around 9:00pm. A woman was interviewed by the cops, said she walked a ways with you before you reached her door.”
“Rachel. She’s two blocks before me. She’s a student too; we shared a class that night, and it ran late. We caught the later train. I walked Rachel to her gate, like I usually do, and then I headed for home. Only I never made it. I didn’t hear anyone behind me. I didn’t see anything suspicious. I just hurried along the footpath, and then I was pulled back into a little laneway between a set of row houses. He covered my mouth, and stuck a needle in my neck. I remember seeing a garbage bin in front of me. I reached out, and pulled it over—glass shattered as the recycling spilled out. That’s the last thing I remember before I passed out.”
“And when you woke up?”
“I was in the warehouse. They didn’t have the chair at first. The room was empty. I was suspended from a beam in the ceiling by chains, stripped naked and freezing. I could feel the cold winter air coming up from under the door. I don’t know how long I was out; it was still dark outside. Or maybe that was just the blindfold over my eyes.
“The Priest was the only one there the first time. At least, I think he was alone. In the beginning, they’d blindfolded me. His was the only voice I heard that first night. I can still remember it, you know? When I close my eyes, I hear him whispering in my ear. ‘And if they have a change of heart in the land where they are held captive, and repent and plead with you in the land of their conquerors and say, “We have sinned, we have done wrong, we have acted wickedly.”
“1 Kings, 8:46-47. Do you know how I know that?”
Biker shakes his head.
“He’d recite those verses; every time.” A short humourless laugh escapes me. “I never knew what it meant, but I think I’m starting to. And then he’d tell me that ‘we were all sinners and that it was time to atone.”
“They ever use their names in front of you?”
“No. They called him Father. That was it. The Cop liked to wear his full uniform when he fucked me, and you already saw the Dentist in action.”
“What did the Priest do, that first night?”
“What do you think?”
“I think this will all be over a whole lot quicker if you tell me everything you remember. I can’t find these guys if I don’t know exactly who I’m looking for. There are hundreds of churches in Sydney; that’s a lot of fuckin’ clergies’ doors to bust down. And the Cop could be anywhere; he could be anyone. How do you know the uniform was real, and not just part of his M.O.?”
“He was a cop,” I say, resolutely. “His weapons, the rigid posture. He had special patches sewn onto the sleeve of his uniform. And a duty belt.”
“You can buy that shit off eBay,” he says, leaning forward on his elbows again and piercing me with that narrowed gaze. “How do you know for certain that he was a cop? Do you know the weapons were standard police issue? Did he have a badge? What did the patches on his shirt say?”
“I’m sorry, I was a little distracted by the knife he held to my throat to pay too much attention to the fucking patches on his shirt,” I shout.
The biker sets his jaw. A muscle in his cheek ticks, and his eyes glaze over as he clenches his right hand into a fist. He doesn’t like it when I yell. He’s going to have to get used to it.
“I know this might make you a little uncomfortable, but I need to know this shit so I don’t wind up serving a sentence for killin’ a cop who had nothing to do with your abduction.”
“A little uncomfortable?” I spit. “You wanna know what’s uncomfortable? You wanna know exactly what they did to me? He fucked my arse, until I bled out all over the floor. Then he raped me with his baton while the fucking Priest egged him on. They tied me to a post and beat me senseless. The Priest liked to quote bible passages, and call me a whore as he raped me over and over until I begged for him to kill me. Until I promised to repent for sins I never fucking committed.
“The Dentist liked to knock me out and wake me up in the middle of an extraction. He liked to hold my mouth and nose closed until I was choking on my own blood, and passing out from oxygen deprivation. And that’s just the stuff my brain hasn’t repressed.
“You want me to give you information that tells you for certain that he was a cop? I can’t do that. I don’t know the difference between a real uniformed officer and a fake. But I know in my gut he was a cop. Just like I know that priest is out there somewhere, sitting in a confessional booth, hearing the sins of his congregation, and drizzling holy water over the top of babies’ heads for baptismal rites. I know I wasn’t the first girl they’ve done this to. And unless we find them, I sure as fuck won’t be the last.” My breath comes in short, hard gasps. My hands shake and tears sting my eyes. Frustrated, heartbroken, and so full of rage I can taste it in the back of my throat, I stand, and instantly regret it. I dash for the bathroom and manage to get the seat up before I spill the contents of my stomach into a porcelain bowl that looks as if it hasn’t been cleaned since it was installed.
The biker’s shadow looms over me. He stands in the middle of the tiny room, probably not knowing what the hell to do. I vomit again, and again, and then I pause, leaning over the bowl. Hot tears sting my face. My hair is yanked back. I cry out and skitter away from his touch, wedging myself as close to the wall as possible. “Don’t touch me. Don’t fucking touch me.”
He holds up his hands in a warding gesture and backs away. “Just tryin’ to help, Little Spitfire.”
I wipe the vomit from my chin with the hem of the T-shirt he’d given me. I cover my mouth
with my hands. The levee, the wall I’ve been building to fortify my heart, my spirit, crumbles, and just like that I fall apart completely. I don’t know how to deal with any of this. I can’t reconcile where I am from with where I was a few days ago, and where I am now. I want to see my mum. I want to hug my dad, something I can’t remember doing for the longest time.
The biker moves from the doorway. Without a word he stalks from the bathroom, through the living area and out the door, slamming it behind him. I lay down on the floor, curling into a foetal position. I thought I could give them what they wanted, and in turn he’d help me to take the Priest out, but reliving that stuff? I don’t know if I can do it. I don’t know if I have it in me. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to face all the things I don’t remember from that warehouse of horrors.
I had to help. Hearing her cry like that, hearing her fall apart, and not being able to do … something. It was rippin’ me apart. Which is fuckin’ ridiculous. I don’t know this girl from any other bitch on the street. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I glance up at the late-night chemist from the parking lot.
And I don’t know how the fuck I got here.
I flip the kickstand down and take off my helmet, sliding the fastened strap over the handle bars. And then I ease off the bike and head inside the chemist. It’s warm in here, chasing away the wind-chill from the cold July night. My presence is announced with an annoying fuckin’ ding and I head straight for the aisle with all the shit to fix upset stomachs. I pick up some antacids, some Panadol and then hit the fridge for lemonade, snagging a bag of potato chips on the way to the register. I pay the bored-looking chick on the front counter and then head outside and hang the sack of goodies from the handlebars. I left not knowing where or why the fuck I was going, so my backpack is back at the clubhouse. It’s late, and I likely won’t come across any cops in the three blocks back to the compound anyway.
When I pull in, Tank is leaning up against the outside of the garage. I haven’t seen him since the incident with Ivy in the hall. Grim said he’d taken Ivy to his big fancy fuck-off house in the woods, which admittedly shocked the hell outta me. He’d be better off dropping her at the nearest rehab clinic and getting her into a fuckin’ methadone program, but what the fuck could I do about it? I’m the one that left her in that fuckin’ state in the first place, and everything I’ve done from the time I first got that bitch on her back up until the way I fucked with her in the hall has just encouraged her behaviour, given her hope for something more, when there just isn’t hope—not for me, not for her, not for us.
I take off my helmet, pull the bag from the handlebars and step out of the garage. I’m met with a flying fist, a slash of pain and a pulsing eye socket. “Ah fuck!” I stagger back, drop the bag, and hold my hand to my eye to stem the pain radiating around my whole fuckin’ skull. “What the fuck are you doin’, cunt fuck?”
“Been dealin’ with cleaning up your shit for the last two fuckin’ days. Bitch is a goddamn mess. Won’t eat, won’t sleep, won’t even let me touch her. You fuckin’ broke her, man, and who the hell do you think gets to be the one left holdin’ the fuckin’ pieces?”
“Ivy’s not your fuckin’ responsibility. It’s not your job to step in and take my place, brother.”
“No? Who the fuck else is gonna clean up your mess and make sure the bitch doesn’t OD?”
“I don’t know, her fuckin’ family?” I say, but I know as well as he does that Ivy has no family. Only a sick son of a bitch for a dad who fucked her up so royally in the first place. “Bitch has problems beyond what you and I can fix. She needs help, and she needs away from this clubhouse.”
He shakes out his fist and throws back his head with a roar of frustration. “I wanna beat your fuckin’ head in for this.”
“Yeah? Why the fuck stop at one punch?”
“Don’t fuckin’ test me,” he warns, and then scrubs a hand over his face. “I know why you did what you did. I don’t blame you for it. But I won’t lie, if you so much as talk to her in the future, if you build her up again and give her hope that something might one day happen between the two of you, I’ll put you to ground, brother.”
For a beat all I do is stare at him. Tank, who didn’t kill me when I told him I’d shot down our entire chapter, the dude who feels nothing, is all fuckin’ twisted up over a girl. “Fuck me, does she know your boner’s the size of fuckin’ Uluru for her? All that shit about kicking her out ’cause she’s crying all over the place? That was all you covering up some unrequited love bullshit.”
“Shut the fuck up.” He turns and stomps towards the clubhouse.
I pick up my bag of goodies and start after him. “How long you been pinin’ after that bitch, brother?”
“You breathe a word of this shit to anyone and I’ll fuckin’ gut you in your sleep. You got me? I will put you to ground so fuckin’ fast your—”
“Jesus Christ, don’t get your fucking panties all twisted up your arse.”
“She doesn’t see me that way.”
“So fuckin’ make her see you that way, you douche. Have you never had to chase a bitch your entire life?” I ask. “Ivy’s fucked up, but she’s still a God damn woman, and she needs that love and cherishment crap more than most. The other stuff? Hurtin’ her and all that? It’s what she’s used to. Doesn’t mean that shit can’t be broken, brother.”
“Fuck me. Who’d have thought I’d be takin’ romantic advice from the un-fuckin’-luckiest motherfucker in love walking the face of the planet?”
“Yeah, well, I might be unlucky, and I might have made a dick-tonne of mistakes, but if you don’t come clean with her about how you feel you’re gonna regret it.”
Tank scrubs his hands over his cropped hair and stares down at his feet. Sighing heavily, he shakes his head, and then turns to me; his game face back on. Back to being the bastard who cares for no one, and gives nothing away. The dicktard doesn’t even fuckin’ realise that if he showed Ivy this side of himself, if he made her see that he actually fuckin’ cared whether or not she lived or died, he’d have that bitch in the bag. She may not love him straight away, but I know her well enough to know that despite all her fucked up needs, all she really wants is someone to care the way her father never had. She’d grow to love anyone who showed a little bit of fuckin’ interest in her. It’s why she thinks she’s in love with me.
Game face or not, he sounds tired when he says, “Prez wants to see you. He called a meeting while you were out, something about more fuckin’ mess than he can deal with right now.”
“I just gotta take this shit to Indie first.”
He shrugs as he opens the front door to the clubhouse and steps inside. “Your funeral.”
Yeah, it fuckin’ will be if he finds out I didn’t head straight to church. When Prez summons his flock, the flock better fuckin’ haul arse, or Prez’s gonna be lookin’ for someone’s face to bust in.
The lounge is dimly lit, full of smoke and the smell of sex and liquor. Raine’s standing at the bar, a summery dress on, next to no make-up, and her hair all piled on top of her head in a messy knot as she wipes down the bar with a rag, soaking up some spillage left by Country. He never leaves that bar except to take a piss, weigh in at church or head back to the farm once every couple of weeks to feed his fuckin’ chickens.
I glance around and see that ’most everyone is sitting on the lounges instead of taking their seats in the boardroom. In an alcove across the room that houses yet another cum-stained couch, an old pokie machine, and a beat-up coffee table, Ivy is laid out on the sofa. Her skirt is pushed up around her hips, mouth slack, and her eyes are rollin’ back in her head while Killer positions himself at the entrance of her cunt and slams inside.
“Oh shit” is all I manage to say before Tank is across the room, grabbing Killer in a headlock and dragging him off of her.
Killer thrashes in Tank’s hold, kicking and slapping at the big-arsed motherfucker, but the truth is the kid’s completely fu
cked. None of us are big enough or ruthless enough to take Tank down. It’d take five of us to pull him off of Killer. Dude is completely fucked.
“Brother, ease up,” I say, punching him in the head repeatedly. He shakes it off but doesn’t let go.
“She was clean, you fuck. For two God damn days she was fuckin’ clean, and you go give her blow so you can get your dick wet?”
“She came to me.”
That riles him even more. Killer’s face turns shades of red, purple, blue and every colour in-between.
“Fuck, brother! Killer’s not your problem. She is,” I say, pointing to Ivy, who doesn’t even look as though she’s registered the fact that Killer is no longer fucking her.
His enraged gaze snaps to me and then he shoves Killer away. The kid gasps for breath, coughing and spluttering as he hits the carpet with his junk hanging out. Tank takes the few steps to Ivy and slaps at her face, trying to get the bitch to wake up.
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, it’s a god damn fuckin’ zoo in here!” Prez appears in the hallway having just come from his office.
Grim slinks along behind him, head down, gaze averted. His face is more fucked up than usual—blood trickles from a cut on his lip and his eye is swelling. Not my fuckin’ beef, but Grim keeps to himself mostly, so I’m kinda curious as to what the hell happened to him.
“Get your arses into fuckin church, now!” Prez roars, and the boys scatter. “Tank, get that bitch to a fuckin’ hospital. If she shoots up in my clubhouse again, she’s out on her arse.”
“Oh my god, are you okay?” Raine asks, rushing over to Grim when she sees the state of his face.
“Leave it.” he growls, and pushes her away, sending her staggering back into me when she attempts to touch him. I grasp her shoulders to keep her from toppling and glance at Prez, he’s watching Grim with the pitch black eyes of a man who wants to cave another’s skull in.
I circle my hand around Raine’s wrist and tug on her arm to get her attention. Her eyes are glistening with tears. I bristle and then remind myself that this is also not my beef to get into. “Don’t take it hard, darlin’. Grim’s an arsehole to everyone.”
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