Page 112 of Dizzy

I was wrong. He’s sharp. Nasty. And these men follow him without question.

All chance of bailing disappeared in an instant.

When we got to this campsite, situated among dozens of others demarked by lines of bikes, tents, and trucks with the tailgates down for kegs and coolers, Brick gave me a weak smile.

He said, “It’ll be fine, girly.” Then he hustled off toward the stage and vendors, and I haven’t seen him since.

My hand reaches for my phone on instinct, but I don’t have it anymore. Dober, a bald guy with a thick neck and a VP patch, took it. He took my knife, too. A dude with a prospect rocker pinned my arms behind my back, and Dober searched me, mauled my tits and grabbed my pussy, took my shit, and laughed. The prospect pocketed my ten bucks.

I’m so screwed.

“What are you going to do with me?” I ask.

Rab jiggles his knee, jostling me against his hard-on, and slides his arm up so he’s holding me right under the boobs. He gives my left tit a rough squeeze. “Be patient.”

He laughs and stirs the fire. He’s close-mouthed. The others aren’t.

Nearby, Dober is running his mouth to a guy named Scratch.

“I still don’t get it.” Scratch digs his nails into his crusty neck. Dude comes by his name honestly.

“It’s fuckin’ simple,” Dober explains. “Dizzy gets the blueprints Chaos was goin’ after. We trade the blueprints for the girl.”

“Why the fuck couldn’t Jed just get the blueprints, like, months ago?”

“’Cause if Jed gets busted like Chaos did, we don’t have an inside guy, no more.”

“And Dizzy’s gonna do his club dirty for this skinny bitch?”

“That’s what Jed says. He swears the guy’s fuckin’ stupid over her. Gone.”

He did? I can’t help but lean forward, and Rab’s arm digs into my ribs.

“So we’re just waitin’ for Dizzy now?”

“He ain’t answered the texts yet.”

“You sure you got the right number?”

Dober slaps the back of Scratch’s dirty neck. “We got the right number. Dumbass.”

“You called that gash for weeks about Chaos. She never answered.” Scratch jerks his chin towards me. I’m the gash. Fuck him. And fuck any man who sees women that way.

I stiffen without thinking, and Rab cackles. “Don’t make me jizz my pants, now, girlie.”

I want to unzip my skin and run like hell. But even if I manage to get free of Rab—bite him, maybe, although yuck, gross, ugh—I’d have to get past all the others. Some are drunk or high, but it’s early in the day. Most aren’t too impaired yet. I wouldn’t get five feet.

“Why do we want blueprints?” Scratch asks. “I seen Dizzy’s ride. Sweet mod. He’s got cash. If he’s gone for her like Jed says, he’d pay for her.”

“Knocker wants blueprints.”

“Fuck Knocker. He’s in Supermax. He ain’t gettin’ out anytime soon.” Scratch talks big, but he lowers his voice when he says Knocker’s name. Rab’s gaze flicks to him, and his eyes narrow.

Dober casts a nervous glance this way. Underneath me, Rab shifts. I think Scratch might be talkin’ himself into a hole.

Dober spits. “Fuck you. You wanna give up your cut? Feel free to black out your ink anytime.”

“Cut of what? Knocker’s insane, man. Fuckin’ conspiracy theories. ‘Destroy Steel Bones. Revenge our fathers. Split the spoils.’ Dude sounds like the bad guy in a comic book.” Scratch is muttering under his breath, but he seriously misgauges his volume.

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