Screw (Hell's Handlers MC 8)

“Your dad?” She hadn’t heard his motorcycle pull in and that thing usually rattled the windows.

“No,” he said, voice taking on a chilling note. “The Devil.”

Jazz’s hands began to shake the longer Paul stared at her. “Uh, m-maybe, maybe uh, we should just like um, go ch-check, uh check for, for your dad.” She started for the door again resisting the urge to break into a sprint.

“No!”

The command was so sharply issued, Jazz stopped on instinct.

Paul grabbed her upper arm. “He’s here and he wants you. We need to keep you safe,” he said as he dragged her back from the door with a rough yank.

“Ow! Paul, stop. There’s no one here.” She twisted, trying to free herself from his surprising strength. Beneath his bruising grip, the skin of her arm pulled and burned like his hands were made of fire. “Please, Paul, stop.”

“Shh.” He threw her against the wall, holding her there with a hand on her chest. “I know where he is.” His sunken face leaned in so close she could smell the smoke on his breath.

“P-Paul, listen to me, please.”

“I know where he is.”

This wasn’t working. She needed a new plan. Maybe… “W-where, Paul? Where is he?” Maybe by playing along she could steer him out of the room.

He looked into her eyes and she swallowed as dread filled her. “He’s in you.”

Jazz’s knees buckled at the cold look in his eyes and had he not drawn her in for a bone-crushing hug, she’d have fallen to the floor.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered as he squeezed her. “I know what to do. I have to get him out.”

“W-wh, uh, like an exorcism?” She asked, voice trembling. “O-okay.” The room began to spin.

Breathe, Jazz. Stall him.

“L-let’s do that in the l-living room.” Hopefully that would give her some chance to escape. His father should be home within the next ten minutes. She could do this.

She could keep him going until his father got home. She had too. No matter how scared she was, no matter what he did to her, no matter how hard it was to breathe. She couldn’t panic. She could do it.

“No. I have a better idea.”

Or maybe not.

Paul released her then shoved her against the wall once again. Her back hit hard, knocking the breath from her lungs. As she sucked in a painful gulp of air, a clicking sound made her focus on Paul’s hand. Her heart slammed against her chest. “No!” she shouted but it came out in a harsh cough. “No! Paul, no!”

He held an open switchblade way too close to her shoulder. His mouth turned down in a frown and she could have sworn those were tears forming in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Jazzy,” he said. “It’s the only way.”

She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could only see that sharp blade as it moved closer and closer to her skin.

“No. No, no, no, no, no!” she screamed again and again, finally finding air. Jazz thrashed, flailing her limbs and using every ounce of her strength to break his hold. “Please, Paul, let me go. Please don’t do this. The devil isn’t here. It’s just me. Jazz. Your sister. Please.” Tears fell from her eyes in giant drops.

“It’s not her,” he whispered to himself as he used his entire body weight to keep her anchored against the wall. “It’s not her. You have to save her. He’ll kill her.”

Bucking against the wall, Jazz sobbed. “Please. I’m just Jazz.” She’d be covered in bruises tomorrow from where her elbows, spine, and head banged into the wall repeatedly. None of it mattered. “Please!” She continued to struggle even as she ran out of steam and her body fatigued.

“It’s all right, Jazz. I know it will hurt, but you’ll be saved. I won’t let him have you.” He said.

He placed the tip of the knife against the pale skin covering her shoulder. Jazz shrieked. “No! Don’t! Please!”

And when the first sharp slice tore through her flesh, she screamed.

And screamed. And screamed.

CHAPTER THREE

“I NEED TO start having the prospect warm up my car before I leave,” Jazz grumbled as a full-body shiver ran through her. Though this was her second winter out of the toasty Arizona desert, she hadn’t gotten used to the cold.

At all.

And the seven-minute drive from work to home wasn’t enough time for her car to warm up. At least not when the day’s high never made it out of the thirties. Even with a hat, scarf, gloves, puffy down jacket, and wooly socks, she felt the chill. And not in a brisk, refreshing sort of way, but in an I’m-buried-under-an-avalanche-and-about-to-freeze-to-death way.

When it came to the cold, Jazz was a complete and utter wuss.

The good news was she only had half a mile left until she reached her home. The bad news was that it had snowed a good three inches while she’d been at work, so she now had to shovel the driveway, a task she loathed. Shell and Toni had laughed when she’d whined, telling her to make the prospect do it, but that felt all wrong. The poor guy was stuck watching her boring ass all day when she wasn’t even someone’s ol’ lady. How could she ask him to do manual labor on top of it? No, she’d suck it up and shovel her own driveway like the big girl she was. And if the prospect jumped in to help, well…she wouldn’t turn him away.