Tig raced demons, his bike on fire beneath him. He knew it was a nightmare, but he didn't know how to break it apart. It was a bad trip. It was a hang-over. It was the feeling of his bike skittering sideways beneath him, ditching him onto searing concrete and shattering his bones like glass.
He woke to a cool hand on his forehead and the sense that something was desperately wrong. He tried to sit up. A tearing pain in his side set him reeling, and he sagged back down to the bed. Moving his head unlocked a world of hurt in his skull. He tasted blood and cursed, then forced himself upright. Blinking, he looked down at the bandage that was taped firmly over his left side. His shirt was ripped, his feet were bare, and he didn't have the first clue where he was.
He realized he was being watched. A woman was crouched nearby, her eyes wary. Tig didn't recognize her at all. She said, in a voice low but firm. "No point in hurting yourself more. There's nowhere to go."
"Where am I?" It wasn't a hospital and it wasn't the clubhouse. It was a mattress on the floor in a bare-walled room. He gritted his teeth and sat up through the pain. "Oh for fuck's sake, bounty hunters? Again?"
The woman shook her head. Tig looked at her more closely. She was pretty in a wholesome kind of way he rarely gave a second glance. Her long brown hair was clean but tangled around her shoulders, like it hadn't been brushed in days. She was also barefoot, and wore jeans with a faded red t-shirt that was several sizes too big.
Tig's eyes narrowed. There was a heavy chain around her neck, which was also ringed with bruises, as if someone had twisted the chain to choke her. Extreme kink, Tig thought.
"Not bounty hunters?"
"Definitely not."
Tig wanted to shake the answers out of her, but she was just out of reach. A first-aid kit sat open on the floor between them. "Then what the fuck do they want?"
She shrugged and looked away. Tig noticed the unnaturally still poise, maintained even while he snarled. She did not cower, so much as become small. She was used to being yelled at. This wasn't his enemy.
"I'm sorry." He said, schooling his voice to be gentle. Maybe he could coax answers out of her. "What do you know?"
"Not much." She said without inflection. "I think they ambushed you. It looked like you were in a car accident."
"Yeah... yeah, those fuckers ran us off the road. The Nordics. Shit." The memory flashed hot and angry. A pick-up truck roaring up on him on the road, the jolt of metal hitting metal, and the feeling of the bike tipping off balance. Well, that much made sense. A random chick in chains at his bedside didn't. He asked, "You a doc?"
"No, but I'm better than nothing. I had to pull a chunk of metal out of your side. Your ankle is probably sprained, and I bet you've got a concussion."
"Fuck. How bad is this?"
She took so long to answer that he thought he wasn't going to get one. Then she said, "I don't know why they've got you here, but I wouldn't make any long-term plans if I were you."
Once he subsided onto the mattress, she crept closer. Her pensive green eyes looked down at him, as if considering the risk, then she carefully checked the bandage. Satisfied with whatever she saw, she placed the palm of her hand on his forehead. It was a gentle and maternal gesture, and it made him deeply uncomfortable. When she tried to move away, he caught her wrist to see how she'd react.
"Who are you?" He asked.
She was startled, but instead of fighting, she inhaled sharply and went still. He could feel her pulse pounding against his fingers and her eyes were wild. She gave no answer. Tig's grip tightened, and he felt her bones of her slender wrist grind.
There was no warning. Her free hand came down on the bandage, applying swift, merciless pressure. Tig grunted and swore at her, nauseated with pain. His grasp loosened enough for her to slip free, and she was across the room and out of reach before he could breathe properly again. She sat with her back against the wall, legs drawn up to her chest and her reproachful eyes peering out from behind her hair. Her fingers were tangled in the chain around her neck, tugging at it nervously.
After a time, there was a click and the door opened. A heavy-set Nord entered. His bearded face was smug as he jerked his head at the girl. She calmly stood and went to him, though Tig saw how her hands were clenched. The Nord stroked his hand down her back and patted her ass as she passed. He cocked an eyebrow at Tig before slamming the door and locking it.