Page 41 of StoryTeller's Tale

Tats barks a laugh. “There’s no fuckin’ way you can win this, Soul. Not without ending up full of fuckin’ holes.”

The bastard in front of me shrugs as if being made into a sieve is of no consequence.He’d die to keep me alive.Swallowing hard, the realisation is dumbfounding.

“Last chance.” Tats aims the gun more firmly. “We’re taking her. It’s just up to you whether you make this easy on yourself or not.”

Fang palms his crotch. “Just get on with it, will ya? I bet she’s got a tight little cunt and I can’t wait to get in there. Maybe see if I can get her to bleed again.”

As a roar comes from StoryTeller’s throat, his body tenses as if he’s going to leap for them, but there’s nowhere to go. He’s got two guns aimed on him. I come to the conclusion he’s going to try anyway, and instantly realise I can’t see this man, the only man who’d ever shown anything approaching care for me, injured or killed just to delay the inevitable.

Slipping around him in a move that takes them all by surprise, I launch forward, my action making Tats lose his aim as he reaches out to grab me, tugging me off balance, and using my momentum to push me to Fang who’s waiting behind him.

I have a split second to decide whether to go to my fate meekly, or to fight like hell to survive. I’d prefer to die than have any of these men defile me, especially when I can still feel evidence of StoryTeller being inside me. As much as anything, I don’t want that memory sullied.

Knowing this can be no halfhearted struggle, and that I’ll need to put everything I’ve got into it, I tense my muscles. Taking advantage of Fang who thinks he’s dealing with a weak woman, I wrench myself free of his hold, and continue my movement to aim a kick straight up and between Limey’s legs, hopefully shooting his balls right back into his body cavity. It seems I’m successful from the howl.

But even as he goes down, I realise it’s still two against one. Quickly I discount Tats as he’ll have to concentrate on keeping StoryTeller in line, but Fang wastes no time drawing back his arm. In a split second, I realise they’ve been brought up on a diet of fighting dirty, and my answer to violence has always been to run and hide.

I don’t wait for the blow to land. Instead, I duck, then surprise him by aiming my fingernails for his eyes. He rears back as an overloud crack sounds from behind me and Tats comes crashing forward, his weight knocking Fang to the ground.

A hand grabs my arm. I swing around but it lets me loose immediately. It’s StoryTeller getting me out of the way to clear himself some space. He doesn’t waste time, launching himself onto Fang’s back, twisting his head into an unnatural position and giving it a twist, his action accompanied by a sickening crack.

Limey, at last uncovering his manhood, reaches for a gun, but I throw myself forward, knocking his arm and deflecting aim so the bullet that was meant for StoryTeller plants itself harmlessly into the ceiling. Then he’s by my side, taking the gun from Limey’s hands. His actions are like poetry in motion as he raises an already bloody knife and in one swift movement, with no second thoughts or hesitation, he slits the Dominators’ throat.

It's only then I notice Tats is making weak choking noises. One glance shows this is the second time StoryTeller’s used the same method of attack, and presumably with the rival biker’s own knife.

Tats quickly gives up his battle with life. After one last rasping breath, there’s no other sound. For the first time since I’ve been here, no one’s crying or wailing. There’s an air of expectancy as time seems to stop, and all eyes, including mine, are on the man who’s standing tall, gun in one hand, knife, its tip wet and scarlet, in the other, his face and clothes splattered with blood. Otherwise still as a tableau, his chest heaves from the exertion.

I’m stunned. The speed at which he disposed of our enemies happening so fast, it’s as if my brain is needing a moment to process what my eyes are seeing.

With his eyes fixed on me, StoryTeller seems to be talking to himself. “Three dead,” he says calmly. “Shot fired. Not sure if that warned anybody.” He pauses, then adds, “Yeah, just about to do that now.”

He nods as if in agreement with somebody, then his eyes find mine. There’s something in his expression, as if he has admiration for me, but I did nothing. He did all the work. He sinks to his knees, uncaring he’s kneeling in an ever-spreading pool of blood, and begins searching Limey’s body.

When he finds keys, he tosses them to me. I’m proud that although unexpected, I don’t fumble the catch.

“Open the cages. Let them out.”

He waits only a second to check I understand what I’m meant to be doing, before starting to collect all the weapons from the bodies on the ground. He moves to position himself by the door as I start to undo the padlocks.

Carole steps out, her eyes hopeful and gleaming. She spits on Tats’s body, then comes to my side. Kelly and Angie also waste no time taking advantage of their liberty, but MaryAnne and Leah need a little more encouragement. Leah casts worried glances toward StoryTeller as though he might be the Devil, not the man who’s hopefully going to save us. MaryAnne is so lost in her own misery, I don’t think it’s sunk in that she’s free.

“Stay together.” StoryTeller gestures with a gun. “Get into the far corner and keep your fucking heads down.”

Carole and I usher the women together, knowing while he’s doing the best he can to protect us, we’re still in the direct line of fire. I’m all too conscious there’s only one man between us and the Dominators seeking revenge.

Once they’re all huddled behind me, I raise my eyes and watch StoryTeller guarding the door. I thought he’d cut an impressive figure before, but now, armed and exceedingly dangerous, bloodied and fierce, he’s nothing short of magnificent, a Viking warrior from times past. Only a few moments before I had doubts that any of us would get out of this, but with StoryTeller being a one-man freaking army, I start to believe we’ve a chance.

Three down. Four to go.

StoryTeller has managed to push home the bolt on this side of the door. A fact the Dominators find out when they try to get in. I hear angry shouts about “what the fuck is going on down there.”

“I thought we had a fuckin’ bargain,” StoryTeller shouts back angrily.

“Tats? Tats, you there?”

“Tats won’t be talking to anyone anymore,” StoryTeller responds without any remorse in his tone. “I don’t take kindly to being fuckin’ double-crossed, Knuckles.”

A more hesitant voice sounds. “Limey? Fang?”

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