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The locks clicked over and the heavy wooden door swung open.
“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Shona grumbled. “Who is he? Where’s he from? What does he want?”
Joe marched past the curious women and unceremoniously dumped the guy onto the bed.
“He’s unconscious at the moment,” Megan said. “Claire hit him with a baseball bat.”
The women stared at him. “Shouldn’t he be awake by now? How long has he been out?” Margaret said.
Megan shrugged. “A few minutes. He’s fine. He’s breathing, isn’t he?”
“He isn’t fine,” her mum said. “You two can’t go around knocking men out. I didn’t bring you up to behave like that.”
Megan ignored her. What was she supposed to do? Ask him nicely to surrender? The guy was almost twice her size. How else would she get him where she wanted him to be if he wasn’t unconscious? Sometimes her mother didn’t think things through properly.
“Should we tie him up in the toilet?” Megan asked Joe. “You know, in case there’s blood when we torture and interrogate him.”
“One”—Joe counted off on his fingers—“there will be no torture. Two—there will be no blood. Three—there is no we. I will question him alone, but the chances of him telling us anything are less than zero. These guys have been trained. They won’t talk.”
“And four,” her mother added, “we’re not tying anyone up in the bathroom. How will we pee? I’m not going to use the room if there’s a strange man tied to the sink. We could be stuck up here for ages and we’ve all had a lot of champagne. We need the toilet.”
Megan frowned at Joe. “He’s my prisoner. I’m going to interrogate him. And if that means torture, so be it.”
Joe stared at the ceiling for a minute while he mumbled. “You’re right—you found him. He’s all yours. Have at it. Torture away.” He sauntered over to talk to Ryan, who was peeking out the window from behind the curtain.
Megan narrowed her eyes as she watched him go. That was way too easy. Why didn’t he protest more? She was missing something. She shrugged. Who cared? She got what she wanted. She had a prisoner to torture.
“Right, ladies,” Megan said, with no small amount of glee. “Let’s get him tied to the bed.”
“Spread-eagled?” Jean asked as she patted her tight grey curls. Was she preening for the unconscious bad guy? No. Surely not.
Megan thought about it for a second then shrugged. “I don’t see why not. Spread-eagled it is.”
“Magenta, you’re good with knots—come and help us,” Kirsty’s mum called.
“I think I’ll just watch. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
“Magenta Fraser,” Margare
t snapped. “You get your behind over here and help right now or I’ll have a word with your mother.”
Magenta dragged herself across the room. “I’m twenty-three. I’m married. I don’t think my mother would care if I helped you tie up a guy or not.”
“I care. You are part of this group and you have responsibilities,” Margaret said.
The goth stared at Kirsty’s mother before turning to Megan. “You owe me,” she said. “You and your crazy twin cause me a lot of trouble.”
“Suck it up,” Megan told her best friend. “You don’t need us to generate trouble. You cause plenty all on your own.”
There was no arguing with the truth.
“Save me,” Magenta mouthed to Kirsty, who was sitting on the sofa with Caroline, watching them like they were the night’s entertainment.
“You’re on your own,” Kirsty said with a grin.
Abby and Jena gave her thumbs-up to encourage her, which made Magenta give them her own, less polite, hand gesture in return.
Megan ignored the laughter as she watched the women of Knit Or Die raid the closets for all of Josh’s silk ties.
