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“Nice work,” Brute said, smiling at me while the man flailed his arms and tried to kick back at Brute. “You’re quick, darling.”
“You’re not bad yourself.” Actually, I’m not sure I’d ever seen two people work together with such a perfect blend of speed and strength. It was almost as if we were—
I cut off the rest of that thought, because really? Now was not the time to be waxing poetic. There were slightly more important things on the go at the moment.
“You have any thoughts on what you want me to do with him?” Brute asked, looking amused.
It was kind of entertaining to watch the guy squirm like a bug on a stick against my door, but probably not the most effective use of my time. And though his screams were coming out muffled, he was thumping loud enough against the door that it was going to start drawing attention pretty soon.
“It would be helpful if he wasn’t doing so much of… that,” I said, motioning to the squirming bug.
Brute nodded, then released his hold on the back of the guy’s neck long enough to cock back an arm and slam his fist into the back of his head.
The guy crumpled to the floor in an unconscious heap.
“Well, that certainly got him to stop squirming,” I mused. “Any chance you want to get him in one of those chairs?” I waved toward the walnut dining table and chairs off the kitchen. Sure, I could have dragged the guy over there myself, but I wasn’t oblivious to the fact Brute could haul the guy over one big shoulder and carry him around like a sack of potatoes.
“Have you got anything to tie him up with?” he asked as he leaned down and heaved the guy up. “He won’t stay unconscious for long.”
I’d never had to restrain an intruder in my apartment before… but it wasn’t the first time someone had been tied up here.
I nodded and headed for my bedroom, to the bedside table and the two sets of handcuffs stashed in there. Two sets, that was it. That would secure the guy’s hands behind the chair and take care of one leg. Couldn’t have the other one just dangling around, though.
All right, time to improvise.
I threw open my closet and took stock, though it seemed unlikely my lucky jeans or my favorite black lace negligee were going to help much. It was too bad I hadn’t taken a greater interest in Shibari; I’d have unlimited lengths of rope lying around. For now, the best I could come up with was the satin tie to my robe. It would have to do.
Brute had the guy in the dining room by the time I returned. He had him sitting upright in a chair, keeping him from falling over with one hand around his throat.
Quickly, I pulled his hands behind his back, hooked one pair of cuffs through the back of the chair, and fastened them around his wrists. His right ankle went next, then the left with the satin tie.
Brute looked at it strangely.
“What? How many pairs of handcuffs do you keep stashed in your bedroom?” I asked, then immediately regretted it when the thought sent a sizzle of heat straight to the apex of my thighs. There’d been no toys or props last night—we hadn’t even made it out of the living room—so I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of props a man like Brute got off on.
He shrugged. “A few. You never know when they might come in handy, do you?” he said, grinning.
Ugh.Handcuffs, toys, props…Time to get your head out of the gutter, Greta.
I grabbed the dishcloth off the kitchen counter and shoved it into our guest’s mouth. It was the first time I got a really good look at the guy: dark hair, tanned skin, the same kind of tats I’d seen on the guys in the warehouse, chiseled features, and light stubble along his jaw. Really? What the hell was it with the hot guys these days? Were all of them batshit crazy?
I glanced over at Brute just long enough for a glimpse at his big muscled body and a face that kind of belonged on a magazine cover. Yup, I guess the hot ones were all crazy.
Our guest, though, was already making quiet, almost groaning noises, like he was starting to come around.
I grabbed my knife from its sheath, but an image of Onyx flashed through my mind. The bloodstained, concrete floors, the splatter that had seemingly etched itself into the walls. Torture was messy—not that I had a whole lot of firsthand experience with it.
“What are you thinking, darling?” Brute asked.
“I’m thinking I’m not in the mood to redecorate,” I said, because I kind of liked my dark-wood laminate floors and the current wheat color of my walls.
Brute smiled. “If you’re not wanting to dine in, we can take him to go.”
God, I hoped he wasn’t talking about eating our captive. I didn’t think even Brute was that crazy.
“No, here’s fine. I just have to get a little creative.”
Perhaps it wasn’t a complete surprise that a creative solution popped into my head.
