“Just gonna do one ankle to the chair, so I can relax a little as we eat. I gave you all the time free I can, for now.”
I reminded myself he wasn’t putting me in a cage, and was trying to give me as much dignity as he could. I shrugged and said, “Whatever. I’m gonna be sitting here, anyway.”
He put it on tight enough I couldn’t slip my foot out, but not so tight it hurt, thank goodness. I looked at the table and focused on my breathing, determined not to let them see the panic threatening to take over. I wiggled my foot and analyzed the situation as I forced myself to sit still and remain calm. If they left me alone I could probably stand and pull the leg of the chair out, but when he handed me a steak knife, I realized this was about me eating like a human, cutting my own food as I ate without them having to worry I’d lunge at them and cut them. They were both out of my reach.
They had no idea I was an expert knife thrower, apparently.
I hadn’t been joking about wanting to sink it in Bash’s eye.
I’d hacked into the Atlanta Police Department’s servers a while back, and written myself a back door so I could easily get back in even if they changed the passwords. When I’d realized it was Brain after me, I’d gone into the gang enforcement division’s notes, found what they’d written about the RTMC, and laughed at the suggestion the club was a group of werewolves, since their numbers were always decimated during the three nights of the full moon.
But, as much as I thought myself crazy for entertaining the notion… it would explain a whole helluva lot, and Bash seeming to smell Brain before saying he knew Brain had fucked two women really had my curiosity up.
Could you kill a werewolf by sinking a knife in their eye? Would their faster-than-human reflexes catch it in mid-air?
I nonchalantly experimented around with the weight as I cut my steak, getting the feel and balance of it as best I could, without being obvious. We ate in uncomfortable silence, but the men weren’t watching me too closely, either.
I observed Bash out of the corner of my eye, the tempo he ate, the way he leaned down to take a bite, and sat back up to chew. If I timed it as he leaned forward, while he was putting food in his mouth, his hands would be occupied and I’d have the best chance of him not reaching up to catch it. He was a good four feet away, could I do it with an untested knife? Did I dare try?
I worked through the plan in my head — throw the knife, stand, lift the chair out of the zip-tie, and run like hell out the backdoor. The deck was only five feet off the ground, and landing on the ground barefoot would hurt, but jumping off would be way faster than using the steps. I could run into the woods, climb a tree, and after Brain ran past me, I’d climb down and run the other direction — down the mountain instead of up. If I thought Bash was dead, I could come in the house and get his keys, drive the Expedition down the mountain, but… shit. Could I really throw the knife with the intention of killing him?
If Brain were being honest, they were going to help me get a new life, and after tomorrow I wouldn’t have to see Bash again. Did I believe him?
I sighed as I put the knife down, realizing I wasn’t going to aim it at Bash’s eye. Werewolves didn’t exist, he wouldn’t miraculously heal from a knife into the brain, and I wasn’t prepared to take someone’s life when my life and safety didn’t seem to be in imminent danger.
I’d killed before, and would do it again if I had to, but this wasn’t a situation where I had to.
Chapter Eight
Brain
I wasn’t sure what she’d been planning, but I knew when she decided against it. I glanced at Bash, realized he knew, too.
“She sleeps in the cage, tonight.”
“No,” I told him. “She sleeps in a bed. We can lock her in with the cuffs.”
He shook his head. “Not gonna happen.”
I held his gaze as I told him, “I’m in charge of her, and she isn’t going back in the cage.”
“You were in charge of capturing her. Now that we have her? I’m not sure you’re thinking straight. Duke can decide how to move forward tomorrow, but for tonight, she’s in the cage.”
He flexed his fist, letting me know he was prepared to fight me if I didn’t agree.
I was taller, but Bash was a scrapper and we both knew he’d kick my ass if we fought. I’d worked my way to Duke’s second in command with strategy, not by fighting my way to the top with my fists.
I saw the knife fly through the air, quickly registered it wasn’t close to either Bash or I, and turned in my chair to see it sunk into the dartboard in the den, twenty feet away.