Don't Make a Sound (Sawyer Brooks #1)(25)

Adrenaline filled her. She felt invincible as she pulled her leg back and struck again and again. She didn’t stop until she heard the drumbeat of footsteps hitting the stairs.

Lights came on.

Only then did she realize he’d let go of her. Lifting her head, Malice saw the damage she’d done. His face was a bloody pulp. From behind her she felt Psycho latch on to both of her arms and pull her away from the bloody mess. Psycho was strong. She lifted Malice into her arms and onto the couch without much effort. “Are you okay?” Psycho asked. “You’re bleeding.”

“I hit my head when he yanked me to the floor.”

“Lie here for a minute.” Psycho left her side.

“You did some damage,” Cleo said, “but he’s still breathing. How did he get loose?”

“All I know,” Malice said, “is that the son of a bitch messed with the wrong person this morning.”

Nobody argued with that.

“He’s out cold.” Psycho knelt down close to Brad, assessing the situation. “Looks to me as if he twisted and turned his wrists all night long and was able to loosen the tape enough to pull one of his hands free. If you hadn’t come when you did,” she told Malice, “he would have escaped, probably would have run to the neighbors to call the police.”

Malice didn’t want to think about what could have happened. She reached for a napkin that had flown from the bag of food when she dropped it and used it to dab at the gash on her head.

Psycho dragged Brad back to the bar area, rolled him onto his stomach so she could bind his wrists behind his back before fastening him to an old but sturdy built-in radiator. “Good thing Brad keeps a nice big supply of duct tape in his house,” she said as she worked.

While Psycho took care of Brad, Cleo cleaned up the mess by the door. She held something up between her fingers. “Looks like you kicked out one of his teeth.”

“Nice,” Psycho said.

Malice pushed herself to a sitting position. When the dizziness passed, she stood and picked up the napkins and the breakfast sandwiches she’d bought and put it all on the coffee table. She grabbed a sandwich. “I’m hungry. Did anyone make coffee?”

“It’s brewing now,” Cleo said.

Once everything was cleaned up, Psycho and Malice ate their sandwiches and drank coffee at the bar as they talked about what to do next.

Cleo sat on the couch with Brad’s laptop and a pile of papers she’d found stuffed away in his bedroom closet.

They had no idea Brad had come to until he spit out a mouthful of blood and said, “You bitches will pay for this.” He let out a growl as he tried to free himself. “My good friend is a cop. When he finds out I haven’t been to work, he’ll be knocking on my door.”

“The second I find proof of what you’ve done, your ass will be dragged to jail by that same friend,” Psycho told him.

“There are no videos,” Brad told her. “You’re wasting your time.”

Psycho snorted. “Bullshit. All serial rapists keep videos so they can relive that moment when they had power. Because with guys like you, that’s what it’s all about.”

“I’ll find you,” he said. “Every one of you. You’re all dead.”

“You try so hard to be a big scary dude, don’t you, Bradley? But you need to tie women up to get a hard-on?”

“Fuck you,” he said. One of his eyes was swollen shut. His nose had been flattened, definitely broken.

Psycho stood, grabbed a cue stick, and used it to poke at his crotch. “What’s under there, I wonder? A tiny little worm, I bet.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he said. “Go ahead and take a look. I don’t mind.”

“The only reason I would go near your dick would be to cut it clean off and toss it in the garbage disposal.” Psycho scrunched up her face. “Make a little mincemeat out of your little willy.”

Cleo let out a low whistle and jabbed an arm in the air. “Do it!”

“I’m not sure being here is safe,” Malice said. “I saw the neighbor staring at Brad’s house on her way out. I mean, she didn’t just glance at it, she stopped and stared for a long while.”

“That woman is hot for me,” Brad said.

Psycho ignored him. They all did. “I thought we were sticking with the plan?” Psycho asked.

The doorbell rang.

Malice cursed under her breath. She pointed at Brad. “Gag him!”

Psycho grabbed one of the washcloths Cleo had used to clean up and shoved it in his mouth before winding duct tape around the lower half of his face.

Cleo set the laptop aside, caught up to Malice, and followed her up the stairs to the front room. The curtains were drawn. Nobody could see them as they made their way to the entry door. Cleo peered through the peephole. “I can’t believe it. It’s him.”

“Who?”

“The waiter who served me and Brad at the Blue Fox.”

Before Malice had a chance to let that sink in, Cleo opened the door, took a fistful of the man’s shirt, and yanked him into the house.

Malice shut the door and locked it. Her heart was racing. Things were spiraling out of control. By the time she turned around, Cleo had him pinned to the floor, a knife at his throat.