the first bastard’s nose, making him stagger back against the wall, then immediately kicked his friend in the face. He went down stiff, out cold.
Now with his nose streaming, the other creep tried to draw his gun. Brand had heavy fists and he enjoyed using them, in the cage, sure, during a competition.
But especially now, against a man who took pleasure in threatening Sahara.
He battered the man mercilessly, and it still didn’t expend the rage inside him. When the man slumped, unconscious, he finally let up, but turned to deliver more punishment to the first guy, who was just starting to rouse.
He held him by his shirt collar. “If I find a single bruise on her, I’ll come back and tear you apart.” Before the fool could say anything, Brand smashed his fist to his face and the goon’s head lolled on his neck.
Moving quickly, he retrieved the nylon cuffs and restrained both men with their arms behind their backs. Then he used the bigger cuffs to hobble their legs together. Lastly he checked them both for weapons, his movements efficient and without regard for any further discomfort he caused them.
When he finished, he stopped and listened, but heard nothing.
Heart punching in dread, he slid the bolt on the door and swung it open. More steps led down—how fucking deep were they hiding her?
The lack of sound sent fear burning through him. If Sahara was down there, she wasn’t moving, maybe not even breathing. He went down the steps, his gaze searching the barren room—and finally located Sahara to the side of the stairs, crouched down as if preparing to attack.
The stark concentration on her beautiful face cleared beneath incredible joy. “Brand! You came.”
Seeing that smile did crazy things to his pulse.
Her hair hung loose around her, longer than he’d realized it would be. She’d taken off her shoes and had them next to her. Her coat was off and under her to protect her from the cold floor.
She’d hiked her narrow skirt up to midthigh.
Seeing the mess around her, he asked, “What are you doing?”
“Quietly disassembling this small electric heater to see what parts I could use to defend myself.”
She still held a jagged piece of metal, folded to form the shape of a knife. To protect her hand, she’d wrapped something shiny and lavender around her makeshift handle. The weapon looked wickedly deadly—if she knew how to use it.
He assumed she did.
Maybe he’d done those men a favor, disabling them with their guts still intact.
He didn’t see any tools, so he asked, “How?”
“I used the rim of the cola can to loosen the screws, then I took off the back cover. My shoe made a nice hammer and I—”
“What’s wrapped around the handle?”
“My bra.” Her chin lifted. “I didn’t want to cut myself.”
Of course, his gaze went to her breasts beneath the soft cashmere of her sweater. Yup, braless. He inhaled slowly through his nose.
“I was going to hunker over here and when they started down, I’d be cutting ankles. Maybe tendons—”
“Damn.” Gruesome. Brand shook his head. “Tell me later.” He held out a hand. “Let’s go.” Unwilling to risk the others returning, his top priority was getting her safely away from the area.
She stood with the electrical cord in one hand, the piece of metal still in the other. “You disabled the men guarding me?”
“Yes.”
She quickly re-dressed, shaking out her coat and putting it on, hitching her purse over her shoulder and stepping back into her shoes.
“I don’t know how the hell you walk in those things.” And yeah, the way they stretched her legs and shaped her ass was something no red-blooded man would miss.
“I like them.” She sent him a look. “You don’t?”
Choosing not to answer that, he said, “Hurry it up.”
She nodded and picked up the metal shiv again. “Okay, but I need to interrogate one of the men.”
“No time for that.” When she finally got close enough, he attempted to take the modified weapon from her. “You don’t need this.” Her resourcefulness amazed him, but it wouldn’t be effective against armed men. “Here on out, I’ll see to your safety.”
Resisting, she stuck the cord in her coat pocket, switched the metal blade into her right hand and took his hand with her left. “That’s so sweet of you, but I’ll hold on to it just in case.” Then she tried to take the lead.
Brand’s immobility pulled her to a halt.
She glanced back, questions in her pretty eyes. Aggrieved, he moved around her.
When they stepped through the doorway to the landing, they found the two men still slumped, their bruised and battered faces red with their own blood, their hands and feet locked together.
Sahara stopped to stare. “Oh my. You managed all that rather silently.”
Now was not the time for her to schmooze him. “Let’s go, Sahara.”
She ignored that order. “I was hoping once I got them unmasked, I’d recognize them, but now... I’m not sure their own mothers would know them.”
“Do worms have mothers?” He tried again to get her going.
She tried again to pull free. “I told you, I need to question them.” She nudged the closest man with the pointy toe of her shoe but he didn’t rouse. “Is there water anywhere that I could throw on them?”
Brand clasped a hand to the back of her neck and leaned close, his gaze boring into hers. “We are going,” he said succinctly. “Now.”
Eyes flared with disbelief, she asked, “Are you threatening to choke me?”
He tightened his hold the tiniest bit, but she still looked only curious. “What I’m doing is getting your attention.”
“Very rudely.” She tried to shrug him off but he didn’t let go. He knew he wasn’t hurting her, but getting her on board with the rescue was imperative.
Scowling now, sparks going off in her eyes, she said, “You forget that I’m the boss, Brand. I give the orders.”
He took grim pleasure in saying, “You forget that I don’t work for you.” When she started to speak, he cut her off. “We’re leaving here. You either walk or I carry you. Up to you.”
Her jaw loosened. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Count of three, honey.”
“I have a weapon!”
“That you wouldn’t use on me, but if you think I couldn’t take it from you, you’re wrong.” He started to scoop her over his shoulder and she backed up fast, almost tripping over the downed men.
“Be careful before you stab yourself!”
“If I do, it’ll be your fault.”
“Sahara,” he ground out.
“Okay, okay!”
Brand turned, her hand once again caught in his, and got her moving. The dim light at the small landing faded as they maneuvered back to the main entrance of the garage, forcing Brand to use the binoculars. “Careful,” he said, guiding her around some fallen equipment of some sort.
No answer.
They went up the next flight of stairs.
Still nothing.
Shrugging, he decided that Sahara’s