Re/Deemed (Doms of the FBI Book 8)

by Michele Zurlo

  Brandy took their bowls to the sink and cleaned them. Bull had already washed the pot he’d used to make the meal. She looked closer at the tiny counter around the sink and examined the basin as well. From the looks of it, Bull really liked a sanitary living space. Everything was clean and organized. Even the grout was sparkling white.

  The paper crinkled. “I’m going to shower now. When I come out, I’ll expect to see you waiting quietly on the sofa.”

  Brandy froze at the order. Waiting quietly for what?

  At the soft click of the bathroom door closing, her head whipped around, and she stared. Now was not a time to panic. The guards patrolling the compound wouldn’t let her get far. Bull had said he wasn’t into rape or hurting helpless women.

  But he also had blood and grease stains all over his clothes.

  He’d served The Cause well, earning her as a reward.

  Organizations like The Eye sold different ideologies to different people in order to earn their loyalty so that they could convert as many followers as possible. What ideology had they sold to Bull?

  She had to find out. Her very existence depended on it.

  Keeping one ear open to the sounds in the bathroom, she quickly and quietly searched the apartment. The bureau next to the bed had four drawers filled with meticulously folded clothes and two with personal items. She felt to see if anything was hidden under the clothes, and she found a heavy Bowie knife in a thick leather sheaf.

  It was good to know where the weapons were hidden.

  Figuring he’d notice if it went missing, she left it there.

  The bottom two drawers contained personal items. She found a hardcover book that boasted weird facts about Connecticut, Sun Tzu’s The Art of War, and a ragged copy of The Taming of the Shrew. A stack of photographs of various people didn’t have enough context and would require serious study before she could make heads or tails of them. Three postcards had their own pile. The green plastic pencil box contained commemorative coins from various amusement parks, a pewter ship, and a Darth Vader stamp with no ink pad.

  Okay, the drawers weren’t full. Like the rest of the apartment, the few things there were neatly placed and well-kept. She slid the last one closed as the sound of water from the shower ceased.

  The sills to the two windows were wide enough to sit on, and yet they were clear of anything. No curtains. She looked outside, noting the positioning of the floodlights and nearby security posts.

  She heard the toilet flush and the sink run.

  He was going to come out any moment now.

  Brandy sat at one end of the sofa, her knees locked together and her hands folded on her bare legs. There wasn’t a coffee table or a television. She stared at the weight set, wondering how far she might get if she incapacitated him with his own workout equipment. She was going to need to get to know her way around the compound first.

  Since she was there, she was going to glean as much information about that place as possible. After all, she’d been trying to get inside for a long time.

  The bathroom door opened. Bull emerged, and steam wafted out after him. He wore the same thing she did—a white T-shirt and plain boxer shorts. Where the clothes hung loose on her, they stretched tight across his chest.

  She’d suspected it before, but now she knew he was all muscle.

  He stopped the washing machine to add his clothes. Then he came over and sat on the opposite end of the sofa. He regarded her with thinly veiled patience. “You went through my things.”

  Brandy could win this game. Her CIA and FBI training kicked in, counseling her to play the part of a scared victim. This guy had a soft spot for helpless women.

  She slid her gaze to the dresser behind him and nodded once.

  He got up and opened the top drawer. As she suspected, he felt to make sure the knife was there. He also searched for something in the third drawer, and she resolved to check that more thoroughly once he was out of the apartment.

  The second-to-bottom drawer held his interest longer than the others. He thumbed through the pictures and opened the pencil box. Then he returned to the sofa.

  “What were you looking for?”

  She ran a nervous hand through her hair, and it caught on a tangle.

  His gaze followed. “You were looking for a hairbrush?”

  Unwilling to speak, she nodded stiffly.

  “I’m only going to have so much patience for this silent thing you’re doing. I understand that you’ve had a traumatic experience, and it’s going to take you some time to adjust. But you need to understand that when my patience ends, so does your life.”

  Brandy swallowed and willed a sheen of tears to her eyes. She dropped her gaze and blinked rapidly. It looked like she was trying not to cry, when in reality she was working up to getting one tear to fall down her cheek. Yes, he was formidable and scary, but he’d already tipped his hand concerning her. As long as she played the part of the helpless woman, she’d feed his hero complex and stay alive.

  “Unless you’re doing laundry, stay out of my drawers. Do you understand?” With one finger, he gently guided her face up until she was looking at him. Though there was a whole sofa cushion between them, he easily spanned the distance.

  She stiffened at the familiarity with which he touched her, and she widened her eyes to appear frightened.

  Rather than soften, his expression hardened. He leaned closer, and the softness of his tone belied the sternness of his warning. “Don’t play games with me. You won’t win.”

  Shocked, she drew back, and he let her go.

  Standing, he regarded her coolly. “This is your only warning. Next time you will be punished.” He strode to the bed and stripped away the top blanket. Then he grabbed a pillow.

  Brandy thought about his tone and demeanor, and she wondered if he considered himself a Dom.

  He dropped the blanket and pillow on the sofa. “You’ll sleep here.”

  Next he turned off the light switch next to the door. Enough light streamed through the window so that his outline was clear. He got into bed and covered himself with the sheet.

  “I’m trained to kill,” he murmured. “So you’re taking your life in your hands if you bother me while I’m asleep.”

  Brandy set the pillow on one end of the sofa and wrapped herself in the blanket. The night was cold, and the cocoon was a welcome comfort.

  She didn’t remember falling asleep, but the sound of footsteps creaking the floor nearby had her eyes flying open.

  Bull pressed his hands to the wall and pushed down with his foot to stretch his calf. He glanced over. “You can go back to sleep. I’m going on a ten-mile run, so I’ll be back in about an hour.”

  He could run ten six-minute miles in a row? Brandy buried her skepticism. She watched him stretch for a few minutes, and then he left the apartment. There was a lot to do while he was gone, including a more thorough search of his things. Maybe there was a cell phone in that third drawer? The fact of her kidnapping and presence on this property was enough grounds for a warrant that would give them access to everything.

  She freshened up in the bathroom, using her finger as a toothbrush because he didn’t have extras and she sure as hell wasn’t going to use his. Then she put her clothes into the dryer, which was empty because Bull probably wasn’t the kind of man who left clothes in the dryer for longer than necessary.

  Her morning ablutions accomplished, she went directly for drawer number three. He’d spent extra time feeling around in the back, so she carefully removed his folded shirts.

  Without the shirts, the drawer was empty. There wasn’t a false back or anything. She unfolded each shirt in case the mystery item was in one of them, but they were just plain white T-shirts or dark blue, button-down work shirts.

  She folded them carefully and put them back. Then she investigated the contents of the refrigerator and cupboards.

  Bull was a bachelor. He had a freezer full of meals that needed minimal cooking. The refrigerator housed a
jar of spicy mustard, three bottles of beer, a half-empty carton of eggs, and two containers of leftover takeout. A stack of individually wrapped yellow cheese slices were the only thing in the crisper. The cupboard had two boxes of mac and cheese, six cans of hearty soups, eight cans of black beans, and various other canned vegetables and fruits.

  Eggs and coffee.

  She opened a can of peaches and munched on those while she got the coffeemaker going. He came in when she was still looking for where he kept the coffee.

  Sweat dripped from his face and drenched his clothes. He went directly to the sink and poured himself a glass of water. Brandy scurried out of his way.

  He finished downing the glass and set it next to the sink. “Did you go through my things while I was gone?” This time, he sounded more amused than angry. Exercise must have released happy chemicals into his brain.

  She went to the fridge and took out the eggs and cheese. She set those next to the pan she’d put on the stove. Then she lifted a brow and pointed to the coffeemaker.

  With a wry twist to his lips, he opened the cupboard above the sink and took down a bag of coffee grounds and a plastic container of sugar.

  He showered, a fact for which her nose was grateful, and breakfast was a silent affair. Afterward, he sipped coffee while he watched her wash the dishes.

  For three days, she danced a silent ballet around him, watching him every bit as much as he watched her.

  From what she could tell, he didn’t want her there. He had less than no use for her. Though she made breakfast every morning, he frequently put together lunch or dinner, and since he was a clean cook, there was very little left for her to clean up.

  The third afternoon, he presented her with a plastic bag from a grocery store. Inside she discovered a hairbrush, shampoo, conditioner, a toothbrush, and tampons. A second bag held two pairs of sweatpants, a package of plain underwear, a sports bra, and two long-sleeved shirts.

  While she looked over his gifts, he emptied the bottom drawer of his dresser, arranging his possessions neatly in the drawer above. “This will be for your things.”

  She gazed up at him, a myriad emotions running rampant inside her. While she was thankful, the fact that he’d bought these things meant he was resigned to having her around. It was a step farther from being able to go home.

  A hot tear wet her cheek, and she swiped at it angrily.

  He set a thick, plush rug on the floor halfway between the sofa and the dresser. “When I come into the room, you will kneel here and wait for instructions. Unless you’re already carrying out instructions that you shouldn’t stop, like cooking. But if you’re cleaning, you’ll stop and kneel.”

  The tears dried right up, and all her self-pity evaporated with it.

  “You can kneel now and thank me for my gifts.”

  Fuck that. “No.”

  His head snapped around, and surprise widened his eyes. Whether it was from her refusal or the fact that she’d broken her vow of silence, she couldn’t tell.

  “Excuse me?”

  She ignored the warning in his tone and parked her hands on her hips. Yeah, with a guy that big and brutish, she was taking her life in her hands, but she was not kneeling for this asshole. Reverting to the silence that had served her so well until now, Brandy took a step back.

  “Get on your knees.” He didn’t move, but somehow he managed to appear larger, closer, and more menacing.

  Apparently, the fact that he’d pretty much ignored her for three days had lulled her into forgetting that he was dangerous. She inhaled, using the sharp sound to play up her perceived vulnerabilities. She shook her head as she clasped her hands together in a display of desperation. There was no way she could win in a physical fight with him, but if she stood her ground, she might win the mental battle.

  His legs were so long that one step put him close enough to reach out and snatch her up. It definitely explained his six-minute mile pace.

  Before she could process his intent, she found herself face-down over his knee with her face in the sofa cushions. Though she struggled, he easily pinned her legs beneath one of his tree trunks. His hand pushed down between her shoulder blades, the large paw spanning most of her back.

  “Let me go,” she demanded. She’d been around the BDSM community enough to know the rules, and they had not negotiated anything. “I did not give you permission to hit me.”

  A wallop landed on her ass, the jarring impact echoing through the barren apartment and leaving a sting on her backside.

  Brandy screeched and bucked in protest, but he had a firm hold on her, so she achieved nothing.

  “I don’t need your permission,” He smacked her ass twice more. “You are my slave. I can do whatever I want, and nobody will care. In fact, if you don’t behave, Yoseff or Karter can and will remove you from here. Their solutions for slaves who misbehave tend to be permanent, so believe me when I say I’m your best bet for survival. You’re here to serve me, and you should strive to please me.”

  The whole time he explained the situation, his tone remained firm and unexcited. Also, he spanked her, the rhythm of the punishment matching the cadence of his speech.

  When he finished and released her, she sprang to her feet for all of two seconds, and then she launched herself at him.

  Her right fist connected with his cheek, though the blow seemed to hurt her hand more than his face. He neatly captured her wrist and twisted her around. Brandy found herself sitting on his lap with his massive arms wrapped around her body, pinning her arms to her sides.

  “Firebrand, I’m sure you’ve noticed that I’m bigger and stronger than you. I’m also faster and combat trained. Now, it looks like you know how to throw a punch, which is awesome—all women should take self-defense—but you’re never going to win against me.” His solid chest pressed into her back, and his ominously low voice whispered in her ear.

  Where her heart beat fast from the exertion, he wasn’t at all affected.

  His arms were like boa constrictors. With the tightening of his muscles, he could squeeze the life right out of her.

  Was she afraid?

  Fuck, yes.

  This time when he released her, she knelt on the carpet. It was soft under her bare knees, and she realized he hadn’t required this of her until he’d seen to her comfort. It was thoughtful, but the circumstances were too wrong for her to appreciate his efforts.

  Not that Brandy went for this sort of thing. She knew a lot of Doms—occupational hazard—but she didn’t identify with all that D/s bullshit.

  “Widen your knees a bit. Clasp your hands behind your back. Shoulders back. It’s important not to slouch. It shows you’re attentive, and good posture is good for your bones.” He touched her shoulders as he directed the changes, his gentleness at odds with the force he’d used moments ago. “Okay. This is kneeling at attention. Rest back on your heels and put your hands on your knees, palms up. That’s how you’ll kneel when I come in. If other people are here or if we’re out somewhere, you’ll kneel at attention unless I say otherwise.”

  Brandy gritted her teeth to keep from speaking. Nothing she had to say would improve the situation.

  “Practice holding this position. You’re aiming for being able to stay like this for a full hour. We’ll work on it over the next few weeks.”

  In a few weeks, Brandy planned to be long gone and all these assholes would be in prison, awaiting trial without the possibility of bail.

  Minutes ticked by, and he didn’t move a muscle either. Brandy realized it was a contest. He was trying to outlast her.

  Fucker.

  She was going to win this game.

  After forever had passed, he said, “That’s enough for now. Get up, and put your things away.”

  Chapter 4

  Brandy’s knee crackled, courtesy of an old injury, as she got up.

  “You have knee problems?”

  Inactivity wasn’t good for her, and being trapped in a small room masquerading as an apart
ment severely limited her ability to exercise. She shot him a glare, and then she busied herself with the task he’d given. She was dying to wash her hair with something besides dish soap.

  As she stared at the green bottle of shampoo against the stark white of the scrubbed shower tiles, she realized Bull had gone through some trouble to get those items. They were living on a compound miles away from civilization. They might as well be on another planet for all the contact the denizens were allowed to have with the outside world.

  He hadn’t wanted her there—probably still didn’t—and he hadn’t raped or beaten her, which seemed to be the expectation for how he should treat her.

  He was a thug and a killer, but he drew the line at harming helpless women.

  He was trying to make her existence there a little less horrible.

  He was definitely more complex than she’d initially thought.

  When she emerged from the bathroom—there was only so much time she could waste arranging the few items he’d bought—Bull was at the stove, stirring something in a pot. It smelled like pasta.

  She held out her hand for the spoon he was using to stir.

  He handed it over and scooted out of the way. She’d noticed that he was at ease in the kitchen. He seemed ambivalent about cooking, but he definitely preferred when she did it.

  “Thank you for the clothes and toiletries.” Her voice felt rusty from disuse, and though she spoke quietly, it filled the room. Though silence had been her friend so far, she needed to make a peace offering.

  A smile broke out on his face, growing into a huge curve that transformed him entirely.

  Brandy couldn’t help but notice how the crinkles next to his brown eyes gave them unexpected warmth. His sharp cheekbones made him attractive instead of sinister. He had dimples, one charming divot in each cheek. The smile drew her attention to the fact that his lips were full and sensual.

  What the fuck was wrong with her? So what if he was handsome. He was her captor, an evil minion of The Eye.

  Brandy shook away anything that might blunt the sharp edge of her vigilance. She busied herself with adding something to the simple meal. They were seriously lacking in vegetables and fresh food in this place. She picked out chunks of carrots and peas from leftover Chinese food in the refrigerator. Sautéing them in some oil, she hoped they hadn’t gone bad. Then she toasted some bread and sprinkled it over the macaroni and cheese meal.