PICK UP - THE COMPLICATION.

She gazed at him from the doorway, mind turning, cogs clicking behind her rainbow ski-mask. He was such a complication! She thought irritably, drumming her fingernails on the doorframe. But a gorgeous complication, she admitted after a moment.

He was lying supine on the floor, stripped to his bare skin, and struggling even now, twisting this way and that, although he must know by now that it was fruitless. A harsh white light above him kept his eyes screwed tight shut, but picked him out in perfect detail in the otherwise black basement. His hair was a splash of vibrant red, not ginger or red-blonde, true blood-red waves that had been previously contained in a stubby tail at the base of his neck, but now, due to his struggling and her own curious hands, was in a shoulder length tangle, slick with sweat and gummed together in some places. She winced.  It had seemed such a crime to hurt something so beautiful... her mouth spread into a wicked smile. But what a sweet crime.

She was no stranger to crime, in fact, that was why he was her problem.

“You shouldn’t have even damn well been there,” she chastised him under her breath, then fell silent as his head snapped in her direction.

His head was probably the only thing capable of movement to be totally honest, a thick length of chain over his neck, each end weighted securely down to act as a ramshackle collar, locking him to the floor, his wrists crossed and wrapped tightly in layers of shiny silver chain, arms high above his head, the chains padlocked in place at the wrist, and at the metal ring jutting from the wall, the ring that, despite all his efforts that had left him slicked with sweat, he couldn’t yank free.  His ankles were trapped inside a breeze block, one foot through each of the holes, chained and padlocked in place, and more breezeblocks had been stacked on and around that one, pretty much pinning his legs in place. It was a ramshackle job, but it had worked. She was glad she’d thought of this abandoned place when she’d panicked.

It was supposed to have been a simple job, the occupants were out, just walk in, grab the valuables, walk out. What she hadn’t expected was another burgular to have picked the same house on the same night. They’d tussled, he had clearly not been in a mood to share the loot with her, but he clearly hadn’t expected the poison pin she kept on herself at all times, and that had gained her the nickname of ‘The Needle’. It was a quaint, old fashioned little habit of hers that she had cultivated, purely for whimsical purposes. It was nice to see that errant thoughts could save lives. She doubted that he’d’ve been so gentle with her.

She’d panicked, pure and simple. She should have left him there with some of the loot in his pocket, leave it as a job gone wrong, but she’d just rolled him up in a rug and thrown him in the van. Perks of being 6ft, she thought grimly. Now... she just didn’t know what to do with him. She was pretty sure that he hadn’t seen her, but all the same, she just couldn’t risk it, she couldn’t let him go. The simple thing would be to just kill him, but she baulked at the idea. She was a thief, yes, but not a murderer. She’d hurt people before, but that was either for their pleasure, or her self-defence.

“So what do I do with you?” She asked, loudly this time, and he tensed, body coiled like a compressed spring. “I can’t let you go, and I can’t kill you.”

She walked nonchalantly forwards, her footsteps echoing slightly in the bare rooms, then paused reaching in her pocket for a cigarette and lighting up, taking a long breath and a slow exhale. She hated these things, she’d been going straight, mostly, but sometimes her fingers just itched for one, and under the provocation, she thought that she was justified.

She meandered closer, admiring his long, lean form. The man was ripped, she had to admit, chunky abs and pecs, strong biceps... and his face was just as good, it was a picture of masculine elegance, a strong jawline with a stubborn chin, full lips and a slightly crooked nose, kind of endearing. His eyebrows were the same dark crimson of his hair, broad and expressive, one with a slash of a scar through it, the silver line bisecting the vermillion. It had been a shame to mar it with the gag, a large wodge of material forced between his jaws, then the lower part of his jaw wrapped with bandages from her medical kit, knotted very securely.

Shame she hadn’t had time to pick anything up from her box of tricks, she thought sadly. He would have looked gorgeous in a panel gag.

As she approached, through sheer force of will, he managed to prise his eyes open. Useless, she thought, he couldn’t see beyond the sphere of the harsh light above him, save maybe the glowing tip of her cigarette. But it did mean she got a glimpse of those fabulous dark emerald eyes, smoky green flecked with gold, they were gorgeous, even contorted as they were in unveiled fury.

“And as much as I would love to keep you,” She murmured. “I  really don’t have the time, or a place to store you. You see, I’m always on the move.” She took another drag on the cigarette and flicked away the ash, blowing the smoke over him, watching it swirl in the light. “What do I do with you?”

And she nonchalantly leant against a pillar... and the light went out. She pulled off her ski mask, eyes adapted for the dark much better than his and strode towards him. He’d frozen, terrified in the dark, then tried desperately to lash out she swung her leather clad leg over him and straddled his chest, one hand lightly resting on his throat as she took another breath on her cigarette, then flicked it dismissively away.

She rode his struggles with a light laugh, enjoying the sensation of the slick body underneath her, and trailed her hands up his sides, laughing louder as he contorted away from her.

He was ticklish.

Intrigued, she leant down and trailed her lips very lightly up and down his neck, gently nibbling at the corner of his jaw, her laugh becoming low and throaty as he squirmed beneath her. She nipped playfully at his ear, almost purring in delight, as he tried to throw her.

“God,” She breathed. “I really wish I could keep you.” She switched to the other ear, tracing the very tips of her nails over him. “I would so enjoy breaking you.”

He jerked underneath her, trying to buck her off, but she sat it easily, leaning forwards, folding her hands on his chest and resting her chin on them, gazing up at the silhouette in the dark, and all he could see was the mischevious glitter in her dark eyes.

“But then,” She shrugged, musing. “You wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t been so mean and learned that we could have shared the loot. If you’d been more reasonable, you would have half the share and your freedom. Rather than me having all the loot, and you.”

He growled through his gag, and she leant forwards, feeling him stiffen to attention under her as she kissed the hollow of his throat. She stroked his neck, sighing.

“But I’ve got a heist in India tomorrow. My flight’s in...” She sat up and pulled up her sleeve, checking the glow-in-the-dark face of her watch. “2 hours time. I need to get back, pack, dump the loot at the fence and get to the airport, so I can’t really stay to play. Shame,” She reached behind her and gave his member an affectionate tweak, feeling him give a moan beneath her. “But don’t worry darling, I’ll be back. And until then, I’ll leave you in very capable hands.”

She felt her face crack into a wicked grin at the disbelieving shouts hurled after her, impressive in volume despite the thick gag, as she swung her leg off him and got up, brushing herself down and walking away. She snagged her goggles on the way out, swinging them from one hand as she walked. She stopped at the door, pushing it slightly open and gazing back. The golden light from the hall spilled over him, and she saw those beautiful green eyes gazing desperately after her, an almost petrified look in his eyes, the shouts becoming much more pleading.

Did he think she was going to leave him to die? She wondered, then dismissed it, her smile becoming more and more evil.

“Goodbye James Caspian, until we meet again. I’ll be sure to come back for you.”

And she shut the door firmly after her. She took the last remaining padlock from her pocket, chuckling, and padlocked it shut, tucking the key on the top of the doorframe, then reached into the bag she’d left sat to the right hand side of the door. She pulled out a blue spray can, shook it, then scrawled a large smiley face on the door. She stepped back to admire it, then marked, at the bottom corner, R E. Her initials.

Satisfied, she tucked the spraycan away, leaving the bag by the door, then clicked the light off and pattered up the stairs, whistling to herself. She drew her phone from her pocket as she yanked the door open, heading across the deserted carpark towards her van, dialling rapidly as she walked, and setting it to her ear.

“Madame, I want a pick up.” She asked as the woman answered at the first ring. “This is the Needle. Hi. I’ve got a complication that I’m hoping you can solve. His name is James Caspian, I did a search through his things, checked it with the DNA database. He’s 32, 6ft 1”, muscled as sin, white bloke with red hair, and currently lying bollock naked in the old Foundry, 33 Chester Street South. Just go through the front door and he’s in the room with the smiley face on the door. The key’s on top of the doorframe, all his personal belongings that were on him are in the satchel outside the door. I need him to be held indefinitely.”

She heard a pen scratch on the other side of the phone, then the woman continued.

“You know what’ll happen to him?”

“Yup. The bastard needs to learn how to share.”

“Being shared is not the same thing,” The Madame remarked wryly as she hung up.

The Needle laughed, getting into her van.

“It’s close enough.”

***

As the Needle boarded the flight, she felt her phone buzz in her pocket. She flicked it out. A text from a withheld number.

PACKAGE ACQUIRED. CODE NAME - THE COMPLICATION. S-HG.