Never Cry Wolf

Part 1, Chapters 1, 2, 3

CHAPTER 1

"Shit, it's cold," I mumbled as I parked my truck behind the construction site. March in Montreal is never warm, but this year was particularly cold and it was getting us behind schedule.

Four o'clock in the morning was brutal, but in this weather it was insane. I had to take my glove off to turn the key in the padlock, and my fingers froze numb in two seconds.

I had to check those traps before the other guys came into work at six. I could've asked one of the younger guys but, as foreman, I thought it'd be pretty lame to get them to do the shitty job of exterminating our little friends- if there were any- before we closed the walls, so here I was, freezing my balls off. There was no one to warm my bed or wait for me anyway.

Closing the door behind me as quickly as possible, I stopped for a second to get my bearings and turn my flashlight on. I couldn't see a thing, but I could hear something. Grunting? Mice didn't grunt, did they? Rats or raccoons, on the other hand, who knew...? Sweeping the beam of light around, my boot caught on a wire or something, and I stumbled right into a piece of drywall that had been put there temporarily. I just remembered its presence as I fell with it and landed in what would be the next room. My flashlight flew out of my hand and switched off. The racket it created echoed in the skeleton construction. Dust and crud flew up my nose and made me sneeze.

"Fucking fuck!" Yeah, I know, my vocabulary is remarkable.

As I lay there catching my breath, the grunting seemed much closer. Since meeting grunting rodents was not on my bucket list, I fumbled until I found my flashlight and clicked it back on.

The grunting got louder as I turned around to the most unexpected vision on a construction site at four in the morning.

I heard a gasp and knew it was mine, because the guy tied up on the ground had a gag in his mouth and was wearing a blindfold.

"Guess I found the source for the grunting noises." All thoughts of killing rodents vanished. I bent down and removed his blindfold.

The most beautiful pale brown, almost golden eyes I had ever seen were throwing daggers at me. If looks could kill...

I admit I was completely frozen in place. It's not just that the guy was tied up. It was the intricate rope work holding him immobile that was worth a closer look. Thick rope was keeping him on his stomach, wrapped four times over, starting from his neck then tied in complicated knots, reaching both his arms, maintaining them tightly behind his back, going under him at the hips and coming up to wrap around his legs, bent at the knees, all the way to his ankles stretched over his back and ass. The rope was coiled around his limbs many times before continuing on its journey all over his body, which was just muscle and more muscle.

Oh yeah, did I mention he was stark-naked? What the hell was I interrupting?

His grunting and angry stare got me to refocus on the situation. I removed the gag.

The man spat out, "Get me the fuck outta here!" Then, like an afterthought, he added, "Who sent you?"

"No one sent me! What about you? Are you hurt? Should I call the cops?" I asked, as I took my gloves off and reached for my knife. There weren't any visible injuries.

"No cops. Absolutely no cops. Just untie me," he grumbled. He stopped moving suddenly. It almost looked like he was sniffing my hand... I was suddenly overly conscious of the strawberry-scented soap I used. Not very manly, but too late for a second first impression. His eyes closed slowly, in pleasure or in pain, it was hard to tell.

"What the hell are you doing here? Who did this to you? Should I call someone?" I was working on cutting the rope but it was really thick, the kind used for mooring small boats. His body should've been cold, but his skin was hot, like the blood coursing underneath was boiling. His skin was burning me. He couldn't have been there long.