The floor he stepped out on was decorated in blood red marble with black and gold streaks, a high ceiling with bright chandeliers every ten or so feet, and doors with numbers lining either side of the lengthy hall. The décor gave nothing away.
But the screams did.
Zane didn’t so much as flinch as he followed the sound. It was coming from a room almost at the end of the corridor, the door left slightly ajar as though on purpose. Sure enough, the number on the door was 556, and he pressed his fingers against the red wood and eased it open to discover a crying man tied to a bed by leather straps.
His face was turned on the pillow, bright red and painted in a mixture of mortification, agony, and anger. He was completely naked and covered in a sheen of sweat, his ass lifted high in the air and his legs spread wide.
“About time.” Madden stood in one corner of the room, arms crossed.
Zane took a closer look at the man on the bed, his identity finally clicking into place. “Muse, correct?” He was one of Madden’s racers at the illegal dock races his fellow Retinue member organized and ran.
“Yeah,” Madden confirmed.
“What’s wrong with him?”
“He got a little…carried away…”
Zane quirked a brow, but before he could demand a better explanation, someone stepped up behind him.
“He put a candle up his ass and a piece broke off,” Pavel’s silky voice came a second before he stepped around Zane. He was in that familiar three-piece suit, his hair carefully styled and his hands in his front pockets like this sort of thing happened all the time.
Hell, maybe it did.
Only Zane wasn’t usually the one called here so…He sent a suspicious look to Madden, who immediately threw up his hands.
“Don’t look at me,” his friend quickly said. “I had nothing to do with this. He called me in a panic and I happened to be nearby. Actually,” he checked the time on his multi-slate and swore, “I’m going to be late for a date with the Butcher. You’ve got this, right?”
He opened his mouth to respond, but Madden didn’t wait around for a reply, slipping past Zane and out of the room in a flash.
“Where’s his partner?” Zane questioned, still unsure why he was the one there. “Someone should take him to the hospital—”
“So reporters can gain wind of the story and plaster it all over the news come morning?” Pavel shook his head. “This wouldn’t look good for either Madden or me. Even once we explain that the offended candle was merely a room decoration,” he leaned closer to the bed and said this last part a little louder, clearly for Muse, “The damage will have already been done.”
So they wanted this handled discretely then.
“Surely you have a doctor on call at a place like this.” Zane couldn’t imagine a person like Pavel, the type who was prepared for anything, not having any medical personnel on staff.
“They’re busy,” Pavel said. “At least, all of the ones I can trust are. Madden suggested we call you and Kelevra agreed.”
“Where is Kel?”
“Why? Are you going to refuse to help unless he gives a direct order?”
It was the challenging glint in Pavel’s eye that did it.
Zane dropped the first aid kit onto a sturdy black wooden desk propped against the wall and pulled out a pair of gloves.
“What are you doing?” Pavel asked as soon as he’d taken a step toward the bed.
“What’s it look like?” He crawled onto the king-sized mattress and positioned himself behind Muse. “Relax,” he ordered when the bound man flinched. “You aren’t my type.”
“Wait—” Pavel began, but he didn’t bother letting him finish.
Zane’s fingers found Muse’s puffy entrance and worked their way inside of him, feeling around until they bumped against something solid. “It’s been sucked in too deep for me to grab.”
“Obviously,” Pavel stated coldly. “We wouldn’t have called you if Arlet could have simply pulled it out.”
Zane’s brow winged up. “Arlet?”
