He might have been required to make his pack’s presence known, but he wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to keep an eye on a criminal. “Did you get in?”
Quinn tipped his head back with a grin. “Of course,” he said. “Their security was a joke. Whatever plans they make, we’ll be able to see.”
Caius nodded, some of his tension easing. He may have gone in with the vague intention of keeping an eye on Savino’s operation for when and if Caius built a pack strong enough to challenge him, but for now, he was only interested in making sure Savino didn’t have regrets about selling his son. Or at least not acting on them if he did.
“What are you going to tell Lukas?”
Caius let his head fall back with a groan, tempted to bash it into the wall. Lukas had served with him almost as long as Quinn, but he doubted the sniper would be happy to hear he’d swindled a mafia boss’ son from him. Though he hoped the fact that the son was also a mage would be enough to appease him. He doubted it, but he could hope. “The truth, obviously,” he said on a sigh.
Quinn laughed. “Good luck. Put him on speaker when you do. I wanna hear.”
That wasn’t going to happen. Considering Lukas was still dark from whatever mission he’d been sent on, Caius likely wouldn’t get a chance to speak with him until he returned home. For now, he was more concerned with getting Max healed and settled so they could bind him before anyone else realized what he was.
Chapter 3
MAX FOUGHTthe familiar haze of drugs in his system until he could open his eyes. The room was bright with light, so he hoped he hadn’t lost too much time, but the lack of pain beneath the cottony fog wrapped around his body shattered that hope. With a groan, he rolled his head to the side, blinking at the unfamiliar nightstand and clock telling him it was late afternoon.
There was a glass of water there, and he immediately fumbled for it. His fingers wrapped around it, sliding in the condensation. When he tried to lift it, the glass slipped free, clattering to the nightstand before toppling to the floor.No.He rolled over, trying to catch it even though he knew it was too late, a sob of frustration threatening to make him hyperventilate.
“Hey, hey, whoa.”
Max flinched from the unfamiliar voice, flopping on the bed and nearly following the glass to the floor before hands caught him and eased him back.
“Hey, easy, you’re safe. I’ll get you a fresh glass.”
He squinted blearily at the stranger, at the deep red hair he was sure was dyed and the bright hazel eyes beneath. The grin was strange. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had directed anything more than a leer at him.
Before he could ask where he was, the man was gone, disappearing out a door and thundering down a set of stairs.
Max stared at the door a moment before sitting up, grunting as he collapsed against the headboard to catch his breath. His body ached, but he was sure he didn’t have a concussion despite the lingering tenderness on the side of his head, and his ribs didn’t feel cracked. When he looked at his hand, his last two fingers were taped together, but he could move them, and they definitely weren’t broken anymore. He knew he hadn’t imagined the sharp pain of them breaking beneath a bootheel or three, and he highly doubted any doctor would put him in a medical coma for some broken bones. The only way he couldhave healed this quickly was with magic, but that was as unlikely as a coma for the same reason. Mage healers tended to be expensive.
What the hell happened? And where was he?
He’d fully expected his father to kill him. That’s what the bastard had wanted ever since Max failed the year of conversion therapy he’d been forced through. Most likely even before then. He knew he should have at least pretended, but he couldn’t give up the sick twist of satisfaction every time he pissed his father off by the simple act of existing.
He knew how fucked-up that was, but he blamed it one-hundred-percent on his family.
Footsteps on the stairs drew his attention back to the door, but instead of the redhead, the man with salt-and-pepper hair he’d glimpsed at his father’s table stepped into the room. And damn, he was even more attractive without the concussion muddling everything.
“Am I your hostage?” he asked, because that was the only sensible conclusion. This man had kidnapped him right from under his father. Or bought him. Honestly, that sounded more likely, all things considered.
The man paused, studying him with a frown before offering a glass of water. “Not exactly.”
“Shame,” he said, blaming the drugs for his absolute lack of a filter. And the fact he wasn’t freaking out. Maybe he did have a concussion. Or he’d reached the limit of fucks he could give. Either way, he took the glass and sipped the cool water, hiding his smug amusement at the perturbed expression on the man’s face. If there was one thing he’d learned well, it was to make everyone else more uneasy than he was. Especially kidnappers.
The man cleared his throat, retrieved a chair from a desk across the room, placed it beside the bed, and sat. “My name is Caius Ward. I bought you from your father when he was going to kill you.”
“Gee, thanks,” he said, not bothering to tone down the sarcasm. “I’dsomuch rather be a sex slave than dead.” Nice fantasy, maybe, but not so much something he wanted toactuallyexperience.
“You’re not a sex slave.” Caius eyed him like he wasn’t sure whether Max was joking.
Which was fair; Max wasn’t quite sure himself. His head was a little fuzzy, and his entire body felt hot and tight like he was feverish. “Then why did you bring me here?”
“Why don’t you tell me why you were running?”
Max returned the narrow-eyed look and sipped more water, wishing it had ice and lemon in it, but he knew how useful wishing was. Caius didn’t strike him as a mob boss. He’d met plenty of goons and crime lords, and most had a sleazy edge to them. Maybe it was the jeans and sweater rather than an expensive, ill-fitting suit, but Caius looked like someone respectable.
Not that Max could trust his instincts. He’d trusted Jake, after all. The fact that Jake was one of the few people he’d fooled around with made that lapse of judgmentsomuch worse.
