Page 112 of Psychopath

Gemma rushed over with her gaze locked on Zane. It wasn’t like with Harris or Richard. There was no horror or wariness. She gave Zane an appreciative look, sweeping her gaze up and down his physique. Zane’s vest hung low, flashing his pectorals, and his biceps continued to bulge obscenely from the position of his cuffed hands.

“Good afternoon,” Gemma said, and it felt like minutes passed before she dragged her eyes from Zane and looked at Quinn. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“You too,” Quinn said, but even he heard the tightness to his voice.

Zane stared at him.

“This way,” Gemma said, and when she walked in front of them, Quinn swore she moved more seductively than the day before, wiggling her hips for Zane’s benefit.

Quinn retreated, making sure he was behind Zane, Simon and Cleo as they followed Gemma down the corridor.

Doctor Hart stood waiting beside the scanner like he had the day before with his two nurses standing behind him. He smiled at Quinn and offered his hand. “Doctor Quinn.”

Quinn shook it and tried his best to ignore the way Gemma was up close and personal with Zane.

“Okay,” Zane breathed. His eyes were on the MRI machine. “This is probably a bad time to mention I’m claustrophobic, isn’t it?”

Quinn blinked. “What?”

“Yeah.” Zane swallowed. “I should’ve mentioned it.”

“We can get you out any time,” Doctor Hart said. “Doctor Quinn and I will hear you while you’re inside the scanner, and we can talk to you too.”

“You’d better talk to me,” Zane said in Quinn’s direction, and there was something there, a hint of fear.

“I will,” Quinn promised.

“Okay…”

Cleo undid Zane’s cuffs and handed them over to Doctor Hart.

“We’ve got to strap you down, though,” Cleo said.

Zane’s eyebrows shot up. “I’m sorry, what?”

“We can’t use the cuffs, so instead we’ve got wrist, thigh, stomach and ankle restraints.”

“Right,” Zane said. He cracked his jaw. “Let’s get it over with.”

Quinn led Zane towards the bed and rested his hand on top. “Up you jump.”

Zane slid onto the bed and lay down. “Who’s doing the strapping?”

“I am,” Gemma said, sounding far too gleeful over the prospect of touching Zane. Quinn stepped away, shaking his head. He didn’t look back at Zane as he went into the other room, but he watched ramrod straight through the window as Gemma fussed over Zane, even brushing something from his cheek as she gazed down at him.

Cleo turned around, miming at the window, “Desperate much?”

Gemma and Zane whispered back and forth. Then she giggled, and Quinn gritted his teeth. She took an age to put the belts and straps across Zane, and her hands lingered on his defined chest.

Jealousy stabbed at Quinn’s insides, and when he realised that was what it was, jealousy, he felt sick with himself. Virgil had said it was hot, burning in the pit of his stomach, and Quinn could feel it too, but he had no desire to throw fuel onto it. He ground his teeth and dug his nails into his hands, pushing it away.

“Quinn,” Doctor Hart said. “You good?”

He nodded.

Doctor Hart pressed down on his microphone to speak to Zane. “We’re starting now. Gemma’s going to insert a cannula and inject you with some dye to help us interpret your brain activity.”

Zane didn’t reply. Quinn didn’t watch, but he heard Gemma cooing over Zane, offering him reassurance. Doctor Hart hit a button, and the lights in the room dimmed as the machine turned on. The bed Zane had been strapped to moved into the scanner, and then Quinn had his face on his monitor. Zane pursed his lips, attempting to slow his breathing. Sweat shone on his cupid’s bow, and his pupils were small, darting.

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