8. Chapter 8

8

T he only prisoner the governor at Greenwood took precautions for was Virgil. A prison officer always stood in the room with his arms folded and a look of anticipation on his face. Quinn had been wracked with nerves when Virgil put his name down to take part.

Although Noah had killed the most people out of all the participants, he'd had distance from the killings. Virgil had been up close and personal with his victims. He'd targeted them over the course of a few months, drugged them and took them away to his ‘killing room'.

Only the victims' heads had been recovered. Three buried in his garden, and one, which turned out to be Virgil's downfall, he'd stashed in the back of his car.

A bloody smear Virgil had overlooked on the driver's door was noticed by an off-duty police officer. He called in a unit to investigate. Upon opening the boot of the car, they found Gethin Fox's head wrapped in clingfilm. He'd been missing for two weeks.

"Doctor Quinn," Virgil said, glancing at the prison officer, Simon, who stood at attention. "I keep telling you, I have no interest in killing you."

"And I keep telling you, it's the governor's orders."

Simon shook his head. "You can't honestly want to be alone with him?"

Virgil raised an eyebrow. "Why not? What do you think I'll do?"

"You know what I think you'll do…the same thing you did to those four men."

"Which was?"

Simon pressed his lips together, refusing to say.

Virgil snorted. "I chose my victims because—"

"We're not going to get into that today," Quinn interrupted.

It was true that Virgil's victims had to fit certain criteria that had a lot to do with Virgil's now ex-boyfriend, but Quinn was saving that session for last. He wanted to get to know his participants before their crimes.

Virgil bowed his head.

He was a big man with calloused hands from his job as a construction worker. He'd been successful, ran his own company and had been involved in many housing projects in the local area. They had all been vigorously searched in the hope of finding what Virgil called his killing room, but no one had discovered its location. His brown hair was long, curling at the tips, and his scraggly beard hid his mouth. He had grey eyes that he rarely blinked, and throughout the session, he slid his gaze from Quinn to whichever officer was with them.

Quinn passed a sheet of paper with yes and no questions to Simon, who then handed it to Virgil.

Virgil wordlessly began filling it out, but his gaze flicked up, finding Simon.

"And it's five men, not four…"

Simon frowned. "You were charged with four counts of murder."

"There's five dead bodies in there." Virgil shrugged.

The problem with having an officer in the room with Virgil was they acted as a distraction. Virgil enjoyed toying with them and had told every officer he'd killed five and not the believed four victims.

There was no proof, and he didn't offer any, only grinned and carried on with whatever task Quinn had set him.

"Who?" Simon asked.

Virgil hummed. "Who what?"

"Is the fifth?"

"Fifth what?"

Simon audibly gritted his teeth. Virgil handed the sheet back to him, and then he gave it to Quinn.

"You ticked yes to being prone to boredom?" Quinn asked.

Because that was what Virgil was doing, demonstrating his tendencies. Boredom and a pressing need for stimulation were common traits of psychopaths.

Virgil nodded. "It didn't used to be such a problem until I was here. Some days it drives me crazy." He turned his head and swept a hand through his hair, lifting it so Quinn could see the side of his head. There were deep scratches and bloody scabs in his hair.

"Jesus," Quinn hissed. "You did that because of boredom?"

"My brain festers with it. I thought if I dug my fingers in deep enough, it would stop, but I was wrong." He leaned forward. "I look forward to Thursdays because at least I've got these little outings."

"I know some of the other prisoners, such as Harris, have books to read to pass the time; he's fond of sudoku. Maybe—"

"I prefer more physical activities. Word searches and crosswords are not enough to distract me from…" He gestured to his head. "This."

"On the outside world, what distracted you?"

"My job. Although I owned the company, and it was a very successful company, I wasn't one for sitting inside and letting others do the work. I had to be out there. I had to plan and build and be part of everything. I got labelled a workaholic, but I needed that physical occupation to keep myself busy."

"And outside of work?"

"My boyfriend. We had quite the passionate sex life." He smiled, but it soon faded. "But away from sex, he made me slow down, take a breath, enjoy a moment."

"Like what?"

"Simple things. A meal. A movie. A walk. Lying in bed, watching him twitch. Things that never appealed to me much did when I was with him. I was a normal man when I was with him."

"Except when you were luring men to their deaths and decapitating them," Simon snapped.

"Except then."

"What distracts you in here?" Quinn asked.

Virgil stared at Simon. "Taking things apart…"

Quinn swallowed. Simon shifted from foot to foot.

"And putting them back together again." Virgil smirked. "Trust you two to think the worst of me. I took my bed frame apart, and my wardrobe and desk in my cell, you know, just to pass the time, to do something physical that wasn't just sit-ups or push-ups—"

"You were after the screws and nails," Simon said, shaking his head. "You would've used them to undo your cuffs or to attempt to open your cell door."

"See," Virgil said. "Always thinking the worst of me."

"You want to get out of here."

"Who doesn't?" Virgil fired back.

"What were you planning on doing with the bed, desk and wardrobe?" Quinn asked.

"I wanted to put them back together. I was going to time myself doing it, see if I could beat the time the next day or see if I could do it blindfolded."

"You're so full of shit," Simon muttered.

Quinn looked at Simon. "Where are the bed, wardrobe and desk now?"

"They were confiscated," he said. "We even changed the mattress in his cell in case he ripped it open and tried to get the springs. He now has his mattress on the floor and his possessions in a pile in the corner."

"With the rats."

"It's what you deserve."

"Aren't you worried I might train the rats to steal your keys?" Virgil smirked.

"I wouldn't put anything past you."

Quinn braced his hands on the desk. "I think that's enough for today."

Virgil bowed his head. "Thank you, Doctor Quinn."

He got to his feet.

"Turn around," Simon ordered. "Hands against the walls."

Virgil sighed but did as he was told.

He was Quinn's only participant who got patted down in case he'd taken something during the session. Quinn's sheets and pencil were both accounted for, but the governor insisted on Virgil being searched every time.

Once satisfied, Simon took Virgil by the elbow and led him out.

Quinn waited until their footsteps had faded down the corridor before crouching and checking the screws on the table. They were all firmly in the metal frame.

He tried to wriggle one just to be sure.

It didn't budge.

"What are you doing?"

He startled, banging his head on the table. Groaning, Quinn looked at Cleo in the doorway. She laughed beneath her hand.

"Nothing," he said.

"Doesn't look like nothing."

She waved him towards her. "Come on, let's get you a coffee."

"Sounds good," Quinn said, rubbing his head as he got to his feet.

He gathered his folder and tape recorder, checked his pencil was still in his top pocket, then followed Cleo down the corridor.

Unlike most of the other participants, Quinn didn't need gently led question after question to get to the heart of what he wanted to know with Zane.

He could be direct.

"Have you ever had violent sexual fantasies?"

"Did you fantasise about hurting others?

"Do you hear voices?"

"Have you ever wet the bed?"

"Do your problems matter more than other people's?"

Zane answered.

Then the remaining time was spent talking, and laughing more than not. Quinn knew he should've sent Zane back to his cell, but he couldn't.

They talked about books, movies, and food, and when Quinn got an allotment, he told Zane about it, expecting to be ridiculed, but Zane was interested and asked him what he was going to grow and whether he could cook.

Zane pulled him in. He was warm, funny, and flirtatious but always knew where to draw the line. Quinn looked forward to Fridays. His stomach fluttered, and his heart raced, and he always smiled back at Zane in the doorway.

It should've been obvious to Quinn, but it wasn't until he woke up from an intense dream about Zane that he realised there was a problem.

In the dream, instead of being scared at Zane knocking on his door in the middle of the night, he'd almost been bowled over with relief. He'd pulled him inside, up to the bedroom and had sex with him. And he felt like he had when he was seventeen, when he pulled the front page out from beneath his pillow and gave in to temptation. When he found out from kiss-and-tells that Zane preferred topping men, Quinn's lust grew into full fantasies.

He'd not fantasised about Zane Black since he'd started university at eighteen, but a couple of weeks in his presence and reawakened lust had taken over his subconscious.

He thought about Zane pushing him down on the bed, undressing him, and then—

Quinn woke, unsatisfied, with an erection, and spent ten minutes deciding whether it was acceptable or not to finish himself off with the dream so vivid in his mind.

It wasn't acceptable.

But he still did it.

After showering, and feeding an irate Mars, Quinn had logged onto his computer and reminded himself what his study was about.

Psychopaths.

And psychopaths were charming, manipulative liars who were prone to boredom.

Zane, if he was proved to be one, happened to be a particularly attractive one both physically and mentally for Quinn. The physical side, Quinn had known, but he'd promised himself not to let it affect his study. He was no longer seventeen years old, horny and confused about his sexuality, but he hadn't accounted for liking Zane. Quinn enjoyed talking with him, laughing with him. He looked forward to his sessions more than the others.

He shut the laptop.

"I need to get laid."

Cleo had invited him out several times, but he'd always declined. She drank whisky the same way he'd drunk shots at university, glasses in a row, one after another until they were all empty. At first, Quinn resisted, but after some teasing from Cleo and the other officers, he did a row of whisky chasers and spluttered into his lap.

"So," Cleo said, wiping whisky off his chin. "Why now?"

"What?"

"Why agree to come out with me now? I'd almost given up asking."

Zane Black had taken over his dreams, and it had been…hot.

"I thought I'd take a page from my ex's book."

Cleo pouted. "Is he putting himself around?"

Damon was definitely doing that if the photos on social media were anything to go by. Quinn had blocked him, but they still shared a few university friends, so it was inevitable he'd see. He'd had to block Damon's number after receiving unwanted videos of him jerking off.

"What's your type?" she asked, then shook her head. "Actually, what's the opposite of your type? You should totally go for that instead."

The whisky had already caused Quinn's temperature to spike, but he got even hotter when he thought of Zane and his tight white vest. Zane and his perfectly trimmed stubble and his intense dark eyes. With each session he grew more comfortable in his presence, and he felt familiar, like an old friend, like he'd known him for a lot longer than he had.

That was bad.

Seriously bad.

"I don't know."

Cleo laughed and leaned across the table. "My type's Tony."

Quinn widened his eyes. "Tony…you were being serious?"

"Yep, all big and hairy."

"Like a bear," Quinn mumbled.

"Exactly. Now, I'm off to dance, and on my way, I'm going to tell that cute guy at the bar to come chat you up."

"What, who?"

Quinn turned, linked eyes with the stranger at the bar, then looked away fast.

"Don't send him this way."

"We've got to cure you of your lust for Zane Black somehow."

Quinn gaped. "I don't lust for Zane."

Cleo hugged her arms around her body and laughed. She made her way to the bar, pointed at Quinn as she spoke to the stranger, then continued to the dance floor. She was immediately welcomed by the rest of her colleagues from Greenwood and joined in their exuberant jumping.

The man at the bar eyed Quinn, and he froze, caught in two minds whether to ignore the stranger or wave at him. In the end, Quinn didn't need to do anything. The man walked over and sank down in Cleo's chair.

"Hi, I'm Ben."

"Quinn."

Ben held out his hand, and Quinn clumsily gripped his fingers. Ben smiled and gestured to the array of empty glasses. "Looks like you've been having fun."

"They're Cleo's mostly."

"Cleo, your friend that came up to me?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry about her. I don't know what she said—"

"She said I should keep you company."

Quinn scrunched his face. "Always nice to feel like a child."

"She said you were nursing a broken heart and were on the rebound, and if I wished to take advantage of that, I should go for it."

"Fucking hell," Quinn groaned.

"I don't want to be a rebound," Ben said. "So…this is for when you're feeling less…rebound-y."

He held out his hand. Quinn frowned at him.

Ben smirked. "I'm going to give you my number."

"Oh."

Quinn handed over his phone and watched as Ben typed in his details.

"It hurts like a bitch, I know," Ben said, holding Quinn's phone out for him to take. "But you will get over him. Look after yourself."

Ben went back to the other end of the bar.

Zane Black, the murderer, had weaselled his way into Quinn's head and made a home for himself, and Quinn didn't know how to get him out again.

"Doctor Quinn."

Quinn pressed back in his chair and turned to the door. Zane stood there in all his muscular glory, a white vest practically sprayed on. Quinn's insides wriggled in excitement.

"I prefer Quinn."

"Did you watch Cops and Shops ?"

Quinn winced. After discovering they both enjoyed a good police drama, they'd started watching a TV show together, not together , but they were both watching it on Sunday nights at eight. It was another example of Quinn's crumbling professionalism.

"It was good…but predictable."

Quinn recoiled. "They killed off the Tarik; how was that predictable?"

Zane grinned. "For a genius like me, I saw the signs."

"Of course you did," Quinn muttered.

"Well, I've predicted what's going to happen next episode. Wanna hear it?"

Quinn slapped his hands over his ears. "Don't you dare."

Zane smiled and sat down in the chair. He shifted to get comfortable, and the muscles in his arms bulged outrageously. He slouched with his legs spread, displaying his barely covered torso. It was a position where a lover could easily climb into his lap and straddle him. The imagery appeared so fast in Quinn's mind he choked on air.

"What have we got today?"

Quinn recovered enough to croak, "I'm going to ask you questions about life in here."

"Okay, but before I forget. Your cat's called Mars."

Quinn eyed Zane with disbelief, and his mouth bobbed open and shut.

"That—that's impossible. I've never…"

Zane tilted his head and smiled. "So, I'm right then?"

"There's no way—how the hell could you know that?"

"Well, I could tell you…"

Quinn narrowed his eyes. "Why do I feel like there's going to be a but?"

Zane grinned, flashing his pearly teeth. "I want something in return."

"I'm not bringing anything into the prison—"

"No, no, I didn't mean that."

Quinn licked his lips. "And I'm not going to…give you any favours."

Zane groaned and spread his legs wider. "Now why did you have to say that? It's all I'm going to think about now."

"Zane…"

"Don't growl at me. You're the one that said it, put teasing images in my head of you on your knees, and your mouth round my—"

"Inappropriate."

Zane laughed, then cocked his head. "All I want is to be able to ask a question at the end."

"You always do."

"But you've got to promise to answer it."

"Zane…" Quinn groaned.

"I promise the question isn't bad."

Quinn sighed. "Fine. Now dazzle me with your genius."

Zane grinned. "You like astronomy. The cat's fur is red—"

"Wait, how do you know about his fur?"

"Sometimes there's hairs on your sleeves."

Quinn glanced down and inspected his shirt. "Okay, so you knew what colour he was and knew I liked astronomy…but it's still a bit of a leap. Why not Mercury or Jupiter?"

"All's fair in love and war."

"What?"

"You said that when I asked about him. A rather abstract thing to say."

Zane glared, and Quinn frowned. Then it hit him, and he relaxed again.

"Mars is the god of war."

Zane grinned, and pleased lines appeared around his eyes.

"Impressive." Quinn snorted. "But…"

"But what?"

"You could've just asked me, and I would've told you."

Zane shrugged. "More fun this way, gives me something to do, some sense of achievement."

"To stave off the boredom."

"Exactly, now, come on, ask your study questions."

"Do you like being here…in prison?"

Zane grimaced. "It has its nice points."

"Like what?"

"I'm left alone. I have my own room, my own bed. I get fed three meals a day, which, for the most part, aren't terrible."

"It provides security and routine?"

"Yeah, and recently, they've got this cute psychologist who speaks to the chosen ones once a week. I used to look forward to porridge on a Sunday, but now Fridays are my favourite."

"And the bad points?"

Zane blew a breath through his teeth. "I miss going outside when I want to. Dare I say it, but I miss fishing or having the option to go fishing. I don't get to go to bars or clubs to pick up men, and I don't have hot sex with them back at my place."

Quinn stopped writing down Zane's words and glanced up. The skin around Zane's eyes was crinkled, and his lip was tugged up in a lopsided smile.

"So—so you miss sex?"

Zane snorted. "If I wanted to have sex with someone in here, I could."

"It's prohibited."

"Still happens, though. But I don't want to have sex with any of my fellow inmates. They don't interest me. You, on the other hand…"

"Zane…"

His eyelashes fluttered, and he shifted in his chair. "I do love it when you say my name like that. Makes me think what other tones I could get you to say it. A gasp, a whisper, a plea."

Quinn shook his head. "Let's keep on topic. Do you think you deserve to be here?"

"They say I killed two people."

"That's not an answer."

"Yes," Zane said. "If I killed two people, then I deserve to be here."

Quinn nodded.

Zane clicked his tongue. "My question…"

"Go on then."

"How was Saturday night?"

Quinn froze. "How do you know about Saturday night?"

Zane tilted his head. "The officers have been talking. They are easy to overhear when they stand right outside my cell. You went, got chatted up, or so Kerion was saying. He walked away before I could hear what happened next."

Quinn pinched the bridge of his nose. "Nothing happened."

"Was that the plan? To hook up and have meaningless sex?"

"Are you, of all people, judging me?"

Zane stiffened his jaw. The muscle jumped. "I have no right to judge you. I'm curious, that's all."

"I went out." Quinn bit his lip. "Maybe I had the intention of hooking up to distract myself."

"From what?"

Quinn kept his voice level. "From Damon."

"Right…" Zane hiked his eyebrows.

"It's working out for him." Quinn shrugged. "Keeping it casual."

"You don't like casual, though. You like a connection."

"That's not turned out so well for me, has it?"

"Don't…" Zane looked away.

"Don't what?"

"Do what he does. You're not…like that." He shuffled. "You…" Zane growled and scrubbed his hands down his face. "This is fucked."

"What is?"

"I don't like that idea."

"What idea?"

"Of you going out and sleeping around."

Quinn frowned. "Does it make you jealous?"

Zane exhaled as he laughed. "Hell yes, it does. I know it shouldn't."

"Because you miss being able to do that whenever you wanted."

"No, Quinn." Zane's voice dropped lower. "That isn't the reason I'm jealous. I'm jealous of the guy that went over to you. That he could."

"He gave me his number…for when I was ready."

Zane aimed his question at the table. "Are you going to call it?"

"I don't know."

"Was he handsome?"

Quinn couldn't even remember what Ben had looked like, especially when he was looking at Zane Black. He averted his gaze to the table.

"I think so."

"Think so?"

"I can't really remember," Quinn admitted softly.

"Did he make you laugh?"

"No, he didn't."

"Did he make your tummy flutter and your heart race?"

Quinn shook his head. His heart began to thump, and his temperature heated up under the questioning.

"Did you want him to kiss you?"

"No," Quinn whispered.

"Is there someone you do want to kiss you?"

"Zane…"

"Are you saying that in warning, or is it the answer?"

"Stop this—"

"Look at me Quinn."

He couldn't.

"I…I think you should go back to your cell," Quinn said, but his voice came out weak.

Zane stretched over the table. "You know, the camera over there?"

Quinn glanced at it. "What about it?"

"It has a blind spot."

Before Quinn could reply, Zane had pushed back in his chair and got to his feet. He walked backwards until he was pressed to the wall beneath the camera.

"Just here," Zane whispered.

"What are you doing?" Quinn asked, looking at the open door to the corridor.

"No one will see us."

"See us what?"

"Come here, Quinn," Zane said, beckoning him closer.

"What?"

Zane wet his lips. "Come. Here."

There was hunger in his gaze. Heat burst in Quinn's pores, not from embarrassment but from arousal. The sensation rushed through his body, and he began to harden in his boxers.

"Fucking hell, get your arse over here, Quinn. We've still got ten minutes."

"I can't."

"Think what we could do it ten minutes."

"I can't believe you right now," Quinn said through his teeth, but he rose to his feet, hands braced on the desk.

"Come on Quinn, you've got an itch you want scratching and I'm begging to scratch it."

There was a moment where Quinn almost gave in. He almost stepped over to Zane.

But then he remembered himself, and he bolted from the room. He rushed down the corridor, and the officer at the gate immediately allowed him through.

He locked it behind Quinn just as Zane caught up.

"I'm sorry," Zane said. He clutched the bars. "It was just a joke."

"A joke?"

"No, not a joke," Zane squeezed his eyes shut. "I pushed it; I know I did. I'm sorry, I just…" He pressed his forehead to the gate. "Fuck. I don't know okay? I want to get my head around this too."

There were bars between them, but Quinn still took a step back from Zane.

"Around what?" Quinn whispered.

"You all right?"

Quinn jolted at Cleo's voice and turned to her. She wasn't alone. Mackie was next to her, eyeing Quinn with concern.

"I'm fine. What…what are you doing?"

"Mackie had a meeting with his lawyer. He's on the way back to the wing. What happened?" Cleo asked, darting looks between Quinn and Zane at the gate.

"Nothing."

"Something clearly has," Cleo said, narrowing her eyes. "Did Zane—"

"I didn't feel well," Quinn said. "I thought I was going to be sick."

"You do look pale, Doctor Quinn." Mackie said. "I hope you're better by Monday."

"I'm sure I will be," Quinn promised. He rushed away, not looking back.

He heard the clunk of the gate opening for Cleo and Mackie.

It wasn't Zane propositioning him that had him running scared; it was because for a moment, no matter how fleeting, he'd been tempted .