9. Chapter 9

9

Q uinn had hoped Cleo would've forgotten about his mad dash from the prison over the weekend, but she waited for him at the first gate, face serious and arms crossed.

Quinn walked up to her like a naughty schoolboy with his eyes on his shoes.

"Better?" she asked.

"Yeah, must've been coming down with something on Friday."

She hummed, unconvinced, then unlocked the gate. "You'd tell me if Zane did do anything though, right?"

"He didn't."

"But if he did."

"I'd tell you."

Cleo locked the gate behind them, and they walked down the corridor side by side.

"Mackie was agitated after you left."

"What? Why?"

"He was worried about you, thought something might have happened."

"Happened?"

Cleo sighed. "Between you and Zane. He thinks he might've done something."

"I'll talk to him," Quinn said, avoiding her eyes. "Set him straight."

"Good. He's your first participant today, right?"

"Yep, Mackie's participant number one."

When Mackie walked into the office, he stopped and stared. His eyes whipped round Quinn's face, taking him in. Whatever was upsetting him only faded when Quinn spoke.

"Mackie, take a seat."

A smile bloomed across Mackie's lips, and he hurried to sit down and tuck himself under the table.

"What are we doing today?"

"Some small tests. We'll start with the questionnaires."

Quinn passed Mackie the empathy test. The sheet was filled with scenarios and statements, and participants had to write how they would be feeling and what they'd do next.

Quinn studied Mackie's facial reactions when he read each scenario. He didn't ball up his face in disgust or grimace with concern. He grinned through each question, no matter the grotesque nature.

Mackie was still the most eager of the participants and would talk and talk if Quinn didn't interrupt or guide the conversation. He got double the notes from Mackie's session than the other participants all put together, and his wrist ached with how fast he had to follow the stream of information coming at him.

If Quinn stopped writing at any point, Mackie would stop talking and ask if something was wrong.

"Done," Mackie announced proudly after thirty minutes. He slid the papers across the table, and Quinn took them.

"Next, I'm going to show you some pictures, and all you've got to tell me is what you see or how they make you feel."

Mackie bounced up and down in his seat and nodded.

The splats of black ink didn't look like much, but Mackie likened them to blood splats, male genitals, knives, and fire.

Quinn noted his responses down with a passive expression.

"To finish this session, we're going to play a word association game. I say a word, you say the first one that comes into your head, understand?"

Mackie wiped the sweat off his brow and onto his sleeve. "Got it."

"Earth," Quinn said.

"Ashes."

"Red."

"Flame."

"Punishment."

"Pain."

"Cry."

"Laugh."

Quinn noted down all of Mackie's words, then glanced up and smiled.

"Did I do well?" Mackie asked.

"Yeah, you did great. There's no wrong answer."

"Oh."

"We're finished for today," Quinn said.

He expected Mackie to start his mantra of thank-yous, but he didn't stand and he didn't smile. "We still have five minutes."

Quinn glanced at the clock, then his watch. "You're right."

"Zane upset you…"

Quinn blinked. "No, I wasn't feeling well last Friday, that's all. It was nothing to do with Zane, and all to do with me."

"I warned you."

"About?"

Mackie exhaled like he was disappointed. "I told you there's something not right about him. I told you he couldn't be trusted."

"Who says I trust him?"

"He wraps everyone around his finger." Mackie peered at Quinn through squinted eyes. "I can tell he's done the same to you. I think you should kick him off the study."

Quinn rubbed his temples. "I'm not going to do that."

"He could ruin everything."

"He volunteered. We're halfway through, and it would be a shame to stop. His results might be vital."

"Am I not vital?"

"Of course you are."

Mackie leaned over the table. "Well then, you don't need him. You don't need him if you've got me. He scared you, Quinn, I saw."

"Zane is fine."

"He isn't," Mackie hissed. "He's obsessed with you."

"Obsessed?"

Mackie nodded in a blur. "Yeah, he's going to hurt you again."

"He hasn't hurt me."

Mackie pointed at him. "You were pale. You were afraid."

"I wasn't feeling well, I thought I was going to be—"

"You don't need to lie to me. We're friends, and friends don't lie to each other."

"I'm not lying."

"Liars deserve to be punished. I punished my dad for lying."

Quinn's blood ran cold. His spine stiffened, and he clenched his toes in his shoes as he tried to keep his voice level.

"Mackie…"

"Do you know what my dad said? He said he was sorry for hurting me for all those years. He said that while I hurt him, and it was a lie." His eyes looked far away, like he was lost somewhere. "So I hurt him more so he'd learn not to lie."

"Mackie," Quinn repeated.

Mackie's gaze snapped to him.

"Thank you for being concerned about me. I'll be extra careful with Zane from now on."

Mackie got to his feet, and for the first time since they'd started their sessions, he left the room without a thank-you or a lingering goodbye.

Quinn eased out a breath and looked up to the camera.

Zane was right. There was no one monitoring. No one would get to him in time if anything happened. It was the first time, sat opposite a killer, that he'd feared for his life.

The week rushed by in a blur, and before he knew it, Quinn was waiting in his office for Zane to arrive. He didn't know whether to demand an apology for the blind spot proposition or pretend it never happened. Quinn bounced his foot on the floor as he waited. The room felt hotter than unusual, and sweat prickled his nape.

Zane rushed into the room and braced his hands on the table. He leaned over, staring straight into Quinn's face, breathing hard.

"Z—Zane?"

There was anger swirling in the depths of Zane's eyes, and his hands rattled the table as he tried to keep hold of his rage. Quinn side-eyed the red button and subtly slid his arm closer.

"You need to get Mackie off the study."

Quinn frowned. "What? Why?"

"He's obsessed with you."

Quinn pointed to the chair, but Zane didn't sit. He continued to glare down at Quinn with his nostrils flaring and body trembling.

"Look, I'm not kicking him off the study—"

"He's dangerous."

"He's saying the same about you!"

Zane pushed off from the table and sneered. "But he is ."

"So are you. You're both dangerous. That's why you're in here, but he's never got in my face like that before."

Zane retreated a step and lowered his gaze. "I'm sorry. I just need you to understand. He's going to hurt you, Quinn."

"He's not."

"He's possessive over you. He asks the others what you talked about and what you said and how often you smiled, laughed, and if we don't tell him, he kicks off in his cell."

"Cleo hasn't said anything—"

"Mackie's warned me off you."

"He was worried about me."

Zane narrowed his eyes, and Quinn shrank when it felt like he was being inspected.

"Is this study worth your life?"

"Right now…yeah. He thought something had happened between us last week. He thought you'd hurt me. I keep telling him you didn't."

"He doesn't believe you."

"I know."

"And he's angry that you're lying."

Quinn pressed his lips together.

Zane shook his head. "I can tell you're not going to listen to me, so I'll have to take matters into my own hands."

Zane moved to the door, but Quinn beat him to it and blocked his path. "Wait, wait, what does that mean?"

"It means I'm going to hurt him so he doesn't get a chance to hurt you."

"You do anything to him, and you're off the study."

Zane leaned in until they were almost nose to nose. "It will be worth it to protect you."

Quinn placed his hands on Zane's chest, not pushing, just resting. "Please, Zane, calm down. You need to think this through."

"You're not listening to me. I read people, and I can tell what they're thinking. I can see it in his filthy face, in his gleeful eyes."

"What?"

"He wants you, Quinn."

"There's nothing in his file to suggest—"

"He doesn't have any sexual violence charges. He's straight in his file, but people change in here. I can't stand by and let something happen."

"Nothing's going to happen."

"Look me in the eye," Zane demanded, "and tell me he doesn't scare you."

Zane's eyes were so dark, and angry, Quinn had to break eye contact.

"See," Zane hissed.

"You scare me more," Quinn fired back.

"I shouldn't have done that last week. I'm sorry, but I have no desire to hurt you."

"How do I know that?" Quinn pushed Zane's chest to get distance.

Zane obliged, retreating a step. "I'd never—"

"You say the right things, you look at me the right way, but I don't know who you are, Zane. I don't know what you want from me." Quinn swallowed. "Look. I'll talk to the prison officers about Mackie."

Zane rolled his eyes. "They all just think he's some soppy mutt, all eager to help and needy of their attention, but I see it. I see it when the others talk about their sessions; I see the jealousy and the betrayal in his face. He thought something happened between us last week—"

"He was concerned you had hurt me."

"No, he was concerned I had got there first. Touched you first. I couldn't bear it if something happened to you."

The words tugged at Quinn's fragile heart. He scrunched his face and closed his eyes. He couldn't risk Mackie and Zane coming to blows, so he had to choose who to believe and who to keep on the study.

A warming sensation crept up his cheek, and he slowly reopened his eyes and looked into Zane's. They were no longer swamped by raging black but were soft brown, and they held Quinn's gaze.

Zane had cupped his face, and instead of jolting away, Quinn leaned into his palm and breathed out steadily. The touch was gentle. Zane's thumb ghosted his cheekbone, then his mouth. Quinn's eyes fluttered when Zane traced the ellipse of his slightly parted lips. His skin tingled, and he couldn't stop the shiver that quaked him. Zane stopped with his thumb over the mole by Quinn's eye.

There was no cocky smile from Zane.

"Trust me," Zane said softly. "Please, Quinn."

Quinn nodded and stepped away from Zane. Zane didn't protest. He let Quinn go.

"I'll—I'll see if I can put some other measures in place when I'm talking with Mackie."

"Like what?"

"Have an officer inside the room like I do with Virgil."

"The prison is short-staffed enough as it is. They can't spare someone for that every Monday. You have to remove him from the study, say he wasn't a good fit, say whatever you need to say, just don't be alone with him again."

Quinn winced and returned to his chair. Other than the high-flyer's, Harris and Virgil, Mackie had been a promising participant, but unlike Harris, and even Virgil , Mackie had made his blood run cold.

"Okay," Quinn breathed.

"You'll remove him?"

Quinn nodded. "Now can we get on with this?" he said, gesturing to the stack of paper on the table.

"Sure, can I make one more suggestion?"

"What is it?" Quinn sighed.

"When you tell him, make sure someone else is there with you, two officers preferably. He might attack you."

Quinn cocked his jaw left to right, then nodded.

Zane reached for the empathy test and began filling out the questions straight away.

Quinn frowned as he watched him.

Zane Black didn't fit comfortably into the category of psychopath, either that or he was just a bloody good one.