Chapter 5

That goon Gaston had dumped him in Max’s matchbox of a clinic after he’d worked Charles over. Charles’s ribs were sore, his nose dripped a steady stream of blood, and his eyes were swollen to slits, but he could still see the fascination in Max’s gaze.

Even though Charles considered himself straight, he’d worked at the WBIS long enough to know he could work with that attraction, use it to help him get out of this situation. A hole was a hole, a mouth was a mouth, and Max’s mouth looked like it could do absolutely amazing things.

So okay, surviving had wound up costing him his little finger, but fuck it, he still had nine other good fingers.

Clever Max had blown him, demonstrating exactly what that mouth of his could do, and while Charles tried to regain some semblance of awareness, Max had jabbed him with a needle—he shuddered. God, he hatedneedles—then injected a local anesthetic into his hand and proceeded to amputate that finger.

Shades of Hansel and Gretel.