I can tell from the way he mumbles he doesn’t want to tell me this information. That makes me mighty suspicious. “What pet project?”

He leans back against the countertop and folds his arms across his chest. I’m not distracted by his biceps. Nope, not at all. That would be incredibly shallow of me. He gives me an appraising look, frowning slightly, and then says something that makes my heart leap into my throat. “Andreas Medina. Julio’s in town. He’s taken Cade.”

“You have Andreas in the basement of this building? And what do you mean, he’s taken Cade?”

Zeth prowls around the counter where I’m sitting, removing the fork from my hand. He slides some of the food from my plate onto it, raises it, and lifts both eyebrows. “Open, Sloane.”

I can’t believe him. He’s just told me that he has someone held captive and that a very dangerous man has kidnapped his friend, and he wants me to eat. “I will not fucking open,” I snap. “Tell me what the hell is going on.”

A small smile tics at the corner of his mouth. Those full lips of his pout a little as he puts down the fork. “It’s not as bad as it sounds.”

“How? How is it not as bad as it sounds?”

“Because Julio won’t fuck with Rebel. Julio’s an insect compared to the Widow Makers. There’s no way he would kill one of their members, let alone the V.P. of the club. Not if he didn’t want his whole crew murdered brutally in their sleep.”

“And what about Andreas? Why have you got him locked away in the basement?”

Zeth shrugs. He swipes his index finger slowly through the maple syrup that I’ve put all over my breakfast—I’m sick, I know—and then lifts his finger up to my mouth. I’m kind of stunned. I’m not sure what he wants me to do—suck it? He smirks when I give him a questioning look, but then traces the pad of his finger across my lower lip. I’m a little dazed when he puts his finger into his own mouth and sucks off the excess maple syrup. I draw my lip into my mouth and run my tongue over the burning skin where he just touched me, my mouth watering at the explosion of sugar. Zeth leans forward, clenching his jaw, lowering himself so he’s at my level.

“Medina’s tied up in the basement for three reasons, Sloane. Firstly, he came at me with a fucking knife—a pretty big fucking mistake on his part. Secondly, he knows where Cade is and I aim to make him tell me. Thirdly—” He’s staring at my mouth, watching me still sucking on my lip. “Thirdly, he acted in a very ungentlemanly way with you back at Julio’s. He also said some rather ill-thought-out shit when I dragged him back here. So I’m not exactly feeling like a gracious host, if you get what I’m saying.”

I do get what he’s saying. He’s telling me that he has plans for Andreas Medina, and non-too-pleasant ones. “You’re not going to kill him,” I say.

Something like amusement mixed with a little anger flashes in those deep brown eyes. “I’m aware of what I am and am not gonna do, Sloane. And no, I’m not gonna kill him, despite the fact the motherfucker deserves it. He and I had a little chat this morning. He gave me some information in return for my guarantee I’ll offer Julio a trade: my guy for his.”

A chat? I have the worst images inside my head right now. They all involve blood. And very sharp objects. And a half-dead Mexican gang member. “What do you mean, you had a ‘little chat’? What kind of little chat?”

Zeth gives me a blank look, tipping his head to one side. He walks over to the sofa where he tossed his jacket when he came in, rifles inside the pocket, apparently finds whatever he’s looking for, and comes back to the open-plan kitchen. He hands me a small black box.

I look at the box, look back up at him. “I get the distinct impression there’s going to be a severed thumb inside. Is there a severed thumb in this box? Because if there is, I have seen enough of those in the ER to last me a lifetime, thanks all the same.”

“Open it,” he growls. He doesn’t look impressed by my lack of faith in him. I open the box and inside there are a handful of…of paperclips?

“What does this mean?”

“Something the guys used to do in prison,” Zeth says, his voice utterly controlled. “Chino is…” He pauses, apparently intent on choosing his words carefully. “Chino’s a hard place. People construct weapons out of anything.” He selects a paperclip from the box and begins unbending it with those huge hands of his. The paperclip is then no longer a paperclip but a four-inch length of wire; Zeth holds it up for me to see properly. “The inmates had quite a few uses for something like this.”

I can imagine all too well what the inmates might have done with something like that. The thought sends a jolt of horror sizzling through my body. Zeth was there. Zeth was inside while that kind of thing was happening all around him. I’m hit by a wave of worry that makes my mouth drier than the Sahara. “Did you hurt him?” I ask.

Zeth places the wire down on the counter, picks up my fork again, still loaded with the food he put on it a moment ago, and looks at me. He looks me right in the eye with such an intensity that my skin feels like it’s humming with electricity. “Do you think I hurt him, Sloane?”

This isn’t one of those off-the-cuff questions people ask and don’t really expect an answer to. This is a question about who I think he is, and he’s waiting intently for the answer. What I’ve thought has never been important before, but I can tell that now it very much is.