There was no fucking way Aiden was going to eat. He wasn't hungry, for starters. All he was really aware of was the craving. It was in every fucking cell. He needed to get something inside him. Didn't really matter what. H would be perfect, but he'd take anything.

The moment the guy left, Aiden got up. He shambled toward the door, his joints stiff and aching, his head pounding. He did not feel good. Not at all.

He opened the door and looked out into the apartment. He didn't recognize it, but that didn't bother him. He was used to waking up in weird places. It was nice enough, some couches and shit, whatever. The guy who said he'd get food was doing just that, working at a stove with his back toward Aiden.

The front door was pretty obviously not too far away, so Aiden made his way toward it, moving quietly on socked feet. They'd taken his shoes. He didn't care. There were always more shoes in the world.

Before he could get to the door, muscles stopped him.

A wild set of washboard abs suddenly appeared sparkling with a few remnants of water. To his glazed eyes the torso seemingly floated in mid air until he forced them to focus and he realized that a guy was standing in front of him, a towel wrapped around his waist, a scowl on his handsome face. “What are you doing out of your room?

“Uhhh... what ever the fuck I want?”

The answer didn't make the muscle man any happier. He looked like he could have been one of the bad guys in an old 80's action flick. He had absolutely zero hair, but the dark pattern beneath his scalp told Aiden that he still had all of it, which probably meant he had it shaved to look tough. It was working. Dark brows hung low over brown eyes, framing the glower perfectly.

“Get back in there.”

“I'm going out,” Aiden said, ignoring the guy. He was hot, but sex could come later, if that was going to be on the agenda. Right now, he needed his fix.

“You're not going anywhere.” The broad chest planted itself in front of him, blocking his way. A thick fist rose, one finger extended to point where Aiden had just come from. “Go back to your room. Now.”

Just who the fuck did this guy think he was?

Now the kitchen guy was paying attention. He came over and they all looked at one another. Rob. Was that the kitchen guy's name? Yeah. He looked like the most reasonable out of the two of them. He wasn't quite as tall as Muscles, but not many people were. That guy was a fucking behemoth. Rob was still bigger than Aiden, who had never broken 5'7, much to his chagrin. Being short was a fucking curse, especially now with these guys who were about half a foot or more taller, and a hell of a lot wider. It was like being confronted with a wall of man.

“You should go back and lay down,” Rob said. “I'm getting you something to eat, and...”

“Yeah, I don't give a fuck about that,” Aiden said bluntly. “I'm getting out of here.”

“You're not going anywhere,” Muscles said abruptly. He had the fucking nerve to look irritated, as if Aiden was upsetting him just by wanting to go somewhere and do something.

“Oh, I'm sorry, am I in prison?” Aiden cut his eyes at Muscles.

“Yeah,” Muscles said. “You are. So get back in your room and do as you're told.”

Aiden's temper started to really flare. He didn't like being told what to do at the best of times, and this was definitely not the best of fucking times. His stomach was starting to churn and the sweating was getting worse. He needed a fix, and he was going to get it.

“Out of my way,” he said, trying to push through them.

It didn't work. They reached out as a pair, one hand on each of his shoulders, and held him back. Aiden found himself being relatively gently, but firmly propelled back to the room he'd started in. Rob followed him in, Muscles stayed outside.

“You don't understand,” Aiden said, attempting to make an appeal to reason. “I need to get out of here. I'm sick and I need my, uhm... medicine.”

“I know you're sick, and I know why you're sick,” Rob said. He had calm hazel eyes that were much more sympathetic than Muscles' hard dark stare. “The next few days will be rough for you, but once it all works its way out of your system, you'll feel a lot better.”

“I don't want it to work its way out. I want more.”

“That's not an option.”

Aiden looked at Rob, really looked at him, not because he was interested in him as a person, but because it was obvious that this guy was going to be the one he had to manipulate to get out of here. The man was wearing a black cable knit sweater and khakis, preppy, sort of, but there was a harder edge to him that suggested military. Unlike Muscles who had no hair, this guy had a bit too much, shaggy and hanging into his hazel green gray eyes. He said he worked for Mason, so probably a bodyguard. Working for money.

Good.

Wherever money was an issue, Aiden could win.

“I'll pay you,” Aiden said. “Whatever Mason's giving you, I'll double it. Just bring me what I want. I'll even let you keep me here. Just make sure I get my stuff.”

“No deal,” Rob said calmly.

“I'm rich,” Aiden said bluntly. “A lot richer than Mason Malone ever could be.”

“Word is you've been cut off,” Rob replied. “And even if you could pay me, the answer would still be no, sunshine.”

Struggling to deal with his temper, Aiden let out a little growl.

“Settle down, pup,” Rob said. “I'm medically trained. I can make this easier on you. All you have to do is relax and sleep. If necessary, I can give you a sedative...”

“A sedative?” Aiden perked up at that.

“Only if it’s necessary to help you not to seize and die. Sit down. You're going to eat.”

“I'm not hungry.”

“And that's the problem. You should be. You're starving.”

“Still not hungry.”