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“Rhage! Stop! Wait!” Cold air streaked into her lungs. “Rhage!”

At the sound of her voice, he jerked and threw a limp hand out to her. The men stopped. A couple of them cursed.

“Rhage!” She ground to a halt, kicking up pebbles. “What…oh…lord.”

There was blood on his face, and his eyes were unfocused from pain.

“Rhage…”

His mouth opened. Worked soundlessly.

One of the men said, “Shit, we might as well take him to his room now.”

“Of course you’ll take him there! Was he hurt fighting?”

No one answered her. They just changed direction and muscled Rhage through the mansion’s vestibule, across the foyer and up the stairs. After they’d laid him on his bed, the guy with the goatee and tattoos on his face smoothed Rhage’s hair back.

“Brother, maybe we could bring you something for the pain?”

Rhage’s voice was garbled. “Nothing. Better this way. You know rules. Mary…where’s Mary?”

She went to the bedside and took his slack hand. As she pressed her lips to his knuckles, she realized the robe was in perfect condition, with no rips or tears. Which meant he hadn’t had the thing on when he’d been hurt. And someone had put it back on him.

With a horrible intuition, she reached for the braided leather tie around his waist. She loosened it and pulled the edges of the robe open. From his collarbones to his hips he was covered with white bandages. And blood had welled through, a bright, shocking red.

Afraid to look, needing to know, she gently untaped one corner and lifted.

“Dear God.” She swayed and one of the brothers caught her. “How did this happen?”

When the group remained silent, she pushed whoever was holding her up away and looked at them all. They were unmoving, staring at Rhage….

And in as much pain as he was. Sweet Jesus, they couldn’t have…

The goateed one met her eyes.

They did.

“You did this,” she hissed. “You did this to him!”

“Yes,” said the one with the sunglasses. “And it’s none of your business.”

“You bastards.”

Rhage made a sound and then cleared his throat. “Leave us.”

“We’ll be back to check on you, Hollywood,” said the guy with long multicolored hair. “Do you need anything?”

“Other than a skin graft?” Rhage smiled a little and then winced as he shifted on the bed.

While the men went out the door, she glared at their strong backs. Those goddamned…animals.

“Mary?” Rhage murmured. “Mary.”

She tried to pull it together. Getting all worked up over those thugs wasn’t going to help Rhage right now.

She looked down at him, choked back her fury, and said, “Will you let me call that doctor you talked about? What was his name?”

“No.”

She wanted to tell him to lose the tough-guy-bearing-pain-nobly crap. But she knew he’d fight her, and an argument was the last thing he needed.

“Do you want the robe off or on?” she asked.

“Off. If you can stand the sight of me.”

“Don’t worry about that.”

She untied the leather belt and peeled the black silk off him, wanting to scream as he rolled back and forth to help her while grunting in pain. When they were finished getting the thing out from under him, blood seeped down his side.

That beautiful duvet was going to be ruined, she thought, not giving a shit.

“You’ve lost a lot of blood.” She rolled up the heavy robe.

“I know.” He closed his eyes, head sinking into the pillow. His naked body was going through a series of flickering seizures, the trembling in his thighs, stomach, and pectorals making the mattress jiggle.

She dumped the robe in the tub and came back. “Did they clean you before they dressed the wounds?”

“I don’t know.”

“I probably should check at some point.”

“Give me an hour. By then the bleeding will stop.” He took a deep breath and grimaced. “Mary…they had to.”

“What?” She leaned down.

“They had to do this. I don’t…” Another breath was followed by a groan. “Don’t be angry with them.”

Screw. That.

“Mary,” he said strongly, his dull eyes focusing on her. “I gave them no choice.”

“What did you do?”

“It’s over. And you are not to be angry with them.” His stare fuzzed out again.

As far as she was concerned, she could be anything the hell