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Z put the weights down on the mats and wiped his face. His bare chest gleamed, his nipple rings rising and falling as he breathed.

His yellow eyes shifted over.

Here we go, John thought.

“So about your transition.”

Okaaaay…so they were going to ease into the lesser thing. What about it? he signed.

“How you feeling?”

Good. Wobbly. Different. He shrugged. You know when you, like, clip your nails, and your fingertips are weird for a day, all supersensitive? It’s like that all over me.

Oh, what the hell was he going on about? Z had been through the change. He knew what was doing afterward.

Zsadist dropped the towel and picked up the weights for his second set of reps. “You got any physical problems?”

Not that I know of.

Z’s eyes locked on the mats as he alternated lifting his left forearm, then his right. Left. Right. Left. It seemed strange that such heavy weights could make that gentle sound.

“So, Layla reported in.”

Oh…shit.

What did she say?

Please…not the shower…

“She said you two didn’t have sex. Even though it appeared that you wanted to at one point.”

As John’s brain shut down, he mindlessly kept track of Z’s reps. Right. Left. Right. Left. Who knows this?

“Wrath and me. That’s it. And it’s no one else’s biz. But I’m bringing it up in case there’s something physical going on that you need to get checked out.”

John stood up and paced around in his gangly way, nothing but sloppy arms and legs and a drunk’s sense of balance.

“Why did you stop, John?”

He glanced over at the Brother, about to give some kind of blow-off, no-big-deal answer, when he realized to his horror that he wouldn’t be able to do that.

Z’s yellow eyes glowed with knowledge.

Holy fuck. Havers had spilled, hadn’t he. That therapist session at the clinic when John had talked about what had happened to him in that stairwell had gotten out.

You know, John signed with fury. You fucking know, don’t you?

“Yeah, I do.”

That cocksucking therapist told me it was confidential—

“A copy of your medical records was sent over here when you started the program. It’s standard procedure for all trainees in case something happens in the gym, or in the event the transition starts while you’re on-site.”

Who’s read my file?

“Just me. And no one else will, not even Wrath. I locked it up, and I’m the only one who knows where it is.”

John sagged. At least there was consolation in that. When did you read it?

“About a week ago, when I figured your change was going to hit any day now.”

What…what did it say?

“Pretty much everything.”

Fuck.

“That’s why you won’t go to Havers, right?” Z put the weights down again. “You figure the guy’s going to snatch and drag you into another therapy hour.”

I don’t like to talk about it.

“I don’t blame you. And I’m not asking you to.”

John cracked a little smile. You’re not going to hit me with all kinds of talk-is-good-for-you shit?

“Nah. I’m not a talker myself. Can’t recommend it to others.” Z put his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. “Here’s the deal, John. I want you to have absolute faith that that shit’s going nowhere, okay? If someone wants to see your record, I’m going to make it so they don’t, even if I have to burn the fucker to ash.”

John swallowed through a sudden lump in his throat. With stiff hands, he signed, Thank you.

“Wrath wanted me to talk to you about the Layla thing because he was worried there might be something wrong with your post-transition plumbing. I’m going to tell him that you were nervous and that was the why of it, deal?”

John nodded.

“Have you jerked off yet?”

John blushed from eyebrow to ankle and considered passing out. As he measured the distance to the ground, which seemed like a hundred yards, he figured this was not a bad place to keel over. Plenty of mats to land on.

“Have you?”

He shook his head slowly.

“Do it once to make sure nothing is wrong.” Z got up, toweled his torso off, and pulled on his shirt. “I’m going to assume you’ll take care of it in the next twenty-four hours. I will not ask you what happens.