Behind the Jackal, Kane let out a soft laugh. “Well,” the aristocrat said, “at least I know what we’re dealing with.”
Following Nyx’s bladed face-off with that golden-eyed male’s most delicate of areas, things were a little tense. Then again, guys did tend to do a groupthink wince when anybody with their anatomy got their hey-nannies threatened by something sharp and shiny. After the situation de-escalated, and the others were able to stand without covering themselves with both palms, she followed all three of them into a hidden tunnel and down to a low-ceilinged open area that everyone but she had to duck to get into. Candles, not light bulbs, lit the way and lit the talk spot, the circle of flat stone “seats” that surrounded a fire pit making her wonder just how cold it got down here in the winter.
She sat when the others did, and she cracked a smile as she noted that the big male with those yellow eyes and the big ideas sat waaaaaaay across from her.
And closed his knees together like he wasn’t sure exactly how put away her knife was.
“This is Kane,” the male with brilliant blue eyes said. Then he tacked on dryly, “And you’ve met Lucan.”
There was a silence, during which she stared at her paid guide to the prison. He had stayed close to her when they’d been going through the passageway, and he sat on the stone next to hers. Given the glower on his face, she could guess that he was talking to her in his head, no doubt berating her for the impulse that had taken her out from under his bed and provided her with the opportunity to meet all kinds of new friends.
God, that female with the ruined face.
Nyx glanced over at the one who’d been introduced as Kane. His silver eyes were steady, his body was giving off no signs of aggression or sexual charge, and he had the kind of open, handsome face that made you think no matter what was going on, things were going to be okay.
This situation could use about fifteen more of him, she thought.
“How can I help you?” he asked in a calm, level tone.
In contrast to his speech, hers was rushed. Rough.
“I’m looking for my sister. Her name is Janelle. She was falsely accused of murder and got two hundred and fifty years.” By their grandfather, for godsakes. “She’s been down here since nineteen sixty-seven. June second, nineteen sixty-seven. I’ll tell you anything you need to know about her.”
“Everyone’s falsely accused of something in this prison,” Lucan, the one she’d almost turned into a Lynette, muttered.
Kane lowered his eyes for a brief moment. “May I ask, what do you think you will do if you find her?”
“When I find her. And I’m going to get her out.”
“How will you do that?”
“I know how I came in. I’ll backtrack there and take her home.”
“And you think they will not come after you?” He lifted a hand and gestured around. “The guards here have a job and they are accountable for it. The head count must register properly for the work shifts. If it does not, those males are beaten—or worse. They will choose themselves over you and your family, I assure you.”
“I’ll be gone before they know I’m here.”
As the other males looked at each other and shook their heads, Kane said, “Do you live with anyone you care about? Because they’ll slaughter everything around them if they must reclaim a prisoner from hiding, and they will bring the bodies back here to show their duty is done. Life and death is not only for the prisoners herein. It is for everybody the Command administers and all who seek to disorder the order. In this, the guards are no different than we prisoners.”
“My sister is innocent.”
“In your mind, perhaps. But that is not a defense if you help her escape.”
Part of Nyx wanted to argue that her situation was different, that however many people here needed to be imprisoned, Janelle was not one of them. But then she thought about that guard in the crypt. She’d never killed before, yet it was the work of a moment to choose her own survival over a threat to it.
“I’ll take Janelle far away,” she said. “No one will find us.”
Kane reached up and pulled open the front of his loose shirting. Around the base of his throat was an inch-thick band that he had evidently worn for so long, it had discolored and dug into his skin.
“Yes, they will.” He shifted the thing around so that a subtle blinking dot showed. “They will absolutely find you. And her. These track collars are our leashes.”
“I could take it off her—”
“No, you can’t.”
Her male with the brilliant blue eyes spoke up. “They’re explosive collars. If the connection is broken at the back, the charge instantly detonates. There’s no surviving it. They’re also rimmed with steel on the inside so there is no dematerializing.”