The Jackal (Black Dagger Brotherhood - Prison Camp 1)

Jack was going to press her to leave. She was going to stay. And they were going to have a blowup and a half.

In the meantime, all she could do was wait.

As she zipped her phone back in and reshuffled her body in its upright position—like the tray table on an airplane—she was too antsy to pretend to sleep. And her butt was so numb, she was pretty convinced it had turned into an inanimate object.

Confronting the reality that she couldn’t go anywhere and she had nothing to distract her except the collection of stupid cat tricks and mental pushups in her head, she was reminded of the year after Janelle had been taken away. All those sleepless days had been just like this, the special torture tincture of exhaustion and buzzy, twitchy awareness battling it out under her skull, under her skin.

Was this what it was like for those serving out their sentences? She couldn’t imagine suffering through—

The sound was sharp and unexpected, and as she tried to place whatever it was, her brain told her that this was not the first time she had heard it. In fact, the odd vocalization had woken her up.

Putting her hand down, her palm locked on the gun she’d set on the rock at her hip, and she flicked the safety off. Absently, she decided it was going to be ironic if she ended up shooting another guard with the nine she’d gotten off the first one she’d killed—and then her brain segued past that to another question: Had the sunlight claimed that dead male she’d dragged out between the graves? By now, there had to have been more than enough sunshine to do the ashing—

The sound repeated for a third time.

Frowning, she looked across the pool. Jack’s face was all furrowed, his brows down, his lips pulled back in a snarl of aggression . . . or maybe it was pain. Hard to tell. And he was making noises in his throat that, when they reached a certain volume, were enough to travel over to her in spite of the falling water.

Grunts. Growls. His Adam’s apple working up and down the front column of his throat.

In his lap, his hands were twitching. Then curling into fists. And his feet at the ends of his legs were flexing and releasing as if he were rushing forward. Or rushing back?

“Jack?” she said.

His head jerked on his spine, but quickly resettled into its position. After which his mouth moved as if he were mumbling, and then he seemed to be reclaimed by whatever his subconscious was playing out.

“Jack.”

Even though she put a little volume into his name, he stayed in his dream state and things grew more intense for him. Now he struggled, arms flopping, head kicking forward. Kicking back.

A single tear escaped his eye and traveled down his cheek—

Nyx jumped to her feet and went around the pool. “Jack!” she barked.

Nothing seemed to get through to him. Nothing verbal anyway.

As soon as she bent down and touched his arm, his eyes flew open and his head snapped toward her. “What?”

“You were dreaming.”

He stared up at her as if he didn’t recognize her. Then he blinked. In a hoarse voice, he said, “It was not a dream. It was done to me.”

“What was done to you?”

Even as he looked at her, there was a strange emptiness in his eyes, as if he were not seeing her. “All of it. All of it was done to me.”

Before she could ask him anything further, he pulled her into him, her stiff body going off balance, his chest her landing pad.

“Is it you?” he said hoarsely. “Is this really you?”

His hand traveled over her hair and down onto her neck. “I need to know it’s you.”

Underneath her, he was fully aroused. She could feel him. But his eyes were tortured, and there was a begging to his tone.

“Yes, it’s me,” she whispered.

“Can you make it go away?” Before she could ask him what he was talking about, he stroked his thumb over her lower lip. “I don’t want to use you, but I need . . . can you make it go away, even for just a little while.”

Their faces were so close that she felt bathed in the light of his teal eyes—and captured by him, too, although not because he was holding on to her. The pain inside of him was what called to her.

“Who hurt you?” she breathed.

“It doesn’t matter. Will you help me? That’s all I need from you. No questions, no ties . . . just this.”

As he tilted his head to the side and leaned in, she closed her eyes. The feel of his lips on her own went through her whole body, and though she didn’t understand so much, the heat that thickened her blood and went to her core was all that mattered for now.