The Jackal (Black Dagger Brotherhood - Prison Camp 1)

“If I wanted to kill him,” Apex drawled, “I’d have done so a decade ago. You’re late to this party, female.”

“Step back.”

Apex’s upper lip twitched, and she had a thought that she was going to need to watch her back after this. But instead of snapping his fangs at her, he smiled in an evil way, revealing two solid gold canines.

Jack solved the issue by sliding out from between the wall and the other male. Wiping his bloody mouth on his sleeve, he did not meet her stare. His loose, dark clothes were stained and out of joint, the tunic twisted around, not that he appeared to notice. Not that it mattered.

“We need to get rid of these bodies, but there’s no time,” he said hoarsely.

“I’ll take care of them. Go. Now.”

Jack glanced at the other prisoner. “Are we even, then.”

“Yes.” Apex nodded toward the tunnel. “Go. There will be more coming.”

The killer didn’t have to ask twice. Nyx was so ready to leave all of this behind. Intent on getting to Jack, she went to step over the bloody, dead guard—

As she transferred her weight, the dead body came to life. With a rasp and a gasp, wild, white-rimmed eyes flared, and the male reached for her ankle. The grab was strong enough to throw her off balance, and as she went into a free fall, the guard brought up a gun from out of nowhere.

Pointing the muzzle directly at her, he pulled the trigger—

Jack lunged across the distance as the gun went off, except he was too late—and so were Nyx’s reflexes. Before she could shift in midair, the bullet ripped into her with a blaze of pain, but she didn’t have time to track where the entrance was or if there was an exit. She landed hard, half on the guard, half on the floor, the side of her face taking some of the impact.

She was stunned as she lay where she landed, and when there was a clunk! sound by her head, she realized that her grandfather’s gun had slipped out of her hand.

Shit, she thought as she grabbed the weapon again.

“Nyx!”

Jack’s eyes entered her vision as he knelt down. His bloodstained face was pale as snow, his pupils dilated, his expression of horror the kind of thing that made her think about old-school Friday the 13th movies. Which made no damned sense. Then again, hello, shock.

“I’m shoot.” She closed her eyes in frustration. “Shot. I’m shot.”

“Your shoulder. I know.”

“Not my chest then?”

Had there been one bullet? Or two? Why wasn’t she in pain?

Beneath her, the guard started moving again, and a sudden jolt of adrenaline gave her a burst of strength. Shoving Jack back, she put the muzzle of her gun into the oozing open wound of that face—

And pulled the motherfucking trigger.

She wasn’t even horrified as the body jumped under her, the extremities bouncing on the floor, a horrible gurgle rising up as the popping sound disseminated.

Where had she gone, she thought as she lifted her eyes to Jack.

He was staring back at her with a remote expression, and meanwhile, Apex loomed over them both, not a threat so much as a condemnation of her and her actions. Sometime between her entering that crypt and finding her way down here into the prison, a part of her had gotten lost. Or perhaps been ruined.

And she knew it wasn’t coming back.

Apex laughed dryly. “Nice shot. Then again, point-blank improves accuracy.”

“Shut up,” Jack snapped.

Putting her hand out to him, he read her mind. He helped her up onto her feet, and as she steadied herself on his arm, he looked her over as if searching for arterial bleeds. With uncharacteristic deference, she waited for his conclusion even though it was her body and he wasn’t a physician. Then again, she felt like she couldn’t trust her read on anything.

“We’ve got to move fast,” he said.

Before she could start running again, he bent down and scooped her into his arms.

“No arguments,” he barked. “You need to shoot if we get into trouble. Let my legs do the work for the both of us.”

Just before they took off, Apex smiled again, flashing those gold fangs. “Quite a honeymoon you two are enjoying.”

“Fuck off, Apex,” Jack said over his shoulder as he took off at a jog.

All the Jackal could smell was Nyx’s blood. All he could feel was the warm flush of it soaking through the clothes she had on and the sleeve of his prison tunic as he carried her. All he knew was the distance he had to cover if he was going to get her to safety.

Make that relative safety.

He ran as fast as he could without bouncing her around too much, but going by the way she grunted and stiffened in his arms, he knew he was hurting her. She wasn’t lowering that gun, though. As he backtracked through the Command’s compound, she had that muzzle up and ready, and she was alert, leaning into the corners he took and staying steady on the straightaways he bolted down.