The Jackal (Black Dagger Brotherhood - Prison Camp 1)

Apex?

The male with the dead stare and the bad past walked in with a bored expression on his face—and a severed hand . . . in his hand?

The vampire lifted the body part. “I borrowed this from one of the guards. After we’re done getting you out, I’m going to slap him with it. Assuming he hasn’t bled out.”

As Apex tossed the appendage over his shoulder and strode across to the bed, Jack blinked quickly. It was the only way to communicate.

“What’s that?” the male asked. “Why’d I cut it off? I needed a thumbprint to get in here and his worked nicely. So what do we have to do here to get you out?”

Jack cast his gaze over to the table and returned it to Apex. And then he went back to the table.

“Right.” Apex walked over and picked up one of the vials of clear liquid. “This or the other guy?”

When Jack blinked twice, Apex said, “Is that a yes on this bottle?” Jack blinked twice again. “Okay. How much.”

Apex came back with the syringe, inserted the needle through the red rubber seal, and started to draw out the antidote to the tranquilizer. “Blink twice when we’re good.”

Jack had no clue about the proper dosage so he just blinked repeatedly when the syringe seemed fully filled.

“Where do you shoot it up? Vein or muscle?” Apex rolled his eyes. “Blink twice for vein.” When Jack did not, the male said, “Blink twice for muscle.” Jack blinked twice. “Leg?”

More with the blinking, and Apex moved so fast, Jack was still communicating with his eyelids when he felt a puncture on his thigh. Well aware of what was coming next, he braced himself for—

The rush of animation was like being plugged into an electrical socket, his body jerking and jumping against the shackles until the chains seethed and rattled like snakes. But instead of promptly leveling off, the burning buzz continued to build until he was shaking, great rushes of energy vibrating through his veins, his muscles, his limbs.

“Shit, I think you’re exploding from the inside out,” Apex said evenly. “You want me to hit you with a dart—”

The guards who ran into the chamber had guns drawn, and before Apex could respond, one of them hauled back and nailed him on the head with a baton, knocking him out cold. As he dropped like dead-weight to the floor, there was some conversation, but Jack couldn’t follow it. His teeth were clapping together like a set of castanets, and then there was the raucous sound of those rattling chains. The good news? He could move his head. The bad news? He couldn’t stop moving his head.

His vision was all over the place, vibrating around the chamber as his skull wobbled at the top of his earthquaking spine. He was in a tornado, but he was aware enough that he knew when the guards came over to him. They released his ankles first, and his legs danced free of the shackles with no rhythm at all, skipping, bucking—

When his arms were liberated, he flopped around the bedding platform, a fish in the bottom of a boat, the momentum carrying his body to the edge of the mattress. The guards, ever careful of his welfare, caught him before he ended up knocked out on the floor with Apex. Muscling him up to his feet, they dragged his spasming form over to the door, his feet skipping across the bullet holes the Command had put into the tile.

He wanted to fight, but he was no better off than he’d been before. On the tranquilizer, he’d had no control because he was paralyzed. Now, he had no control because his body was a lightning bolt.

From out of the chaos of his vision, he was fairly sure that the guards picked up Apex as well. And then he was out in the hall, being taken in the opposite direction from the work area, from where the transports left, from where he’d been praying Nyx would get out. When they arrived at the main tunnel, he had a passing thought that everything was very empty, and this proved especially true as he was brought into the Hive.

Just as before, when he’d come out of the fissure with Nyx, there was no one in it. Not one prisoner. And the only guards were those carrying him.

They took him down toward the dais, through the piles of trash and debris left scattered by the normal crush of inmates. There were six stone steps up to the platform, and his feet knocked into them on an ascension that ended at the middle of the three posts. As he was turned around, he heard the metal-on-metal chime of chain links while Apex was dropped like litter off to one side.

Jack’s arms were bent backward, his shoulder sockets straining, his wrists burning as they were once again shackled. The seizures racking him made him kick against the greasy, stained wood, and he knew he was going to be bruised.