The Wolf (Black Dagger Brotherhood - Prison Camp 2)

And then he had to hold it together. As his chest pumped up and down, and his eyes watered, and his heart thundered, he had to force himself to stay in place.

While his mate, the woman he loved, watched him.

The longer she watched, the harder he had to work to keep ahold of himself.

“Fuck,” he said as his jaw locked. “I can’t . . .”

Time went eternal on him, and he felt hot tears seep out the corners of his eyes. Deep inside, he hated himself for what Rhage had seen in him. He hated the petty jealousy over a relationship Butch didn’t have anymore . . . with a human man who was no longer in his roommate’s world, much less his life.

V was a fucking weak piece of shit, and he wanted that toxic knowledge out of him.

So he clamored and quaked on the hospital bed.

As his female gave him absolutely nothing to go on.

Vishous had never loved Jane more.

Rio’s eyes flipped open, and this time, as she called on them to focus, it was different. She was back. She didn’t know how else to describe it. On the disjointed trip to—where the hell was she?—she had come and gone, her senses trying to penetrate a fog of incomprehension that stemmed from the knocks on her noggin. Now, though, as her lids went wide, she was fully aware, fully functional.

Yes, in pain. Yes, lost, wherever she was.

But her mind was cranking over again.

After confirming her basic physical functions were ongoing, her brain was all about orientation: She was on her side, staring at a wall that was gray, but not painted that color. It was concrete blocks stacked and mortared together. Further, she was lying down on something that was soft. And there was something pushing against her lower back, keeping her in place—

When she went to move her head, a bomb burst of pain lit off, but she’d better get used to that.

“You want something to eat?”

At the male voice, she rolled her torso over—and groaned at the pain. Luke was right beside the bed she was on, sitting on the hard floor. He had changed out of that too-tight leather jacket—hey, check her out, she was remembering details—and was wearing a loose sweatshirt the color of a cloudy sky.

“Where am I?” she demanded.

As his brows went up, she assumed he was as surprised as she was at the strength behind the syllables. Either that or she’d just spoken gibberish.

“You’re with me,” he answered.

“And where are we?”

“Here.”

Rio took a deep breath—or tried to. When she didn’t get far with the inhale thing, she wasn’t sure whether she had broken some ribs or was just stiff as hell. With that debate ongoing, she gritted her teeth and pushed herself upright.

Luke reached out as if he were prepared to catch her as she collapsed—or maybe exploded, given the bracing tension in his face. But she made it far enough on her own so that she was sitting on her hips. Turning her head, she grimaced. Half her neck was a steel band that did not appreciate any attempt to maneuver it. Her shoulders were the same.

But she was alive.

“I want to go,” she said. “Now.”

He pointed across a cluttered room full of boxes and shelves of God only knew what. “There’s the door. You want me to help you?”

When she looked surprised, he said dryly, “I’m not keeping you here. You’re free to leave whenever you want.”

“So where am I.”

There was a telling pause. “You’re—”

“Here, right.” She pointed to the mattress she was on. “Here.”

Lickety-split, memories came to her: She remembered the phone call she’d answered as she had rushed to meet Luke in that alley for the first time, her direct report’s warning urgent and rough. Then she re-called coming to in front of that marble fountain, Mozart putting that photograph in her face and saying her real name. And finally, she was back on the floor of that fetid apartment, bound and gagged, listening to her colleagues walk around above her, for hours.

After which came the switchblade, the dog . . . Luke and his rescue.

The culmination of it all was ironic as hell: Luke had brought her exactly where she had wanted to go all along.

She was close to the supplier’s lair, if not actually inside of it.

She knew this in her gut.

Rio eased back against the wall. Then cursed as the injury on her head raised its proverbial hand in ouch class.

“Yes, I’m hungry.” She tucked one arm behind her skull at an angle where it didn’t hurt. “And thirsty. And I’d like to go to the bathroom.”

“I can help you with everything—”

“There was a nurse,” she blurted.

“There still is. She’s just out grabbing something to eat. She’ll be back.”

“What did she say was wrong with me?”