The Wolf (Black Dagger Brotherhood - Prison Camp 2)

A gunshot rang out in the hall and she jumped.

“Goodbye, Rio.”

Riding a swell of emotion, she lifted her face for his kiss. But it didn’t come.

He brushed her cheek. “Take care of yourself and don’t look in the rearview. It’s the way of survivors, remember?”

“I don’t want to just survive.” Without you, she added to herself.

“Sometimes it’s the best deal a person gets.”

As he turned away, she raised her voice. “You said you loved me.”

Well, not exactly. But in her desperation, she was willing to play any card she had.

Luke paused. Then he glanced over his shoulder. “You can still love someone, even if you’re not with them. And no matter how painful it is, I’m not in any hurry to get over you, Rio.”

His smile was heartbreaking, full of pain, and yet no regrets.

Rio teared up as he walked away. He didn’t look back when he got to the door. He just punched in the code—and stepped out into chaos.

Lucan made sure the door to the private quarters closed behind him—and then he assessed the seven guards who had lined up in front of Apex and Mayhem.

“Okay, who shot who,” he said to the group as he palmed his gun. “I’m not seeing anybody on the floor.”

“Misfire,” Apex drawled. “The one on the end was cleaning his gun. He didn’t mean to try to put a bullet in me.”

Lucan looked down the line to the guard in question and bared his fangs. “You gotta be careful. Accidents can be deadly.”

The guard took a step forward. “You want to explain that?”

It was pretty obvious what the “that” was. The Executioner was where he’d been left, no change there, and it was clear the decomposition process was starting, the blood pooling in the feet and ankles, which were now purple; the face utterly white; the blood no longer flowing out of the piercings of the pegs, but congealing beneath him on the floor.

“Explain what,” Lucan murmured amicably. ’Cuz sometimes it was good to make people say things out loud.

“That.” The male pointed. “Right there.”

Lucan glanced over. “Why, that’s a door. You use it to go in and out of when you—”

“You’re in deep shit, Lucan. I wouldn’t get cocky.”

Down at the end of the hall, the stairwell door opened, and prisoners started to file through. The lineup of lowered heads, and wrinkled, dirty clothing, and desolated shuffling was a reminder of where they all were. No freedom. Just servitude.

The fact that none of the workers looked up at the congregation in front of the Executioner’s dead body was a commentary on how tired and ill they were.

Lucan thought of what Rio had said. About getting out.

He retrained his stare on the guard.

“Well, if I were you”—he walked right up to the guy—“I’d remember who did that. And enjoyed it while it happened. You know what my kind is like. We relish the kill and it doesn’t matter the context—sometimes it’s to defend our territory. Sometimes it’s to settle a score. And sometimes it’s for fun.”

“Wolf.”

The female voice cut through everything, including the footfalls of all the prisoners filing into the workrooms.

“Great,” Lucan muttered, “another party checks in.”

The head of the guards was tall as a male and just as well muscled, her dark hair pulled back in a severe twist, her affect one of total dominance. And yet even with all that, her eyes were actually the most dangerous part about her. Lucan had learned the hard way that her peripheral vision was incredibly sharp. The only thing better? Her aim. Gossip had it that she’d made her money as an assassin in the human world.

Lucan didn’t question that backstory. Then again, he really didn’t give a fuck.

“You rang,” he said as he looked at her.

“I see you’ve done some redecorating.” She walked forward, her body shifting lithely under the armored plates she wore on the front and back of her torso, as well as down her legs. “Proud of yourself?”

He had to give her credit for all that gear under her weapons. A lot of males who were all about the engagement and the militia shit were too proud, too overconfident, to protect themselves. What they saw as an admission of weakness, she saw as preservation.

She was smart like that.

Which was how she’d managed to quietly gather power, first under the Command, then under the Executioner. And now, it didn’t take a genius to figure out she was going to make her big move.

But he couldn’t let her do that, although not because he wanted to play king himself.

“It was about time to change things around here,” Lucan announced. “A new set of rules. So I’m taking over—”

“Are you.” The smile on the female’s face was about as warm as a winter squall. “You’re underpowered for a coup on the wall, just the three of you.”