The Jackal (Black Dagger Brotherhood - Prison Camp 1)

“See what you drive males to?”

As he stalked off, she called out, “I get along with most people, you know.”

“If you believe that, you’re delusional as well as obstinate,” he tossed over his shoulder as he kept on going.

Before he did something stupid.

Like kiss her.

Although that was their deal, wasn’t it. He got her to her sister. She gave him what he wanted.

Fates, that was a tricky bargain, he thought as he left her in the dust. Because it had to just be about the sex. He had to remain emotionless and apart from her, only the physical side of things connecting.

“Not a problem,” he told himself.

Things kept up as they were, and he couldn’t wait to get rid of her.

As Nyx waited by the fire pit, she kept the knife she had almost used on that big Lucan guy against the palm of her dominant hand. Left on her own, her heart beat fast and her eyes skimmed around the secret gathering place, tracking shadows that did not move and contours that remained the same. Underground water easing out of fissures in the walls slicked the stone, and in the candlelight, she could pick out the carving marks that were testament to the effort that had gone into creating the space.

Had the Jackal made this with the others? Over a period of years? Decades? She couldn’t fathom the time lost.

She took out a burner cell phone and looked at the time. Four hours had passed since she had left the farmhouse. It felt like four years. Naturally, there was no signal down here—and she hadn’t expected there to be one—but she had plenty of battery life. And with the lack of notifications, she wondered if Posie had sent anything that hadn’t gone through. Her sister must have noticed her too-long absence by now. Unless . . . maybe Peter was in crisis. Had he died yet?

Probably.

The idea that she’d had to choose between sisters sucked.

Nyx checked the screen on her phone one last time, focusing on her wallpaper. It was a photograph she’d taken back in June, of the front of the farmhouse. Its lights were aglow, the cheerful yellow illumination spilling out onto the lawn and flowing over the peony beds that were in full bloom.

In her mind, she told Posie she would be back soon. But she didn’t say the words out loud because she feared they were a lie.

Then she turned off the unit to save the battery life and zipped it into an inside pocket.

Glancing over her shoulder, she thought she heard footsteps. No. It wasn’t the Jackal coming back, and it wasn’t anybody else, either.

That male drove her nuts. Especially because he was right. She was being reckless, and if she kept rolling the crazy dice, snake eyes was going to come up and get her.

God, she hoped he was being honest with her.

Unable to stay still, she walked around the fire pit three or four times. Stopped and looked again to the tunnel where her host had gone. When he’d suggested he be the one to go get her pack, she’d agreed. Had that been a mistake? Was he even now selling her grandfather’s weapons and ammo on the prison’s black market, or whatever they called it?

She should have gone with him—

The sound of heavy footfalls brought her head up, and when she recognized the scent, she wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or not.

The Jackal emerged from the darkness, and he had something in his arms.

“I got some food,” he said as he headed by her. “I figured you must be hungry.”

When he kept right on going, she didn’t immediately follow, and he glanced over the provisions at her. “Are you coming?”

“We’re not staying here?”

“Does it look like there’s a bath where you’re standing.”

Falling into step with him, she peeled her pack from his shoulders and strapped it on. “So where’s this bath place?”

“Close.”

Some distance along, he stopped short. Looked both ways. Triggered something. “We’re here.”

As a section of the rock walling slid back, Nyx recoiled. But not because things smelled bad.

On the contrary, the scent of clean water was as obvious as it was a surprise.

Nyx walked forward, called by the relief from the cloying aroma of earth. As she entered a narrow passageway, she rushed forward, her way lit by candles that flared one by one down at the floor. In the back of her mind, she had the sense that he was lighting her path, willing the wicks to life.

Then she made a corner and faltered as she confronted a dense black space. The sound, though . . . oh, that was gently falling water. And there was humidity in the air—and warmth.

The Jackal stepped into the darkness behind her. “This is where I go when I need . . .”