The Jackal (Black Dagger Brotherhood - Prison Camp 1) - Page 5
He was more afraid of dying than ever before.
“Dad?”
Rhage shook himself. “Huh? Oh, the movie. I’m thinking Zombieland: Double Tap.”
“Then mint chocolate chip.” The decisiveness made Rhage smile. “And Ben & Jerry’s Minter Wonderland, not the Breyers.”
As Bitty palmed her choice and straightened, the glass door slid back into place with a bump, closing off the cold. “I’m not sure I need a bowl, though. This is just a pint.”
Rhage looked down at what he was holding. He was surprisingly disappointed. They always used their bowls and spoons, which was why Fritz, the butler, kept the two pairs right here, in this far corner of the kitchen. It was part of the ritual.
“Well, then I won’t use one, either.” He put their normal bowls aside, opened a drawer, and got out two dish towels. “Let’s wrap ’em up in this.”
He tossed one to his daughter, traded her a spoon for his half gallon, and they were off, walking through the hotel-sized kitchen, outing via the pantry. As they emerged at the base of the foyer’s grand staircase, he put a hand on Bits’s shoulder.
“I’m glad I’m off tonight.”
“Me, too, dad. How’s your foot? Are you okay?”
“Oh, yeah. No worries.” He kept the pain and the limp to himself. “Bone’s going to heal just fine. Manny took care of it.”
“He’s a good human.”
“He is.”
They walked up the red-carpeted steps together. In spite of the Your Majesty decor, all that gold leafing and the crystal, those marble columns and the painted ceiling high above, this was home. This was where the Black Dagger Brotherhood lived with their families and took care of Wrath, Beth, and L.W. This was where the best lives for all of them transpired, here under this heavy roof, here within these stout stone walls, here protected by the mhis that Vishous threw.
A fortress.
A fucking vault, which was where precious things belonged, safe from theft or destruction.
The movie theater was way down on the second floor, past the Hall of Statues, out into the staff wing. Given that it was after twelve, on a work night, no one was around. The fighters on rotation were out in the field. The injured who needed treatment or rehab were in the training center. And the staff were on break to eat after having cooked, served, and cleaned up First Meal. Meanwhile, Mary was in session with Zsadist down in the basement. Wrath and Beth were playing with L.W. up on the third floor. And the other shellans and kiddos were in the bouncy castle out by the pool.
So it was nice and quiet.
The movie theater was a professional gig: Stadium seating with padded leather ass-palaces. A candy counter and popcorn machine maintained, as everything was, by Fritz. A huge screen, framed by red velvet drapes, that had just been updated. Dolby surround sound and then some, with the kind of woofers that made you feel the T. rex’s footfalls in Jurassic Park all the way through your marrow.
Rhage and Bitty took the two seats right in the middle, halfway up the rows. It was where they’d sat the night before, so the remotes to the computer system were in the drink cupholder between them.
Work of a moment to rent the movie on Amazon and get things rolling.
As they popped their lids and settled in, Rhage exhaled long and slow.
Perfect. This was just—
“Cheers, dad.”
Bitty was holding out her spoon, and Rhage clinked his against it. “Cheers, daughter.”
In the dark, as the adventure in the movie began, Rhage smiled so wide that he forgot about the ice cream. Everything was right in the world. All circles completed. Nothing gray in any area of his life.
He had his daughter.
He had his beloved shellan.
He had his brothers and his buddies.
Yes, there was stress, and the threat to the species continued, and the fucking humans were always up to shit. But he felt like his life was similar to this fortress of a house.
Solid against the storms and assaults of Fate.
Capable of withstanding anything that was thrown at it.
It was the first and only time he had ever felt like this, and it made him believe, deep in his bones, that no matter what, nothing was going to change. His Mary was his heart and soul. His Bitty, his future and his hope. His brothers and friends, the limbs on his body.
And what a wonderful thing that all was.
Digging into his Rocky Road . . . he had no idea what was coming his way. If he had, he would have chosen a much different ice cream.
Like motherfucking vanilla.
Caldwell, New York, 1913
“Oh, but she was a lovely one, she was. And her sister. Right?”
As Jabon the Younger went on about things that had been already forgotten by the party being addressed by him, a sense of restless boredom crept up Rhage’s body sure as if it was sewage seeping through the floorboards of the pub. Indeed, he had to relieve himself not just of this tedious company, but the place he was in. The air here was thick with the sour sweat of raucous patrons and the cloying mead from the tankards that abounded in every meaty fist.
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