The Wolf (Black Dagger Brotherhood - Prison Camp 2)

Squeezing her eyes shut, Rio trembled, and her nausea came back—especially as that strange smell she’d caught as soon as the man had revealed himself grew loud in her nose. And without her eyes tracking the carnage, the sounds of it all got unbearably loud: The wet slopping, the ripping, the crunching that had to be bones.

Rio was next.

That was her final thought as her blood pressure gave out entirely and she—

Rio resurfaced into consciousness slowly. Her head was pounding and she was sick to her stomach . . . and every time she breathed in through her nose, she choked on the stench in the air. Like roadkill and old-lady powder—

“It’s okay, you’re okay.”

Her lids flipped open. Someone was kneeling in front of her, someone her memory told her she knew, yet she couldn’t place . . . a man who was beautiful in a harsh way, his handsome face both stark and concerned, his dark hair on the long side—

His hair was wet. Was it raining?

Given the way his mouth was moving, she had a thought that he was talking to her, and that was when she saw the camera on the tripod behind him. All at once, the whole sordid mess came back to her, from being knocked out at her apartment, to drugged at Mozart’s, to what had happened here—

She needed to warn him. She needed to tell him about the—

“Dog,” she croaked.

As the word came out, she realized she no longer had the gag in her mouth. With a punching expansion of her lungs, one that caused pain everywhere in her body, she breathed in so deep and so hard it was as if she sobbed. Or maybe she was sobbing? And then the tether around her neck tightened and she moaned in fear.

That deep male voice cut through her protest. “It’s all right. I’m just going to untie you. I have to pull on the ropes a little to do it. Shhh . . . it’s okay. I’m going to take care of you.”

All at once, the tension around her throat was gone—and then she heard a shuffle and felt tugging at her ankles. Able to lift her head, she looked down herself and saw . . .

Luke.

It was the supplier, Luke. That’s who he was, and his eyes were full of worry and warmth as he looked at her—

“How . . . find me?” she groaned as he went back to work and cut what appeared to be nylon climbing rope with a knife—

Between one blink and the next, she saw the switchblade he was using right next to her face . . . felt it between her breasts . . . heard the pale man’s accent tell her they were going to stop when she had to catch her breath.

Rio let out a choked sob. “Oh, God. He was going to kill me—”

“Don’t think about that right now.” Luke collapsed the switch, and came back up to her head. “I’m going to get you out of here.”

Strong arms gathered her as if she were cut glass and pulled her into his heavy chest. Even though she didn’t know him, and had every reason not to trust him, she wanted to put her arms around him in gratitude. But she didn’t have the strength.

“I can’t walk,” she mumbled as she turned her face into his neck. “My legs . . . I can’t feel them.”

God, he smelled good. More of that cologne he’d had on before—and it was strong enough to cut through that horrible smell.

He glanced over his shoulder to the door that had been broken down by that animal. “I’ve got to get us a car—”

“Mine is . . .” Back at Mozart’s—no, at her apartment. Which was miles and miles, and a lifetime, away. “Gone.”

“I’ll figure it out.” He set her back a little. “I’m going to lay you down, okay?”

After he’d lowered her onto the floor once more, he got to his feet and went over to a pack of some sort. “Maybe there are keys in here.”

“What . . . happened . . . dog?” What if the thing came back—

“He’s gone.” Luke spoke absently as he continued to rifle through whatever was in the bag. “He’s how I found you, actually.”

It was then that she turned her head—and retched. Across the room, looking like he’d been holding a bomb to his chest when it exploded . . . was the white-haired man: His naked body was sprawled in the far corner, a bloody smear pattern tracking across the dirty floor like he’d been dragged over there.

“Dear God,” she mumbled.

Whether it was the desecration of that body, or dehydration, or that cloth gag, her mouth was like steel wool, the inside of her cheeks chewed raw, her tongue nothing but a dry slab between her rows of teeth.