Lover Awakened (Black Dagger Brotherhood #3)(61)

Chaos exploded. The private guard went after Phury. The hellren went after Zsadist with a knife.

Killing the court’s soldiers was a long and bloody process, and by the time Phury could get free of the hand-to-hand, there was no sign of Zsadist, just a bloody trail out of the cell.

Phury took off down the corridor, running through the underground of the castle, following the red streaks. When he emerged from the keep it was nearly dawn, so he knew he had to find Zsadist with alacrity. As he paused to get his bearings, he heard a rhythmic noise snapping through the air.

A whipping.

Over to the right, Zsadist had been strung up from a tree on the cliff, and against the vast backdrop of the sea, he was being whipped raw.

Phury attacked the three guards who were lashing his twin. Though the males fought hard, he was in a wild fury. He slaughtered them and then released Zsadist, only to see more guards coming out of the bulkhead in a block of five.

With the sun about to rise, and the glow burning his skin, Phury knew there was no time left. He slung Zsadist over his shoulders, grabbed one of the pistols the guards had been armed with, and shoved the weapon into his belt. Then he eyed the cliff and the ocean below. Not the best route to freedom, but far better than trying to fight his way toward the castle. He started running, hoping to launch them far enough out so that they fell into the ocean.

A throwing dagger caught him in the thigh, and he stumbled.

There was no catching his balance or stopping his momentum. He and Zsadist tumbled over the lip of the cliff and skidded down the rock face until Phury’s boot got caught in a crevice. As his body was yanked to a halt, he scrambled to hold on to Zsadist, knowing damn well that the male was out cold and going to drown if he fell into the water unattended.

Zsadist’s blood-slick skin slid out of Phury’s grip, slipped free—

He caught his twin’s wrist at the last second and squeezed hard. There was a massive jerk as the male’s heavy body was stopped, and pain ricocheted up Phury’s leg. His vision faded. Came back. Faded again. He could feel Zsadist’s body dangling in midair, a perilous sway that challenged his hold unmercifully.

The guards peered over the edge and then measured the gathering light, shielding their eyes. They laughed, sheathed their weapons, and left him and Zsadist for dead.

As the sun gathered on the horizon, Phury’s strength quickly drained, and he knew he couldn’t hold Zsadist for long. The light was awful, burning, adding to the agony he already felt. And no matter how hard he pulled his leg, his ankle remained trapped.

He fumbled for the pistol, pulling it free of his waistband. With a deep breath, he aimed the muzzle at his leg.

He shot himself below the knee. Twice. The pain was astounding, a fireball in his body, and he dropped the gun. Gritting his teeth, he’d planted his free foot into the cliff and pushed with everything he had in him. He screamed as his leg splintered and came apart.

And then there was the yawning void of empty air.

The ocean had been cold, but it had shocked him into consciousness and sealed up his wound, keeping him from bleeding out. Dizzy, nauseous, desperate, he’d forced his head above the choppy waves, his death grip on Zsadist the only constant. Dragging his twin into his arms, keeping the male’s head above water, Phury swam to shore.

Blessedly, there was a cave entrance not far from where they’d taken the plunge, and he used his last reserve of strength to get the two of them toward the dark mouth. After dragging himself and Zsadist from the water, he was all but blind as he went as far into the cave as he could. A curve in the natural architecture was what saved them, giving them the darkness they needed.

In the back, away from the sun, he sheltered them behind large rocks. Gathering Zsadist into his arms to conserve their body heat, he stared ahead into the blackness, utterly lost.

Phury rubbed his eyes. God, the image of Zsadist chained on that bedding platform…

Ever since the rescue he’d had a repeating nightmare, one that never failed to be a fresh horror each time his subconscious coughed it up. The dream was always the same: Him racing down those hidden stairs and throwing open the door. Zsadist tied down. Catronia in the corner, laughing. As soon as Phury was in the cell, Z would turn his head and his black, lifeless eyes would look up from out of an unscarred face. In a hard voice he would say, “Leave me here. I want to stay…here.”

That was Phury’s cue to wake up in a cold sweat.

“What’s doing, my man?”

Butch’s voice was jarring, but welcome. Phury scrubbed his face, then glanced over his shoulder. “Just enjoying the view.”

“Lemme give you a tip. That’s what you do on a tropical beach, not standing out in this kind of cold. Look, come eat with us, okay? Rhage wants pancakes, so Mary’s backed a dump truck full of Bisquick into the kitchen. Fritz is about to levitate, he’s so worried about not being able to help.”

“Yeah. Good deal.” As they headed inside, Phury said, “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure. What do you need?”

Phury paused by the pool table and picked up the eight ball. “When you worked in homicide, you saw a lot of f*cked-up people, right? People who’d lost their husbands or their wives…sons or daughters.” When Butch nodded, he said, “Did you ever find out what happened to them? I mean, the ones who were left behind. Do you know if they ever got over the shit?”