Prisoner of Night (The Black Dagger Brotherhood #16.5)(18)

His hair had been short and his face had been shaved when he’d been captured. Now, the apex of him was a garden overgrown, ropes of black cables falling from the crown of his head down around his shoulders, a beard extending from his jaw and chin well past his collarbones to his sternum. The only thing he saw that he recalled was the color of his eyes. Blue. Pale blue.

A dull, pale blue. Beach glass.

He had some passing thought that he needed to keep everything the way it was now. It felt camouflagey, this self-generated bush he could tuck himself behind. Faulty reasoning, that. Where he and that female were going, he was going to stand out like a sore thumb. A neon sign. A cackle in silence.

As his hand reached up to touch the beard, he watched it pull a stroke or two, feeling nothing of whatever texture was against his palm—hard and crinkly like it looked? Or fool-ya-again soft, in spite of the crimp?

He wasn’t sure who had told his arm to rise up. He’d certainly had no conscious thought of making the move.

Something to keep an eye on.

It was a relief to turn away. Towel off. Reach for the latch to open the flimsy door so he could step out. Some faulty part of his brain decided that his introspection was a function of the small lavatory, and provided he never entered that space again, he didn’t have to worry about getting trapped in that cognitive loop once more—which he needed to avoid because he knew where it would lead.

Memories of what had been done to him.

And then the resonance of his current reality: He was either dying or going back to Chalen.

But there wasn’t any contest between those two choices. He was going for the former, hard as a sprinter with a canine behind him.

Reemerging into the cabin’s interior, he realized he should have set some ground rules for Nexi being alone with the female. Considering what lay ahead, nothing good was going to come from scrambling Ahmare’s brain, and shit knew Nexi liked to rewire people—

The two females were standing shoulder to shoulder at the short counter in the galley, passing a package of salami back and forth. Then trading a dull knife to spread mustard and mayonnaise. Next came the plastic-baggie handoff.

They weren’t talking. Or looking at each other. But considering the alternative? Better than he’d expected.

“You know where you kept your clothes,” Nexi muttered over her shoulder.

“Thanks.”

He didn’t know what the hell he was thanking her for. It was more like an apology, except why he was I’m-sorry’ing the fact that he’d gotten hit on the head and had woken up on Chalen’s play table made no sense.

Because you were going to leave her anyway, he thought as he opened the lid of the trunk by the bed. And it seems like not only did she know that, but your lack of emotion may have hurt her.

Duran was quick with getting dressed, pulling on combat pants that had more pockets than slack surface area, as well as a long-sleeved shirt made of lightweight material, and combat boots with almost as much deep-dish tread as they had leather upper. Three of his holsters were in there. He left one behind. Seven of the guns he’d stolen were in there. He left three behind. His ammo belt was still missing two bullets in the lineup, the vacancies together in the middle like a pair of front teeth knocked out.

He couldn’t remember why he’d taken the pair out of order. What he’d shot at.

He couldn’t remember a lot of things. Which was what happened when you were keeping your eye on a prize.

Lots of things unrelated to your Kewpie doll got missed.

Hello, Nexi.

Duran bent down to close the trunk lid, and as he straightened, he wobbled thanks to a wave of dizziness.

“I wish there was time to feed,” he said to no one in particular. Being at his best strength would be a help.

Nexi laughed over at the counter. “I’m out.”

I didn’t ask, he thought, but kept that to himself. The fuel-to-fire ratio was already high just by his mere presence.

“ATV where I left it?” he said.

Nexi turned away from the food and went over to her worktable. Tossing a set of keys at him, she said, “Yes, and I just drove it yesterday. It’s gassed up.”

“Thank you.”

“You can quit that.”

The female, Ahmare, zipped up a backpack. “You’re sure we can borrow this?”

“It’s his anyway.” Nexi went to the door and opened it. “I’m keeping your SUV if you don’t come back. Think of it as rent for me taking care of his shit.”

“She’s not responsible for my actions,” he heard himself say.

“She is now.”

“It’s okay,” Ahmare said as she put a key fob on the counter. “That’s more than fair. And thank you for the food.”

Nexi ignored them both, staring pointedly out at what was left of the night. In the heartbeat of silence that followed, Duran felt like he needed to say something before he took off. The impulse was the same, he supposed, as when you dropped a glass on someone’s floor and were compelled to go for the paper towels.

“Don’t even think about it,” Nexi said tightly. “You want to do right by me, get the fuck out of here and take her with you.”

Odd the parallels in life, he decided as he walked out. When he’d left her the last time, he’d known he was going to see her again and had dreaded it. Now, he knew he wasn’t going to . . . and he dreaded that, too.