The Jackal (Black Dagger Brotherhood: Prison Camp #1)(86)

Right before the explosion, Nyx had been too busy screaming at the guards to drop their weapons to notice what Kane was doing. But the instant that high-pitched beeping had gone off, both she and the Command had looked toward him.

His collar had been in his hands.

And he had looked at Nyx. Even though it had only been for a split second, his expression was engraved in her brain. He had seemed so incredibly sad and resigned . . . but there had been an affection in his eyes as well.

After which he had looked at Jack.

It was clear Kane was doing what he was to give them a chance to survive.

The blast had been so violent, she had flown back into thin air, or maybe the Command, who was in front, had pushed her—either way, Nyx had known the landing was going to be a bitch. Not only had they traveled a distance away, there also was a five-foot drop to the stone floor—and she was right. All of the breath was knocked out of her lungs as the Command landed on top of her.

Fighting to stay conscious, Nyx told her arms to continue pulling— she needed to keep the pressure on or the Command was going to escape—

The elbow went into Nyx’s side like someone had stabbed her with a crowbar, the pain blooming in a new place unrelated to her shoulder blades, her ass, or her head. As the remaining oxygen pushed out of her lungs, her vision went black and white and her arms became nonresponsive, falling loose. The Command took immediate advantage of this, those black robes left behind as the female wriggled out and jumped free.

From her sprawl on the rock floor, Nyx caught an indelible image of the female she had once known as her sister standing up. There was nothing but a black bodysuit and leggings under those folds of black, and with her red hair spilling down her back, she was a discordant flash of beauty as she looked up at the ceiling of the prison’s largest open space.

The Command twisted around and glanced down at Nyx.

For a moment, there was a flare of recognition, a return to who they had once been to each other, the reconnection brought out by the mortal near-miss of the explosion. Or . . . perhaps Nyx saw the instant for what she wanted it to be, because part of her was stuck in the past.

And then the ceiling collapsed.

Fissures spread like tears in paper over the three posts, and the fall of rocks was not gradual, but a dam released.

Directly over Jack.

Nyx screamed and jumped up from the floor—only to rear back and cover her face with her cuffed hands. Through the lattice of her fingers, she saw bad news get worse. The post Jack was chained to began to list, and it didn’t stop with a tilt. It went all the way over, crashing onto a pile of bleeding, disorientated, de-limbed guards. The fact that it didn’t land flush to the ground was all that kept Jack from losing his arms.

Yelling his name, she lunged for the dais—but as more fell from the ceiling, she was forced back, rocks the size of her bouncing off the stage, rolling toward her as if they were on the side of the guards. Slipping, skipping, paddling with her pinned arms, she dodged them, lost her balance, got up again.

“Jack!” she screamed into the noise, the debris, the dust.

He must have been killed. There was no way he could have—

The second post fell, the one Mayhem was chained to.

“Jaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!”

Fuck it, she was going in.

Just as she rushed forward, a figure was revealed in the midst of the collapsing cave, a figure strong and true, who defied the destruction around him.

The instant Jack saw her, he took two leaping strides and went airborne like Superman, flying through the air with his arms out in front. Chains, heavy and silvered, came with him, tendrils of the prison dragging him down. And yet somehow, he landed on a roll and sprang up to his feet—and he wasted no time at all. Grabbing her hands, he pulled her away from the dais, and they ran together, down the center of the Hive’s littered space.

Faster, faster . . . in spite of the chains they both wore.

When they came to the main tunnel, he took her to the right. Nyx’s lungs were burning, her throat sore from the dust and the yelling, her nerves shot. But she couldn’t slow down.

The next thing she knew, they were back on his cell block, and he took her past where he stayed. There was no one on any of the beds or in the shallow spaces. Gone. The prisoners were all gone—

Jack grabbed her wrists and yanked her around a corner. Then he stopped.

They were both breathing so hard, there could be no words. Not until they had panted enough to do anything other than suck in the stale, earthy air.

“. . . secret . . . way . . . ,” he panted, “. . . out. There’s a secret way out.”

“Let’s go,” she gasped. “Where?”

His brilliant blue eyes bored into hers. And then he brought his hand up, as if he were going to stroke her cheek. The chains, so many of them, came up with his arm.

“Goddamn it.” He looked around at the tunnel. “We have to move fast. I don’t know how structurally sound anything is. This whole place could come down on top of us.”

Sure enough, under her boots, she felt the earth moving. At his nod, they took off again, running, running, their footfalls drowned out by the sound of the chains that bound them, their strides slowed by her pinned wrists and shuffling gait.

She lost track of where they were, but then she smelled . . . bread?

Was that bread?

He pulled her to a halt at the end of whatever passageway they were in.