The Jackal (Black Dagger Brotherhood: Prison Camp #1)(93)

Where had the cuffs gone, she wondered. She’d had them when she’d emerged from underground.

As her arm started to tremble, she lowered it and leaned into the basin.

Where was Jack? Had he found his young? Was he still alive?

With painful clarity, a memory of her male, with his long hair loose around his muscled shoulders, his brilliant blue eyes heavy lidded and looking at her, came to the forefront of her mind. The image lingered, tangible as a living, breathing thing, as ephemeral and heartbreaking as a ghost—

Dripping got her attention and she glanced over her shoulder.

The tub was starting to overflow. How long had she been staring at herself?

She reached to the side and cranked the faucets off.

That was when she looked down at herself. Her tunic was covered with mud and blood, just like her face. As it was damp, the folds were cold, and as she peeled the thing off, the smell of the prison entered her nose.

The knocking on the closed door made her curse. “I’m just getting undressed. Give me a damn minute.”

That’s right, she told herself. Come back from the brink of death . . . to bitch at your sister like it was business as usual.

Posie’s voice was strident. “Five more minutes then.”

Nyx shook her head as she started to undo her pants. When her back let out a holler, she twisted around to inspect the damage. The bruising from when she’d landed after the explosion was extensive, the purple patches up at her shoulders and down on one hip.

She thought about her strangling the Command, those cuffs wrapped around the female’s throat—and suddenly she remembered. Her grandfather had taken them off. In the car. He’d gotten behind the wheel, leaned into the passenger seat, and she’d heard something like change rattling in a pocket. Then he’d turned and told her to put out her hands.

He’d had a ring of tiny keys. The sixth one had worked.

Moving her shoulder into the mirror’s view, she pushed at the red stripe on the outside of her biceps. And remembered getting shot. In fact, every time she blinked, more flashes of memory came back, and they were so vivid, she heard the sounds and smelled the smells that went along with them.

Screams. Moldy, damp air. Gunpowder.

Blood. So much blood.

Thrusting the recollections aside, she refocused on her pants. They came off only with effort, the wet, muddy fabric clinging to her legs— and she had a thought about how much of a mess she must have made in the back of the Volvo.

When she dropped them to the old tiled floor, the fleshy sound they made turned her stomach.

Before she got in the water, she used the toilet because Posie had said she had to. And it was the best piddle she had had in her entire life, the only thing that had felt good in what seemed like an eternity.

The bath was even better. But it came with the price of thinking of the hidden pool. Of Jack. Of them being together.

As she sank into the warm, gentle embrace of the water, she knew she was going to have to get used to the mourning. It was a part of her now, something as permanent as her arms and legs, as dispositive as the beat of her heart and the draw of her lungs.

Laying her head back on the curve of the tub, she closed her eyes and the tears that escaped were hot as they slid down her cheeks . . . and joined the now dirty brown bath water.

Knock, knock—

“I’m fucking fine,” she snapped.

The door opened anyway. Posie leaned in. Looked in. And then retreated with a warning that there would be another five-minute check coming.

Aware that she had to get on with it, Nyx sat up and gripped the sides of the tub. Rising to her feet in the water, she couldn’t believe how filthy things had gotten. She turned on the shower at the same time she took the drain plug out.

Posie was wrong. She did manage to stand on her own, although she made sure she didn’t let things get too hot.

Soap was a revelation. Shampoo and conditioner as well.

Nyx reflected, as she tilted her head back and winced from the sting at her temple and the stiffness, that when you did something every day, you got used to the benefits of the service. Cleanliness. Clean water. Food that was unspoiled and prepared to taste. Rest on a soft bed in a safe place. It was a luxury to complain about inconveniences like parking tickets and coworkers who reheated cod in the company microwave and storms that took your power for a night and plumbing that leaked.

Nyx had to wash her hair through twice.

And when she got out, the dirt rim around the white porcelain was so thick, it was like a stain. She had a thought that she should get the Scrubbing Bubbles right now, but she didn’t have the energy. Then, as she toweled off, she realized she hadn’t brought anything in with her to change—

On the back of the door, a pink bathrobe had materialized on the towel hook.

Posie had clearly done another checkin.

Nyx wrapped herself in the softness and cranked the tie around her waist. As she went to open the door, she noted every single ache and pain. Considering what she had been through, it could have been so much worse.

She had Jack to thank for all of that. His blood, so pure and strong, had sustained her.

The bathroom door opened soundlessly. Then again, it had had plenty of Posie warm-ups.

Beneath her bare feet, the floorboards creaked softly and she smelled something coming from the kitchen that made her mouth water. Onions sautéing. Beef.

Posie was making her something to eat—