The Wolf (Black Dagger Brotherhood: Prison Camp #2)(11)

And goddamn, the fact that the male had started shaving his head hardly made him look any warmer and fuzzier.

“You don’t have to come back here,” Apex said. “You could just disappear down in the city.”

“You know exactly why I come back. And I’m not justifying my rock and a hard place to the likes of you.”

The other male’s mouth lifted in what would have been a smile on another person’s puss. Considering who and what he was, the movement was merely a way of flashing fangs.

“Don’t get defensive over the death you choose for yourself, wolf. Or do you think this is going to end in another way for you?”

Lucan stepped right up to the full-bred vampire, getting so close that their pecs touched. Then he returned the smile, exactly as it was given to him.

“Since when do you worry about anybody but yourself.” He kept his voice level. “And if you’re making a threat here, how about you try something right now. I’ve had a shitty night and could use the fucking exercise.”

Apex’s gleaming onyx eyes narrowed. “You’re such an animal.”

“So. Are. You—”

“Hey, hey, now, boys. Can’t we just take a deep breath here?”

Mayhem joined the fun and games, but more as a bandleader than a brawling participant. Throwing his muscled arms around the proverbial bomb that was about to explode, he looked back and forth.

“Come on, I want you two to kiss and make up. Then follow me. I hijacked a pizza-delivery guy heading to a football party—don’t worry, I let him go, and I’ll bring back his car with the cost and tips. I got the receipt as well as his insurance card with his address on it. What was I saying—oh, right. I got hot Domino’s right out back. Come on!”

Apex punched Lucan’s shoulders, and the double hit felt good. Then there was a pause, as if he were being given the chance to fight back. When he decided not to, Apex stepped off.

“I’m watching you.”

Lucan’s upper lip twitched. “Anytime, motherfucker.”

The other male up and dematerialized, and Lucan broke away and paced around in a circle.

“He likes you,” Mayhem said. “Under all that, he really likes—”

“Are you crazy?”

“Well, no. At least I don’t think so. Anyway, pizza?”

Lucan rubbed his face. “Yeah, I’m starved.”

“Come on, I’ll take you to it.”

At that, Lucan finally focused properly on the perennial third wheel. With his black-and-white hair, and colorless eyes, Mayhem was built powerful enough, and he could back himself up if he had to, but he was too goddamn easygoing to be a primary threat.

“I need to go see the Executioner,” Lucan heard himself say.

“Food first. You’re too hangry not to get yourself in a bad situation.”

It was good advice, from a source that was better known for being annoying. But beggars/choosers and all that.

As they started to walk to the emergency exit together, Mayhem tacked on, “And the good news is that only one of the pizzas is that Hawaiian bullshit. Why anybody puts pineapple and ham together on a bed of perfectly fine mozzarella is beyond me.”

“Humans are weird.”

And a helluva lot less dangerous than the people I’m living with, Lucan thought to himself.





By the time Rio arrived in the vicinity of her last stop of the night, her left leg was humming a tune to the beat of her heart, boom, boom, boom . . .

Wasn’t there a song like that? Charlie X or something. She’d heard it on Sirius every fifteen minutes a couple of years ago.

As she continued along, favoring the opposite side gave her a pronounced limp, and did little to relieve the spikes of pain flooding her nervous system. The good news was she had only one more block to go, and this was what Motrin was for, right? There was a half-used economy bottle of the stuff in the glove compartment of her car—and, bonus, her beater was even closer now that she’d made this rerouting from that alley.

Swinging her eyes around, she double-checked there was no one following her. The walk-ups on both sides of the street were tall-and-thins, squeezed in with mere inches between mismatched sets of aluminum siding. Occupancy was fifty-fifty at best, and you could tell which buildings were legally lived in by whether the windows were covered up. If there were drapes pulled or sheets strung between nails, there were people paying rent inside. The rest of the flats were fair game for squatting, broken glass panes and dim candlelight sad testament to the lost souls seeking refuge from their demons in the very pockets of urban Hell.

This neighborhood was incredibly dangerous after dark, a battle-ground for street gangs and drug suppliers, the unfortunate civilians who existed in the airspace between territory conflict and illegal commerce collateral damage in more ways than one. Thanks to the storm and all the police gathering down under the bridge, the corners were clear. But they weren’t going to stay that way for long.

And she would have come anyway, even if it had been business as usual.

As she came to the walk-up she was looking for, she glanced around again. Then she went up the chipped and stained concrete steps. No reason to knock. Mickie had guards all over the place. He already knew she was here.

Pulling open the pitted door, a waft of dank-and-dreadful hit her square in the face. There were two apartments on each floor, with a central staircase lacing up the center of the building, and as she hit the carpeted steps, the ascent put so much pressure on whatever was going on in her left leg that she ended up having to use the sticky banister. At every new level, she paused to make sure she had the bead on her surroundings right: No one behind her. No one in front. Nobody coming out at her from the abandoned flats, the doors of which were all open.