The Wolf (Black Dagger Brotherhood: Prison Camp #2)(43)

“You don’t want to go this alone, wolven,” the male said in a low voice as he yanked the water back. “And I’m not talking about whatever the fuck is happening in this sieve of a house. I’m talking about the prison camp. We’re down to three hundred males and females, and the Executioner needs every one of us. You’re allowed to go to Caldwell and make the deals because he’s got you fucked hard if you don’t. That leeway doesn’t go on forever. You’re going to be missed unless someone covers for you, or were you planning on leaving here in less than an hour for check-in?”

“Fuck.” Lucan paced around. “I can’t go yet.”

“Then what are you doing about check-in.” When Lucan didn’t respond, Mayhem held out the plastic jug. “My price is I want to know what the hell is going on. The food and water are free.”

Lucan let his head fall back so he looked up at the shining stars. Then he leveled his stare once again. “Why the hell do you care?”

With a shrug, Mayhem replied, “I don’t have anything better to do. And I haven’t been allowed to watch TV for how long? Your drama is going to be my new favorite show.”

“This is not a fucking game.”

“Didn’t say it was. But I did say you need me and I quoted my price. What do the words cost you.”

Rio’s life, Lucan thought.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

“Excuse me? I’m more like Lucifer.”

“No, you’re more like a toddler.” After a tense glare, Lucan grabbed the jug. “You’re not going down in the cellar. You stay on the first floor.”

As he turned away, Mayhem stuck right on his heel. “Where are your shoes?”

“Not on my feet.”

“I can see that.”

Opening the back door, the two of them stepped into the kitchen—

Mayhem stopped as his nostrils flared. And then he shook his head. “A human. This is about a fucking human?”

At that moment, the cellar door opened and Nadya, the nurse, pulled herself up the last step by the jamb.

Both Mayhem and Lucan jumped forward to help, but she batted them off. And after she caught her breath, she said the one thing Lucan didn’t want to hear.

“We must bring her in. She has had two blows to the head and she needs monitoring. I cannot stay here much longer and you are not going to know what to do for her if she has a seizure.”

Mayhem threw his hands up, went over to the pizza boxes, and flopped the top one open. As he bit into a slice, Lucan cursed.

And cursed some more.



José had just been leaving headquarters, having finished the write-up on the scene at that trap house, when his phone rang. And now he was not on the way home, but heading across town to the urban-most edge of the suburbs.

Home had been the plan, but not the vow. He knew better than to promise his wife anything off-duty related after all these years. It was a good rule of thumb, and one that he was not going to miss when it was no longer an operational imperative.

“Yeah, yeah, I see it.” He switched his cell to his other ear, the one that had always been better at its job. “It’s brick, right? Three stories—yeah, I’m just pulling in now. Yup, there you are.”

Parallel parking his unmarked in between a truck and a minivan, he got out and locked up. His headache, which had been a constant background noise for a good hour or two now, had mysteriously disappeared as soon as he’d answered the call from the captain. Who refused to be known as chief.

All things considered, it should have been the opposite way, he thought as he waited for a couple of cars to pass by. But focusing through discomfort was either a habit or a skill for him.

Either way, he’d refined it over time.

With the coast clear, he jogged across the two lanes. Or shuffled, was more like it.

“Captain,” he said as he lifted a hand.

Standing next to the entrance of an unremarkable brick apartment building, Captain Stanley Carmichael was dressed in plain clothes—which was to say that he was wearing a dark suit. His tie was unknotted, however, the blue strip of silk hanging loose. The man was also smoking, the cigarette between his teeth halfway done, two crushed stubs by his scuffed loafers.

“Thanks for coming, José,” was the exhausted greeting.

“Stan, what’s going on.”

As José came up the short concrete steps, he shoved his hands in his pockets, and thought about the many times they’d stood together and all the different contexts of the proximities: The two of them had gone through the academy at the same time, back a hundred and fifty million years ago. José hadn’t had a lot of patience for the political side of things, however; he’d been too interested in solving crimes. His buddy, on the other hand, had excelled at the palm pressing, but not in a fake way. Even as Stan had risen through the ranks, he’d still stayed plugged in at every level of the hierarchy, from the newbies to the rank-and-file cops to the mayor herself.

“I got a problem,” the captain said.

When the guy just looked off into the distance and continued to smoke, José leaned against the railing on the other side of the brick stoop.

There were times when questions were invasive, even if you’d been invited into the conversation, times when silence and collected breath were preparation for the hard stuff about to come.