The Wolf (Black Dagger Brotherhood: Prison Camp #2)(69)

As he stared at her, there was a blank look in his eyes.

Rio frowned. “Do you know the difference between the heroin, any cocaine or meth, and the cutting product? And what about fentanyl?”

“Of course. So what do you need?”

He was lying, she thought.

“You know this with enough certainty you’re willing to risk killing him?”

“And how are you such an expert.”

“I’m betting my life on my knowledge, aren’t I,” she said. “If he dies, you’re offing me, right.”

As she just leveled a stare at him, he shrugged. “So tell me what you need.”

A drug dealer who didn’t know his wares. Unbelievable.

“What do you do around here other than look after your partner,” she murmured.

“He’s not my partner.”

“Brother.”

“No.”

“Friend, then.”

The patient coughed a little. And as they both turned toward the man, a slight smile marked the distorted mouth.

“You must excuse him,” the patient said. “He doesn’t know what a friend is.”

Rio leaned over the bed. “We’re going to get you something to help with the pain.”

There was a shuddering breath. “I do my best to bear up. I am weary, though . . . and growing wearier.”

She reached out to pat his arm, but caught herself. “We’re going to take care of it.”

Looking up, she pegged Apex with dead serious eyes. “Aren’t we.”

As she waited for his answer, she saw her brother standing just inside the curtain, dressed in the jeans and the Nirvana t-shirt he’d been wearing when she’d found him dead.

Luis was so real, she felt like she could reach out and touch him.

And that was when she was forced to recognize the real reason she was doing this, the true driver.

She was revisiting her brother’s overdose and using what she’d had to learn. Like if she could ease the suffering of the patient . . . it would somehow recalibrate the too-much her brother had shoved in his vein all those years ago.

It was some existential algebra that didn’t make a lot of sense.

Nothing was going to bring her dead back. Or set right all the bad things that had happened afterward.

These were two totally unconnected events, and no matter the outcome here, it would have no bearing on what had come before.

“Aren’t we,” Rio repeated.



As Lucan faced off at the Executioner and dared the motherfucker to shoot him in the heart, he was picturing all kinds of happy things. Like biting the vampire on the front of the throat. Then ripping the flesh free and spitting it out.

After that amuse-bouche, there was a peg fantasy, where he took the male by the armpits and pushed him against that wall so hard, he was punctured by the dull wooden points.

And behind door number three? Something involving a chain saw.

The latter was a pipe dream, really, considering he was completely surrounded by absolutely no Black & Decker. But the other two hypotheticals? They were goers.

“No?” he drawled when he wasn’t popped in the chest. “Is that a no?”

Considering the amount of metal on the guy—as well as dripping off both of those guards—the no-trigger on all those fingers wasn’t from a lack of available bullets.

“Where is my deal, wolf,” the Executioner said softly. “Where is my money.”

Lucan smiled in a snarl. “I’m working on it.”

“Are you? I don’t see any forward motion from that contact of yours downtown. I have kilos to move, kilos I made a large investment in—and nothing from you. I’m beginning to think you’re not the male for this job, and I believe you know how I fire people.”

The male lifted a hand toward the wall.

Lucan didn’t bother looking at all the obvious. His mind was down in the basement, with Rio. If he died now? Or at any time before he got her off the property?

“You need me.”

“No, you’re expendable,” the Executioner murmured. “Don’t forget it.”

I should never have brought her here, Lucan thought. But what had his options been? He’d had no idea how to help her. How badly she was hurt.

“You will bring me the deal at the end of this coming night.” The Executioner stepped off. “Or I will replace you. There are others who will be helpful.”

Apex, of course. He was the other one attached to Kane.

“Do we understand one another?” the Executioner demanded.

Motherfucker, Lucan thought. Then again, there was only one thing that mattered right now, and it had nothing to do with drugs.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “So am I allowed to go now that you’ve enjoyed this little verbal masturbation session? It’s meant so much to me—”

The Executioner moved fast, outing a flashing knife and putting it to Lucan’s jugular. “Watch your tone.”

Lucan smiled—and leaned into the blade. There was a bite of pain, and then the scent of fresh blood.

Taking a finger, he ran it through the wet spot and then licked the red stain off.

“Hm,” he said. “It never tastes as good when it’s your own, does it.”