The Wolf (Black Dagger Brotherhood: Prison Camp #2)(89)

Lucan weaved on his feet, and the collapse that was coming his way speeded up like it was a boomerang looking for the hand that threw it: One minute he was holding his own against gravity; the next, he was horizontal, his face back in the dirt, his body not responding to all kinds of get-up, get-up, get-up’s.

After that, there was a split second of relative silence. Which was followed by a helluva lot of noise.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

“Mayhem! I need the code—he’s dying! What’s the code—”

Lucan threw his hand out toward Rio’s voice, and he got something on her, an ankle, he supposed. “Rio—”

“I need the code! Mayhem—”

“Shh. Rio. Listen to me.” When it was clear he wasn’t getting anywhere, he used what felt like the last of his strength to yell, “Rio!”

There was a pause, and then her voice was very close to his ear. “I’m getting help. I just need to get help—”

“Listen.” When she fell silent, he talked fast because he knew he was out of time. “I’m so glad I met you—”

“What are you talking about? I need to—”

Lucan grabbed at thin air—and then happened to snag her hand. Pulling her back down, he said hoarsely, “I wish we’d had more nights and days, you and me. I think we really could have been something.”

“Stop talking. Save your strength.”

As he went quiet, he wasn’t sure whether he was following her directive—or was just about to stop breathing altogether.

He wished he could have told her more because they had had more together. More time, more peaceful surroundings, more kissing.

More . . . love.

But that, his dying heart knew, was not a gift given to the likes of drug dealers and half-breeds.

And more was the pity.





Through the swirling smoke and terrible grilled-meat smell of burning flesh, Rio restarted with the pounding on the metal panel. She couldn’t hear the sound the impacts were making or what she was yelling. All she was aware of was that Luke was facedown on the ground beside an out-and-out bonfire and she needed to get him back inside.

“Mayhem!”

She glanced back at Luke. His big body was in a sprawl, and one of his hands seemed to be smoking—and it was obvious what had happened. Even though there were no gas fumes in the air, he’d clearly used an accelerant on the dead body and tossed a match, and the explosion had blown up in his face and lit him on fire. In a fit of self-preservation, he’d done a stop, drop, and roll, and she worried about what the front of him looked like.

God, she prayed his lungs were okay.

“Help!” she yelled.

Right next to them, the fire was doubling and redoubling, the heat curling off the remains of the guard in ever greater intensity. If the blaze kept growing, she was going to have to drag Luke away—

The door flew open, something breaking through it—a black bag—no, the other guard’s body had been used like a battering ram. And as she caught sight of the shallow stairwell, she had a split second image of Mayhem with his arm raised to cover his face, his balance falling away, his body landing back on the pine steps like he’d passed out.

Just before the door clapped shut, she buttressed it with her hip and then she extended her leg and held it in place with her foot.

After that, her superpowers kicked in.

Even though Luke had a hundred pounds on her, she somehow found the strength to hook a hold under his arms and pull him toward the stairs. Naturally, his body caught the damn doorjamb, but then it was on the panel, and keeping things wide as she yanked—yanked—yanked—

As his boots finally cleared the threshold, things started to shut and she had a final glimpse of the fire, a final inhale of that horrible stench of burning flesh. Then there was a hard impact slam, followed only by breathing. Ragged breathing. Hers. Mayhem’s.

Not Luke’s, though.

He was horribly still.

The door at the head of the stairs opened, and Apex’s voice barely surmounted the panting. “Jesus.”

Things started happening at that point, but she was having trouble tracking it all. Apex picked Luke up and carried him inside, and then Mayhem was next, like they were cordwood being stacked. Marshaling her own coordination—or what was left of it—she stumbled up the steps and tried the door, which had re-closed on itself. It was locked. What was the code?

Apex opened the thing before she could even try it once.

“I got you.” He grabbed her as she fell forward. “In you go.”

With a practiced move, as if they were dancing, he spun her around and she felt a seat come up to her butt as her legs went loose. It took her a minute to focus, and then she looked across the private quarters. Mayhem was stirring on the floor by the door. Luke was on the bed, sprawled faceup—but at least he was breathing.

Such high standards.

Pushing herself to her feet, she went over on unsteady legs and sat down by him. The burns on his face weren’t so bad, just a flushing redness, and his sweatshirt was perfectly intact.

That one hand she was worried about, as it was red and swollen.

And then there were those lungs. He’d clearly breathed in fire, to have that much of a reaction and yet show so little external damage on his body.

“We should get him treatment,” she whispered.