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“Here.” She put the guard’s gun in his palm. “You take this. I’ve got another.”
As they departed the pool, the Jackal instructed Kane to take the front position in the lineup because of all of them, he was the least controversial, the least likely to be noticed by the guards. Mayhem was on the left flank. Lucan on the right.
Nyx was in between the two of them.
The Jackal was right behind her. With the weapon she’d given him in his hand.
Finally, in the wake of their little squadron, quite a bit in the rear, the caboose to their train was Apex. The male would lag at quite a distance, something that was a tactical advantage as well as the kind of thing he would have done anyway. He didn’t get close to anybody, and one might have assumed that that loner habit would have been incompatible with this kind of concerted effort. But Apex loved killing guards. It was his favorite pastime. He wasn’t here for Nyx, or even the Jackal, who he did owe a debt to.
No, he was looking forward to drawing blood—and he often did. If a guard disappeared and no body was found? Chances were Apex had done the deed, and then cooked up the remains and ate them to cut down on the conversation. His success and privacy around these clandestine murders were assured by the prisoner’s code. As vicious and self-serving as most of the people incarcerated were, they never stepped across the aisle to share information like that—plus there was the reality that they were more scared of Apex than the Command’s henchmales. And as for the Command? Had it noticed that it had missing guards? Given the complex schedule, it must have, but it hadn’t retaliated against Apex. Not yet, at any rate.
Including that male in their plan was a gamble. The last thing the Jackal needed was a rogue aggressor on their team. In the end, though, he’d decided that the value the violent fighter brought in a knock-down/drag-out was worth the risk, and in any event, it was too late to change things up now. Apex was already on the hunt.
As they cautiously emerged out of the hidden passage, and walked in a loose configuration deeper into the prison, they came upon a few prisoners shuffling along. And soon, many others. There was always a flow of people going in and out of the Hive. Then again, that was where the black market trading took place. Where many of the hookups started—and some actually occurred. Where people connected for whatever reason, whether it was arguing, fighting, even laughing and card-playing. Or all that sex.
Given what work was like for so many of them, and the bleak existence they groaned through during their off-hours, one could not blame the congregation of the damned. But with all those fallow attention spans, he was worried about attracting notice—and not just from the guards.
Fortunately, Kane, Lucan, and Mayhem were often seen around him. And he had to believe if they kept tight, and Nyx dropped that head of hers, the assumption would be there was Nothing Here, Nothing Here at All.
And no one messed with Apex. So he was a nonstarter in that regard—
As the first waft of the telltale stench hit the Jackal’s nostrils, he assessed it as if for the first time, as Nyx would take it in. The combination of sweat and dirt, sex and corporeal decay, was a stain in the sinuses, the kind of thing you smelled long after you had left the vicinity.
He wanted to take her hand. Just reach forward and touch her in some way so she knew he was right with her.
Instead, he tightened the grip on the gun she had put against his palm.
The noise of the Hive was the next harbinger to register. The low-level, resonant humming was the genesis of the nomenclature, and he thought the reference to bees was apt on another level. The guards were not stupid. A concentration that thick of prisoners was a wasp nest waiting to explode, and they took no chances with any roiling or agitation.
But shifts had to change. Even the Command couldn’t keep those guards working around the clock forever. The Jackal and Nyx had only a sliver of opportunity, the duration of which was not much longer than the blink of an eye. He’d studied the patterns for decades. He knew exactly when it was going to come, and how long it would last, and where they had to go.
Focusing on the female in front of him, he thought of what they’d shared by the pool. What she had given him. Ironic, that the very thing he had demanded of her had created a debt in her favor from him. He would do right by her and honor her need to know the fate of her blood.
