The Shadow Prince’s Ruin (Dark Companions #2)

Chapter 1

Hawk

D o sardines ever get canned with sardines that previously tried to shank them, so they’re stuck together for years, until the Grim Reaper opens the container and devours them both? I’ve been at death’s door five times, so I guess I’m long overdue a hot date with Hades.

Today, I am that unlucky sardine, and the guy who almost succeeded at killing me two months ago glares at me from across the van. The two guards escorting us to another prison sit close to the doors at the back, discussing something in low voices. Both Samson and I are cuffed to the floor by our ankles and wrists, too far away from anyone, including each other, to cause any damage.

I should resent being treated like some rabid beast, but let’s be honest, I deserve it. If my cuffs had any slack, I’d be wrapping the chain between them around Samson’s neck.

With no one here to make sure protocol is followed, the younger of the guards, a cute blond with a canine protruding from the line formed by his otherwise straight smile, turns on his cell phone and flashes his colleague something. They both grin.

“What is it? Redheads? Cumshots? Gay?” I ask, letting my gaze linger on the young guard’s eyes. I would do him in a heartbeat, even if he is a bit too muscular for my taste. But then again, nobody’s perfect.

A low grunt echoes between the truck’s steel walls, and the guard stuffs his cell down his pocket. The daylight sneaking through small barred windows offers me a flash of his horrified expression as he stutters, “No, that’s… my kid. Jesus Christ, Coleman, shut the hatch to that filthy mind of yours! I’m sure you can find a dick to suck in your new cell.”

Damn right I can. I’ve had enough going on in the face department to get down and dirty with pretty boys back in high school, and at thirty, I’d be even more of a catch if I hadn’t been unfairly incarcerated. Green eyes and tattoos can make a guy forget such minor details as a murder conviction. I’ve actually had several marriage proposals by mail.

Samson looks up with his bloodshot eyes. “Getting antsy? Not fucked anyone since your last hole sold you out?”

I don’t know why he’s baiting me, because neither one of us can reach the other. We’re stuck like two eunuchs at an orgy.

“I don’t come and tell,” I tell him in a steady voice, because the reality is that between suffering from an infection and barely recovering from this bastard turning my stomach into a pin cushion, I’m not in the mood for procuring blowjobs. At least while in hospital, I got the great news of being STD-free.

“You should be dead!” Samson snarls and spits at me, but his saliva pathetically falls next to my shoe.

I smirk. “With that kind of aim, no wonder you have no kids waiting for you out there.”

Samson lowers his voice. “Next time I’ll aim my knife for your fucking dick. If you survive that, at least you’ll get to live your shittiest life.”

One of the guards scowls at us. “Can you two shut it? You’ll both be in the can for life. Why make yourself even more miserable?”

I hold Samson’s gaze, until his blue eyes are my sole focus, his scarred jaw and the narrow nose that would have been so easy to break, only a blur. “Or maybe magic will save me again, and I’ll end up with an additional inch between my legs. Who knows?”

Samson raises his ass a few inches off the steel bench as if to lunge at me, but the chains don’t let him do shit and he just struggles against them as I laugh.

One of the guards gets up. “That’s enough—!”

The driver starts honking. There’s a screech of tires and gravity suddenly shifts, throwing us around like a bunch of trainers in a washing machine. I grab the bars my chains are attached to, and they prove to be a blessing as my long brown hair flies in my face, obscuring most of my vision. The guards, who were sitting without seatbelts, get smashed against the metal walls, just two sacks of bones and flesh.

The tumble ends in a sudden collision, and I tense every muscle, holding on to the handles by my seat as two bodies fly past me and land on the wall separating this compartment from the cab with a dull thud.

The seatbelt that held me secure now digs into my stomach, reminding me of the ordeal I’ve been through since the shanking, but I open my eyes, trying not to succumb to the sense of nausea pooling in my stomach as the world comes to a halt around me.

The scent of blood is tart in the air as I take in a bloodstained face. The young guard with the protruding canine has his eyes open, but there’s no life behind them anymore. A bundle of keys shines by his belt, and I grab them, elated that they’re close enough.

My mind explodes with promises of freedom, of an escape from the madness of spending the rest of my days behind bars and thick walls, so I ignore the grunting close by and skim through the keys, locked in a state of absolute focus.

Only when I slide the right key into the padlock keeping me chained do I spot a booted foot twitching helplessly.

Fuck.

I look up to spot Samson, blood dripping from his nose and off his bald head. He’s choking the life out of the other guard. I have sympathy for the guy, but my much bigger concern is Samson grabbing the dead guard’s gun.

I open the padlock and pull on the chain.

He aims my way.

I rip one hand free.

He shoots and… misses.

My ears ring from the loud bang, but I grin like a madman and launch myself at Samson, flinging my leg his way. The firearm goes off again, and I feel a rush when gun smoke-scented air swishes all too close to my head, but then my foot collides with the fucker’s head. I slam it against the wall with all the strength I have. The pistol clutters to the floor as Samson attempts to grab my calf, but I flex my entire body and kick his face again and again, seeing red as the side of the truck dips at the impact.

“Don’t even need a shank!” I yell at him, consumed by my fury. The need to end him is so much greater than even finding out if we’re hanging off a cliff.

I know it’s done when he stops moving, his head a stew made of bone, blood, and brains. I’m heaving as I take in the destruction around me. The floor under my feet is uneven, and one of the walls is bent out of shape. I glance through the bars between the back and the cab to confirm that the driver isn’t moving either.

Am I like a cat? Was this my sixth life granted?

Shock slowly leaves my body, replaced by a weakness in every limb, and I stare at the carnage around me, exhausted as if I’d been digging graves all day.

What. The. Fuck.

Not that I’m complaining.

A switch flips in my head and prompts me to free myself from the remaining cuffs and chains. For all I know, the cops are already en route, and as lucky a bastard as I am, opportunities like this one don’t just fall into a prisoner’s lap every day.

I’m meant to spend the rest of my life in prison, with the possibility of parole coming only once I’m old and hopeless. I don’t fucking deserve that. So maybe I’ve made mistakes, and disagreed with the law many times, but my intentions have always been good, and I should get a second chance.

Today, this damn sardine is swimming free.

I’m about to climb out through the wrecked back door, but then go back to pick up the guard’s wallet. It’s not like he’s gonna need it. I’m sorry for him, but it’s not my fault fate had this freak accident in store for him.

A quick browse through his pockets leaves me with some cash, mints, and two condoms. I leave the phones, too worried there might be some tracking apps on there that I don’t know how to disable. I’ve been in the can for five years, and technology has never been my strong suit.

I emerge into the setting sun, blinded by the blood-red sky. The first inhale of fresh, wood-scented air makes my head spin, and when I look around, taking in the brilliant green of the leaves, freedom seems within reach.

I thought I would never again smell the earthy, damp aroma of the forest, but trees are everywhere within sight. Figures. This is Maine.

The transportation truck fell off a small cliff, and shouldn’t be visible from the road, so there’s a chance its failure to arrive at its destination might not be discovered for another few hours.

I’m in the north, I know how to stay off-grid. What’s stopping me from crossing into Canada? Worst-case scenario, I get caught. What can they do then? I’ve already got a life sentence wrapped around my neck like a noose. And since I’m not taking the gun with me, nobody can even claim I’m armed and dangerous. I’m so tall every bed I ever owned was too short, and I’m strong enough to knock a man out with a single punch. Don’t need a firearm to make grown men piss their pants.

I climb a cliff covered in enough bushes to give me leverage and then…. I start walking. It’s a marathon, not a sprint, so I keep a steady pace as the sun sets behind me. And when a vehicle approaches? I hide in the bushes. Easy. Simple.

Walking wherever I want and the absence of a schedule I’m obliged to follow are like a rush of the purest cocaine. Elated, I can barely feel any fatigue by the time I encounter a road sign informing me of a town two miles ahead. Problem is, I’m still wearing bloodstained overalls, and unless I come up with a way to make myself look like a regular citizen, my freedom might be very brief.

I must be the luckiest bastard out there, because there’s a clothesline on the property ahead. I snatch some clothes, which all smell fresher than the air after a storm, and they don’t fit half bad, even though their owner must be shorter than me, judging by the length of the sweatpants. The poor bastard’s neighbor even left a pair of muddy work boots outside waiting for me.

I dispose of my bloodied shoes and clothes in a pond and keep walking. Going by the guard’s watch, it’s getting close to ten p.m., but I haven’t gotten far enough to consider rest.

I need energy, I need calories, I need food to fuel me through the night.

And the universe really is on my side tonight because, I spot a green neon sign that makes me salivate.

Best Burgers Bonanza.

“Yesss, baby…” I whisper to myself and walk faster, lowering the stolen baseball cap over my eyes. After years of enduring prison grub, this is my Holy Grail. I’ll be eating two—no, three fucking juicy burgers and more fresh, crispy fries than a high school football team after practice.

And who knows, maybe luck will strike me a third time today, and I’ll even get laid.

I do have two condoms.