Page 88 of Nocturne

I understand her fear. I’m terrified myself, but I don’t see another choice.

“We can delete it and forget it exists altogether if no one saw you,”

I catch a look flickering across her features—one I recognise from time to time when I come off as an insensitive bitch, solelyfocused on survival. It’s a look of utter disbelief, as if she can’t comprehend how I can be so detached in the face of such horror.

“What the fuck? Since when are you so selfish who doesn’t give a shit about-“

“Ivy, if there’s some magical solution that lets us give these people justice while keeping us safe—and doesn’t involve the criminals we know—please, I’m all ears.”

I keep my voice steady, aware of the inner turmoil brewing within her. I don’t want to add to her struggle with my own brashness.

I take her hand, squeezing hard, trying to convey the strength I don’t feel. “If I thought for a second that we could handle this alone, I’d do it, Ives. But you and I both know the kind of monsters we’re dealing with.”

My voice is steady, but my pulse is racing. The door swings open, and a group of men stride in, too well-dressed and too dangerous-looking to belong here. The bar’s usual noise, the hum of voices and scraping chairs, has grown quiet. My senses go on high alert. I recognise one of them immediately—a man with a skull tattoo, one of the overseers from the video.

Ivy’s face goes pale as she looks over her shoulder, meeting his eyes as he spots us. His gaze narrows, a predator’s gleam lighting up his expression.

“Ara?” Ivy’s voice is barely a whisper.

“Yes?” I don’t dare move my eyes from the men.

She doesn’t look at me. She doesn’t need to.

“Run,” she whispers before all hell breaks loose.

Twenty-Four

Ara

I am right.

I am going to die, just at the ripe age of twenty-seven, not having lived my life to the fullest. And the reason will be my best friend, who is as good as dead if we ever made it out alive.

I regret not calling Iyra last night. I regret not finishing that tub of salted caramel ice cream. I regret not being able to eat the meal I’ve been dreaming of all day. I regret not hugging Cas more tightly and telling him how much I love him. Most of all, I regret not tying Ivy to her bed.

There is a piece of information that I missed in the memo about running away from seven freaking men who were well-built to overthrow a truck. It is that flip flops and chases did not go well. It is my sheer luck that these men are only trained to fight and cause chaos and not run.

Or maybe I’ve been training myself to run to gain an advantage in situations like this. But, I’ve never thought my stupid frigging footwear would be a hindrance. The reason I might end up dead. Or forgetting the bag with my gun when we ran from that dingy pub.

Ivy didn’t have any trouble running, though. She is gliding through the streets in her comfortable running shoes, always staying a few steps ahead of me.

One of the men nearly grazed my hair, and I was so terrified that I let out a blood-curdling scream and sprayed him with an extra power pepper spray that Ivy threw at me. And because he called me a bitch and I wouldn’t get lucky the next time if he caught up to me, I slipped from my flips and threw it at him. I didn’t wait to see if the heel hit him in the eye as I was busy trying not to think about the wet, gooey and nasty stuff touching my feet.

These streets are a nightmare for any clean person, and for a germaphobe like myself, it is more than a nightmare. For making me go through this, I am going to kill Ivy twice.

Once we make out of this chase alive, that is.

“I….I….Kill..you.” I huff out.

“I will hand you the knife myself. Now run!” Ivy cries as she looks back.

I turn along with her, and a pained wail makes its way out of my throat.

The image which greets me when I look over my shoulder must be the most terrifying thing that has happened to me recently. Seven huge, burly men, who look so furious with us, chase with the intent of murder, which is written on all their equally scary faces. Few of them even take out their guns and start to fire randomly at us.

I cover my ears with my hands and fasten my pace as if the hounds of hell were behind us. In a way, they are.

I hope Ivy knows where she is taking us. Because if my memory serves right about the city map, we weren’t runningtowardsthe city but insteadawayfrom it. And it is for the first time that I wish I was wrong. That my calculations are wrong. But they arenot, and it is proved as much when the path ahead is leading us towards the port and away from the pier where all the boats and tourists are.

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