Page 10 of Nocturne
“Vincent, no one touches the organizer dudes, no snatching, no bodies. Anyone tries? Drop ‘em,” I crouch behind the car. “Where the fuck’s Emma?”
“She was with Sean. Then she took off,” Vincent says, voice tight.
“Fuck, go find her!”
Girls scream past us. Then a few guys follow. To the right, three men drag a bloodied guy, leaving a trail on the ground. Gunshots keep ringing out, and the screams grow louder.
Just another normal night as a member of the Nocturne Pact, even caught off guard. Still behind the car, I look around and realize they outnumber us.
Vincent slowly gets up to go after Emma, but three hooded figures appear at lightning speed. The first throws punches, but Vincent fights like a beast. The other two try to grab his gun, but I shoot them both in the head beforethey can.
Vincent pulls a knife from his waist and plunges it into the last one’s neck. Blood sprays, the body collapses.
“Go!” I shout, gasping for air.
The other Nocturne homies are scattered behind barricades and cars, trading fire with the Midnights Echoes assholes. I run toward the chase, praying no one gets away.
I charge at them fiercely, maybe without thinking, but the rage inside me is louder than reason. Everything around me slows down like I’m watching through a lens, and the gunshots and muffled screams fade away.
I’m alone, no cover behind cars, barricades, or anyone. A ghost walking straight into death.
I face the first guy in close combat, a quick, sharp move, I break his neck. Two more come running, perfectly in sync, their movements mirrored.
I jump up and face them. I land a hard punch in the first guy’s gut, but the other uses the opening and hits me in the face. The metallic taste of blood floods my mouth, my head throbs, and a high-pitched ringing builds in my ear.
I breathe deep and steady myself. I pull the knife from my waist and stab it into the thigh of the one who hit me. He staggers. I take the chance, grab the gun again, and fire a perfect shot to his head.
But I slip up, I don’t see the third guy coming from behind. By the time I realize it, it’s too late. My body freezes, the feeling of impending death paralyzes me. I try to react but stumble, and can't get up in time. He’s goingto shoot me in the chest.
Then, an unexpected sound: gunshots. One, two, three… eight shots echo in the air.
My vision blurs. I lift my eyes and see the man who was about to kill me lying on the ground, bleeding.
I turn my head and find the one who saved my life.
Hunter Wolfe. The son of a bitch saved me.
He’s standing there, right in the middle of the chaos, like it’s just another fucking Tuesday. His chest rises and falls slowly, like he didn’t just shoot a man in cold blood. The gun’s still in his hand, steady, like it’s part of him—natural, intimate. Broad shoulders, straight posture, that jaw clenching with boredom—it’s all almost fucking offensive. His messy hair falls over those dark eyes like it was staged, and everything about him screams this unbearable kind of arrogance. Like he knows I’m looking.
There’s something in that stare that’s not just cold—it’s taunting. Like he’s saying, “I saved your ass. Now deal with it.” On his neck, the tattoo catches what little light there is: FERAL. Wild. Untamed. And fuck the universe for getting it so damn right. Hunter Wolfe doesn’t look human. He looks like a warning. A goddamn inevitable mistake. And still, for one stupid second, I can’t look away.
And for some reason that pisses me off more than it should... my eyes still won’t move.
I’m still on the ground, frozen, staring at one of my biggest rivals, and he’s still looking right at me. What the fuck just happened? If someone had told me, just a few hours ago, that this motherfucker would be the one to saveme, I’d bet a grand they were fucking wrong, and lost every damn cent. Fuck.
“Get the fuck up!”
His voice slices through the chaos. Loud. Too loud.
He leans down to grab my arm, fingers cold and firm, but the second he touches me, a white-hot pain shoots up my side. I flinch, shove him off, breathing hard like I’ve just swallowed fire.
He doesn’t back away. Just stand there.
“You wanna die here in the middle of a shootout?"
His voice is lower now. Steady.
His eyes lock on mine, dark and furious — and something else. Something that cuts.
