Page 11 of Nocturne
For a second, I forget how to breathe.
For a second, I swear my soul leaves my body and comes back.
“I know you hate me, I don’t give a fuck. But I want the same thing you do: stop those Midnights bastards from taking the cash.”
I clear my throat, brush off my leather jacket, and get to my feet without anyone’s help. The airport’s still chaos, bullets flying, people screaming, and more bodies on the ground than when I was with Vincent.
“Fuck you,” I spit out, full of rage.
I grab my gun from the floor and try to run, but I stumble, end up limping forward without a clear direction, but with a clear purpose. I’m lost, but I’ll figure it out, no matter what it takes.
“You’re a fucking idiot,” Hunter mutters. That dry-ass tone again — like he’s already two steps ahead of me.
Anger flares hot in my gut. If he hadn’t just saved my life, I swear I’d be putting bullets in that smug face of his.
I take a deep breath, steady my grip, and limp forward. Pretending he’s not right behind me.
“You know what? You are a fucking joke” I throw out a hoarse laugh, but the effort sends a jolt of pain through my stomach. “Get out of my way. I’m not saying it twice.”
“You should have more manners, I just saved your life.” Hunter’s voice sliced through the air, dripping with mockery, almost like a teasing whisper that made me wanna punch his face.
I raised the gun with a shaky hand, aiming it straight at his head, ready to end this shit. My body ached like I’d taken a beating from death itself, chest burning, breathing heavy and ragged.
“Just finish this shit already, damn!” He yelled, pounding his fist on his chest, full of provocation and challenge.
I swallowed hard, the weight of anger squeezing my chest, but I slowly shook my head. The last time I saw Hunter Wolfe was at that shitty place, The Crimson Vault — a rotten nightclub downtown Boston, just a front for money laundering and trafficking. Roman Wrenford, defense secretary and Octavia’s dad, was deep in shit, owing a fortune to Iron Requiem. He paid us, the Nocturne Pact, to protect his daughter, to get Octavia somewhere safe. But Iron Requiem showed up wanting to kidnap thegirl — and Hunter was right in the middle of that mess, running the damn kidnapping.
We, at Nocturne, didn’t even have a clue how fucked Roman was with those motherfuckers.
“What the fuck you doing here alone, dropping in on my shit? Wanna die or wanna kill me?” I spat the words, hate burning in my throat.
He adjusted his jacket like he was above it all, looking at the abandoned airport with a sly grin. Some people were still running, but he looked like he was just enjoying the moment.
“And who’s gonna kill me? You?” He laughed, that badass laugh full of contempt.
I shot the ground, the bullet’s crack echoing near his feet. My eyes never left his, tense, almost a silent challenge.
He stared back, that crooked smile fading for a second, but soon came back with that fucking spark in his eyes.
“Still mad about Octavia? Chill, business is business, Damon. Not everything’s personal… or is it?” He said with that asshole smile, throwing poison in the air.
I gritted my teeth, feeling the rage burning in my chest. Clenched my fists tight, gun steady in my hand.
“Mad? Fuck yeah I am. For what you did, for the shit you caused. And if you keep crossing my path, it’s only gonna get worse.”
Out of nowhere, a BMW i8 tears through the airport fence and speeds straight toward me, tires screeching, headlights slicing through the darkness likeblades. If I didn’t know it was Carter’s car I’d emptied my gun.
“Get in the car, they're not far,” Emma says, rolling the window down. That’s when I see Vincent, he’s in the passenger seat, blood streaming down his face.
“I’m gonna bury every last one of those motherfuckers,” I growl.
I slide into the car, rage burning through every inch of my body, lightning up my nerves like gasoline on fire. Maybe it’s the adrenaline from the shootout, maybe the exhaustion from the fight, but deep down, I know it’s the fury of having Hunter save my life that’s really eating me alive. It doesn’t make any fucking sense. And what makes even less sense is the fact that he showed up and neither Vincent nor Emma said a goddamn word about it.
“Wanna bet who gets there first?” Hunter smirks, revving his bike before shooting off through the gap Emma carved out with the car.
“Ignore him,” Emma mutters, annoyed. “We tracked their escape, they’re heading to an abandoned warehouse.”
“How you holdin’ up, bro?” I grip Vincent’s shoulder, trying to ground him somehow. The guy’s beat to hell, even if still fights like a goddamn machine.
