Page 17 of Nocturne
Carter gives Damon a small nod, like a silent “well said.”
And yeah, even though this whole thing’s a fucked-up alliance, I know better than to let my guard down. In a room like this, it’s all about showing power, control, and just enough respect to keep the knives off your back.
That’s why I walk through the crowd and stop right beside Damon, Carter, and O’Connor. People start whispering, and I know it’s because they all fear me, like they always have. Before I say a word, I exchange a look with O’Connor to calm him down about what’s coming.
I scan the whole warehouse, still doubting this damn alliance.
“Listen up, those Midnight Echoes sons of bitches? They’re smarter than you think. They don’t just play dirty, they play to win. So keep your eyes open and your heads down. No mistakes.”
I adjust my leather jacket and lick my dry lips before finishing. “Just a reminder, some people here come with guard dogs. And I bite.”
I glance at Damon and our eyes meet. Eventhough I’m joking on the surface, inside I’m as fucked up as Boston’s about to be.
?????
“You think the money’s still in Boston?” Grace asks, adjusting her glasses and loading her gun.
Zion’s a few feet ahead, pinning up a black target sheet with a man’s silhouette on it.
The warehouse’s still crowded, split into little clusters, most of ‘em allies, some just tryna keep shit civil, making small talk or sizing each other up. Others didn’t even bother pretending.
Carter and O’Connor stand off to the side, deep in convo, probably working out some strategy, keeping the whole fragile-ass truce from snapping in half.
“No doubt,” I say, popping open a beer and taking a long sip. I’m leaning against the shooting range table, watching the room.
“Midnight's tryna claim territory here. Would be dumb as fuck to move the cash out now.”
Soon as the words leave my mouth, Grace fires.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
She rips off the ear protection and tosses it on the table.
“I’ll never get tired of this shit,” she says, bouncing on her toes like a damn kid, then snatches my beer and takes a sip.
I glance at the target, five clean shots. All heads. All different spots. Like art, but lethal.
“You’ve got a point,” she says, leaning next to me.
“The real bitch now is finding out where that money ended up… if it’s even still around.”
Her green eyes flicker with something sharp and dangerous, and for a second I wonder how the hell someone like her can kill so easily.
She looks like a fucking princess.
A deadly one.
“You killed that shit, Grace,” I hear Zion’s voice behind us, casual but proud.
“I know, baby, but thanks anyway,” she smirks.
Grace and I lock eyes for a few seconds, and that’s all it takes. Just enough to remind us there’s something weird hanging in the air.
Something neither of us has the guts to say out loud.
“Hunter…” her head rests on my shoulder now, soft, heavy. “I worry about you, you know that, right?”
My breath’s all fucked up, shaky, uneven, even though I’m standing next to one of the only people I actually trust in this world.
