Page 44 of Nocturne
"What else is involved?" I ask, already feeling the chill run down my spine.
"Damon..." His tone shifts. Still calm — but sharper now. More direct. "I agreed to this truce because once we take out the Midnight, we’re going to wipe the Nocturne Pact off the map. Every single one of them. And you’re going to help me do it."
My throat tightens. I swallow hard. The silence thatfollows hits like a curse.
I know Nocturne has always been the enemy.
I know plenty of them deserve to die.
But hearing this…
Hearing it now…
It means O’Connor is talking about Damon too.
He’s saying — without saying it — that Damon has to die.
“Does anyone else know about this?” My voice comes out firm, sharp. I’m not just asking — I’m digging.
Looking for cracks, lies hidden between the lines.
“No. Just you.” O’Connor crosses his arms with a calm that makes me more alert than at ease. “I thought about bringing it to Grace and Zion, but… for now, I’d rather keep it this way.”
“The fuck?” The word slips out almost like a growl. “Is this some kind of test? You doubting my loyalty?”
He lets out a slow breath, like my indignation is just another inconvenience in his day. “No, kid. This is a dangerous game. The truce needs to hold steady until we take out the Midnight. If this kind of info leaks, it fucks everything up.”
My jaw tightens. The muscles in my face go tense. “Got it.”
But it’s a lie. I don’t get shit — I just taste the bitter flavor of distrust rising in my throat.
“You can’t trust anyone that easily.” His words hit and land hard, repeated, like a siren blaring in my head. One. Two. Three times. And with each repetition, something inside me clenches.
O’Connor hasn’t been the same since this truce started. He talks less, disappears more.
Seems distant. Almost… calculated.
Like he’s hiding something — from me, from everyone.
And all he gives me are empty orders. Disposable missions. Cleaning up the shit others left behind.
Things that don’t require trust. Just obedience.
And I’m not a trained dog.
The silence between us is heavy, thick, like still smoke in a locked room. And for the first time… I wonder if I’m on the right side. Or if I’ve always just been a piece on his board.
CHAPTER 9
DAMON
If I knew my house was gonna turn into a fucking stash spot for gang money after this truce, I would’ve signed that deal in someone else’s blood. But nah. Carter decided my place is the perfect fuckin’ spot to keep drug cash, and O’Connor clearly signed off on that bullshit too. I still can’t believe this shit. Two in the fuckin’ morning and I’m stuck here, locked inside, waiting on a drop. The call was quick, just said it was urgent.
Ain’t the first time this bullshit’s happened—I know this dirty-ass game like the back of my hand. Ever since this fucked-up truce kicked in, at least the drug runs been payin’ more—that’s the upside, I guess. Because the cops ain’t lettin’ up, they’ve been breathin’ down our necks nonstop. What fucks me over is not havin’ a say in any of this shit. Feels like I’m just some pawn in this crooked-ass game, stuck in a position I never asked for, waitin’ for the next fuckin’ disaster to hit me straight in the face.
They said it’s the only way to keep the heat off Iron Requiem and Nocturne Pact. And here I am, sittin’ in this heavy-ass silence, tryna swallow the bitterness burnin’ in my chest, knowin’ this whole thing’s about to drag me deeper into some shit I ain’t ready for.
I’m laying on the couch, just in my boxers, no shirt, watching the TV light flicker across the room with that cold, twitchy glow.Screamis on low volume, and the sound ofGhostface stabbin’ the victim cuts through the air—the blade sinkin’ in, the choked-out scream, blood pourin’ in rivers across that spotless white kitchen floor. Outside, the muffled sound of traffic creeps in through the open balcony door, along with the wind that flutters the curtain, like the air itself’s carryin’ the tension I’m already feelin’. The half-finished beer can on the coffee table reflects the flickering light from the screen, and everything feels frozen in that bloody-ass moment—just like my chest, tight as fuck.
