Page 5 of Nocturne
But this ain’t over.
The revenge is mine.
And I got this heavy, choking feeling that me and this bastard — Hunter Wolfe — we’re gonna cross paths again.
It won’t be easy. Not clean. Not quick.
But it’s coming.
And when it hits, it’s gonna burn too damn much.
CHAPTER 1
DAMON
Present Day
"You said I’d get my fucking revenge, but so far, nothing’s fucking happened!" My voice rips through the air, hoarse, worn out. Rage pulses in me like fire in my veins, burning through whatever’s left. I’m at the edge — not of patience, but of myself.
Carter Holloway stares at me. His expression is cold, almost calculated. The same look he had when he took me in, years ago, after my brother was murdered. He gave me shelter, a purpose, a name inside the Nocturne Pact. Shaped me, trained me, broke me and rebuilt me the way he wanted.
But I only went along with all of it because of one promise.
My revenge.
“Kid…” he starts, scratching his beard slowly, like he’s trying to hold something back. “Do you even know everything I’ve done for you?”
“Fuck what you’ve done.” I spit the words. “Yeah, you turned me into a weapon. And I let you. But now I want the trigger. I went through hell for this gang, Carter. It’s time you give me something back.”
He sighs. His eyes stay locked, but his body gives him away — tense shoulders, clenched jaw. “Patience is avirtue you still need to learn, Damon. Revenge ain’t just about pulling the trigger and killing. You’re not ready yet.”
“Bullshit!” I shout again, throat raw with fury. “There’s already enough blood on my hands to build a goddamn throne with the bodies! I want answers. I need this, fuck!”
He looks away — too fast.
“You’ve got a race to win right now.” His voice is calm, but the tone... the tone’s off. He’s hiding something. “After that, we’ll talk. There’s something I need to tell you. But right now I’ve got a call to take.”
I laugh. A hollow, bitter laugh, almost sick. “Fuck all of this.” I turn my back without waiting for an answer.
The Nocturne Pact lot is packed — cars rumbling low, people chatting, the thick air stinking of gas and stale smoke. I move through all of it like a shadow, not looking at anyone, like the whole damn world’s trying to grab at my edges.
I walk off. The sound of my footsteps echoes through the crowded lot. Cars glinting under artificial lights, engines growling, distant voices blending with the smell of gasoline, cigarettes, and sweaty concrete.
I push through it all, shutting everything out. And then, right in the middle of my chaos, she speaks. Out of nowhere. Like she owns the damn place.
“You look like someone who needs a beer… or a punch in the face.”
Her voice hits me from behind — slow, mocking, with that sweet tone that only makes it more infuriating.
I turn around slowly, because one wrong moveright now and I’ll explode on someone.
And that’s when I see Emma Holloway.
She’s standing right in the middle of the cracked lot — sneakers, white sweatpants, and a blue crop top that screams against the gray monotony of concrete. The light hits her face just right, bringing out the freckles, those absurdly blue eyes — the kind that hurt if you stare too long.
Her hair falls in messy waves over her shoulders, and her expression… fuck, her expression is pure firestarter. Like she knows exactly where to poke. And knows I won’t do shit about it.
The gold necklace bounces against her neck, a little bow-shaped pendant that makes zero sense — and yet, it’s so her. There’s something about her that always seems out of place, and at the same time... exactly where it’s supposed to be.
