Page 9 of Nocturne
This time, I go even faster, jerk the car right and drift-hard-right before the curve. Smoke shoots up, blinding the asshole. Now it’s on.
I catch a glimpse in the mirror, some people running in the distance, scattering in different directions,but all my focus is on the race. My phone starts ringing. Carter. Fuck. I can’t pick up.
A chill runs down my spine, and Hunter’s face flashes in my mind, watching me from the crowd, that psychotic smile on his lips. Something’s wrong.
I slow down and answer.
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” I yell.
“Midnight Echoes crashed the race. They’re after the money. I need you to handle it,”
“Fuck,” I slam the wheel. “I’m coming back. Where are you?”
“Cleaning up some shit. I won’t make it in time. Some of our guys are there.” He hangs up.
I brake hard and swerve off the marked circuit.
Foot to the floor, heading back to the main area, praying no civilians got hurt. Shit.
What the fuck are these assholes doing back here?
We’ve had problems with them before. But for them to crawl outta Newport and show their faces in Boston again, trying to steal cash on our turf like it’s nothing?
Nah. That shit ain’t sliding.
Last time, those Midnight Echoes fuckers cut a dirty deal with Derrick Halstrom, senator from Rhode Island.
The old bastard knew how to play the good guy card. Private school golden boy, law degree from Brown, perfect fake smile. Somewhere in those ivy-covered halls, he got his first taste of the underworld. Made all the rightconnections with all the wrong people, and rode that shit straight to the top.
Once he got elected, he became a goddamn pro at skimming off the system. Overpriced contracts, fake NGOs, phony-ass charities just made to wash dirty money.
I’ll give it to him, he was a criminal genius. Cold. Calculated. A piece of shit, but a smart one.
Things went south when he started running drug ops through Massachusetts, hiding behind political immunity like it was a fucking shield. He’s the one who gave the green light for Midnight Echoes to storm Boston, which lit a fire under the whole damn city. Blood on the sidewalks, bodies in the alleys.
Didn’t last long, though.
We, Nocturne Pact, got word he’d be holed up at the Providence, that bougie hotel in Rhode Island. So we paid him a little visit and put the bastard down.
He was just a pawn, but a pawn who’d built a filthy, powerful empire.
And now Midnight's Echoes is back. Not just for territory. They came armed with dirty alliances, new corrupt politicians, stacked cash, and favors owed in high places. No immunity bought on the streets, but protection handed down by men in suits who know exactly what they're shielding.
They’re creeping into Boston like roaches, still the same filthy gang, but now with politicians covering their tracks.
But they forgot one thing.
We’re Nocturne Pact.
And anyone who stands in our way… dies.
I hear gunfire from the entrance and see masked men chasing one of the organizers, guarded by three armed security guys trying to escape through the side.
What the hell’s wrong with these idiots? Everyone knows the race money is never here. That’s the whole point, to avoid this kind of bullshit.
A few of my boys from the Nocturne Pact are already trading lead with the Midnight Echoes motherfuckers. I slam the gas and mow three of them down before they even get close to my set.
I jump out, grab the gun from the glove box, and take the lead.
