Page 6 of Nocturne
She crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow, like she just won a silent war. And maybe she did. Emma’s got that damn gift of showing up right when I most want to be alone — and making me question that a second later.
"I’ll take the beer," I mutter, letting the air out like a pressure valve about to blow. "But right now, I’ve got a race to win."
"A hundred grand doesn’t mean shit to Nocturne." Her voice is steady, but I catch the weight behind it. "But I know my brother wants you to win… out of respect. Iron Requiem’s a pain in the ass. If we win tonight, we open doors. Better contacts. People start seeing us as more than just a threat. You know that."
"Yeah..." My gaze drifts for a moment, past the garage lights. "I know."
The silence that follows isn’t awkward, but it’s heavy. Like something building between us, ready to spill over.
"You okay?"
"No." My voice comes out low, almost bitter. "But I will be."
And before anything deeper can slip out of either of our mouths, Sean Ford’s voice blasts through the air like a spark in gasoline.
"My champ! The one and only Damon Reed!"He shows up with that same smug grin, dragging his arrogance around like it’s part of the Nocturne uniform. One of the best mechanics in Boston — and, of course, a charismatic son of a bitch.
He spins the car keys on his finger and tosses them toward me like he’s handing over a sacred weapon.
"You ready?"
I catch the keys mid-air, the cold metal settling in my palm like destiny’s got my name written on it.
"Thanks, man. I’m out. Time to get this shit over with... it’s almost time."I open the door and slide into the car. The seat creaks under my weight, and the steering wheel fits in my hands like it’s part of me — tense, locked in, furious.
"You and Vincent coming?" I ask, not really looking at her.
Emma steps closer, leaning her arms on the open window like someone who’s seen too much to ever flinchagain.
"We’ll be rolling out in five." She gives me a crooked smile. "Good luck, kitty."
Before I can say a damn thing, she leans in and brushes her lips against my cheek.
It’s quick. Almost innocent. But the impact is instant.
As she moves in, her scent hits me — soft, sweet, like a gentle punch. Sweet enough to hurt. Like poison dressed up as a flower. Hypnotizing.
The location for the street race is an abandoned airport in Boston, now taken over by a pulsing crowd.
Gang members mixed with regular people, all drowning in the loud noise of loose laughter, cigarettes burning out and sparking up again, and the thick stench of cheap booze clinging to the skin.
I keep driving toward the starting line, still inside the car, but I nod at familiar faces with a sharp, wordless gesture — this isn’t party time, but everyone here knows who I am.
I take a deep breath, close my eyes for a second, letting the world fade. The track stretches out in front of me like a silent invitation, a call I can’t turn down.
The fight with Carter still burns on my skin, like a wound that won’t heal. The irritation pulses, sharper than ever — but the race demands focus.
Focus for Nocturne. For my gang.
For the only family I have left.
It’s been three years since I lost everything. Since the one thing I loved most was ripped from me — cruelly,brutally, right in front of my eyes, back when I was just a lost kid in this chaotic world.
Since then, I’ve followed any trace — a whisper, a shadow, a lead — that might take me to the one responsible for Noah’s death.
My older brother. My broken anchor.
I inhale deep again, the cold air slicing through my nostrils like a blade. Noah’s face crashes into my worst memories, especially when the pressure chokes me, when the rage blinds everything else.
