Page 31 of Ashfall
I scoff. As if he's dealing with a bunch of amateurs. Without another word, he prowls to the window, phone pressed to his ear, free hand shoved deep into his pocket. This man will be the death of me, because my annoyance for him is already fizzling out as I watch him go to work.
The fluent tongue is sharp, his Russian words contrasting the tone as it’s wrapped in velvet. I never did learn another language. I know some. Well, words like bombs. Kill. Hostage. He shifts back to us when he ends the call. “He’ll meet us atthe club tomorrow afternoon.” I don’t miss the familiar storm that begins to swirl in his eyes, it’s dark and unsettled. He’s not happy I'll be joining him.Tough shit. I clasp my hands. “Good, that gives us time to recharge and prepare.” Phantom, Adam and Blitz rise, heading downstairs.
I move to follow them, until Noc's voice stops me in my tracks. “I need to talk to you.” The words feel like a sonic boom through the room, my spine stiffens. I turn and glance at him, his phone is placed in the middle of the table, arms splayed across the surface and gripping the edges, leaving his shoulders flexed with his head hanging low between them. His stance is almost celestial, resembling an archangel against the light spilling through the window. His dark figure stands stark against the fading glow outside, the last remnants of daylight casting him in shadow. The only problem with that is, Nocturne doesn't answer to a God, he answers to Satan.
“What's wrong?” I ask. He’s worrying me. I couldn’t catch a single thing during his call. No keywords flagged, no rise in his voice. He gave away nothing. And yet, something now feels off. “Sit down, Brodie.”Shit. What the hell is going on? “Noc, you’re making me feel uncomfortable. Spit it out.” But I do as he asks, moving to sit at his left. He still hasn’t moved. His eyes drill into his phone, and he’s completely unreadable, like whatever’s on that screen holds the weight of something I’m not ready for.
His voice is deep, “Earlier, you know when I told you that Graves was planning to have Volokov kidnap you, and have you dismissed from the service?”
I swallow hard, the knowledge of that is likely to stay with me forever, “I do.”
When his eyes finally meet mine, they look completely black. “I wasn't completely honest with you.” My brows knit together at his confession, and I open my mouth, ready to snap back, to tearinto the whole trust issue. But his words come out as a rush, not missing a single beat.
“Once you were classed as a civilian again, Graves was going to ship you back to Volokov to be trafficked. Because of who you were, you'd be worth so much money it'd be eyewatering. The amount of people who would love to get their hands on a US General's daughter. Your purpose would be completely served then, and the blood wouldn't be on Graves's hands when he tied up his loose ends. Graves would get his share of the sale. When Volokov cut you that day, that was a threat to me. That if I didn’t comply, everything he told me that would happen, would.”
I look down at my scar. I don’t think I’m breathing. Or hearing correctly. Traffic me? I knew Volokov was in that line of work, anything sick and depraved to fuel his empire with the worst humanity has to offer. But Graves willingly handing me over? Selling me for his own share?I think I’m going to be sick. The chair scrapes against the floor as I push back. My legs wobble, nearly buckling, and for a second, I feel myself tipping. But Noc is there to catch me, trying to anchor me and guide me back down. “Easy, Brodie.” My breathing spikes. The room feels too small, too tight, closing in at the edges. Am I going to have a panic attack? Noc grips my face, his hands feel warm and his grip firm. He speaks to me, but his words drown beneath the roaring in my ears.
I only see his lips moving, and I stare at them. Speaking louder, his muffled voice thumps through the static as he kneels in front of me, hands running up and down my arms, trying to root me, keeping a part of me here. My whole body trembles. Sweat slicks my palms. I shouldn’t be like this. I’m trained. Tough. I repeat the mantra in my head, gripping onto it like it might stop my mind from spiraling out. A shadow moves in my periphery- someone hands Noc a bottle of water. He presses it into my hands, his fingers wrapping over mine, steadying them.I try to drink, but my grip is too unsteady. Water spills over my chin, soaking into my lap. The cool plastic soothes hot hands, giving me something to hold onto. I clutch it tight, dragging in deep, shaky breaths, grasping for anything that will pull me back before I completely fall apart.
The room has dipped itself into darkness, and someone has turned a light on, the soft glow chasing away the shadows. I’m not sure how much time had passed, but Noc still crouches before me, his fingers still tracing soothing shapes over my skin. I'm grateful for the touch, and that he didn’t coddle me. The lingering feeling of drowning on dry land still renders my throat raw. But breathing feels a bit easier, but when I speak, my voice is hoarse. “I’m sorry. I think the stress of the last few weeks has caught up to me.” My whole life has flipped upside down. The secrets, the lies, the not knowing where fucking loyalties lie.
I knew it would all catch up to me sooner or later. I could feel the fractures forming, my sanity cracking with every new betrayal. It’s different when you’re out in the field - when you stumble into an unwanted truth. That just pisses you off, but this? It’s personal, it feels like something else entirely. It’s been able to penetrate the walls I built. Noc keeps his voice gentle when he speaks to me. “This is why I didn't want to tell you. But Volokov may taunt you. Taunt me. I can't kill him just yet. He knows damn well you're my weakness, and he likes to put on a show for his guests.” The vomit rises again in my throat, but I manage to keep it down with a drink of water. My voice is smoother when I speak. “I'm still going Noc. If I had found this out in there, knowing that you knew, I'd have been so fucking pissed at you. We need to trust each other again, this doesn't help your case.”
Remorse. That’s what I see when I look at him as he weaves through my words. “I know, I'm just trying to protect you. That’s all I've ever tried to do.” He says. I manage to exhale freely,release a breath without feeling my lungs recoiling off my rib cage.
“This is just a blip, I can handle myself.” I whisper, so that only he can hear me in the room.
A knowing smile spreads along that beautifully carved face of his. “I know you can. We all have our moments.” His words feel like he’s been at a similar point in his life. “Come on, we'll eat and then head to bed.” he says as he stands, holding his hand out for me to take, and I feel much steadier on my legs as he grips me tight.
I turn to see Phantom, Blitz and Adam standing at the threshold of the room. With the look on their faces, Noc has obviously told them the source of my panic attack. “We'll get him, Nyx” Adam speaks first, determination coating his words. My head turns to Phantom as he says, “If it’s the last thing we do.” It's the first time I’ve seen Blitz's evil smile reappear since this shitshow happened. “Both of them.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
nyx
It's 1300 hours when we reach Peklo. I never thought I’d be back here again, especially since I’d sneaked in with intentions to turn the place to rubble - now I’m walking in freely through the same door. Noc assured me Volokov had no idea it was me who was on the upper floor. He managed to spin a story that it was some girl who was fucking the dead guy - named Rick - who'd come in for revenge. Volokov apparently wasn't too concerned since apparently Natalia told him she managed to get a good shot at the unknown assailant.Ha. She barely scuffed my arm and you can’t even see a mark now.Bitch.
We had to stop at a store on the way to get some civilian clothing for me. The guys only managed to grab our emergency bags when we left base, so Noc's dressed in a black t-shirt that has a very discrete bullet proof vest under it, a bomber jacket on top along with dark skinny jeans and trainers. It’s unfair how he makes regular clothes look like they should be modelled on a runway. Meanwhile, I've just got grey sweatpants and a matching hoodie and similar trainers to his. I look like a tramp.
My hair is scraped back in a messy ponytail. I'm trying to make myself look as unappealing as possible with the knowledge that Volokov and Graves had plans to traffic me to whatever sickweirdos are out there in the world. I know I shouldn’t cower away, but the news is still so raw that I need time to build the fortress inside against it. I know it's not my appearance that's granted me the high price tag, but this material is providing an invisible set of armor for my mind for who I’m protecting myself against.
I have my earpiece in but also the bracelet Adam had made for me the night Noc got detained. I can press the alarm if we need back up, and the earpiece is fully switched on to allow the team to listen in on the conversation. I've pulled my bangs out and loosened the sides of my hair, so the earpiece isn’t as noticeable. Being in close proximity with Volokov, I don’t want to raise suspicions. Adam drops us a couple blocks away, driving off to park in the side street that Blitz and I stashed the car in the last time we were here.
Heading towards the club, Noc takes my hand to guide past the front entrance and up to the metal gates where the smoker’s area is, the gate already open for him as a man sitting behind it rises to give him a friendly greeting. “Looks like you made plenty of chums during your time here.” I mumble as we make our way up the fire exit stairs, the same ones I catapulted down whilst launching a smoke bomb after my attempt to kill him. He tightens the grip on my hand in warning “A necessary evil, Brodie.” Those words from our first encounter here come rushing back. I didn't even pick up on the double meaning back then.
Noc rattles the door with a distinct pattern, a coded signal to whoever’s inside. It clicks open, and the man standing on the other side makes my stomach drop. It looks like the guy Blitz chatted to in the street with the VIP. I instinctively shift behind Noc, using him as a shield. Thankfully, he doesn’t take much notice of me. We move through the hallway, and my eyes catch on something. A bullet hole in the wall, the one made when Ishot at Natalia. A victorious smirk lifts my lips as we approach, and Noc pauses, eyes flicking to the same spot. He takes in my expression, reading it instantaneously. He tugs me closer, leaning down until his breath skims my ear. “Behave.” His hand slides effortlessly down my waistband, fingers squeeze into my bare ass - a silent warning to obey.
The seating area is empty, and Noc gives a sharp, quick slap on my butt as he gestures for me to sit. He’s trying to distract me, just in case I teeter close to the edge again. I take a seat as he remains standing, pulling a cigarette from the pack, lighting it up. Smoke curls lazily around him, and I swear - this is not the time to be getting turned on. I need to focus. But he destroys every ounce of discipline I’ve ever had, unravelling years of training with nothing more than the effortless way he moves. Maybe it’s just the time apart, or maybe I’ve simply forgotten his mannerisms and I’m appreciating them all over again.That would make sense. But my inner demon? She rolls her eyes at me, calling bullshit.
Footsteps pound from the hallway, following a door slamming shut and shaking the windows. My pulse climbs with each step that nears. This is it - I’m about to be face to face with the man we’ve hunted for six months. One I’ve wanted dead for longer. “Nocturne.” The deep, gravelly voice cuts in from the side of me, yanking my attention toward him. He’s changed - filled out a bit since the last time I saw him in person, since his ridged blade bit into my wrist. He’s shorter than Noc, and way softer in build. His hair is trimmed close, receding slightly at the edges, wisps of grey streak through with signs of age. Dressed in a black business suit that does nothing for his pale skin, he looks nothing like a man on the US Most Wanted list. More like some sleazy guy lingering at the bar on a Friday night.
Volokov and Noc clasp hands, and exchange a brief, familiar man hug. My fists tighten. I shove them between my legs, forcingthe anger down with them.He’s playing a role, Nyx. I repeat the reminder in my head, over and over, but it doesn’t ease the twisting unease clawing inside me. The way he slips into the mask so effortlessly, it’s unsettling. Noc takes a seat on the arm rest next to me, acting as a bollard between myself and Volokov. He sits directly across from us, feet decked on the table - all nonchalant. He too pulls a cigarette from his pocket and lights it up. The place is much quieter compared to the subtle base that vibrates when the club comes alive at night, and I can hear the fizzle of heat burning the end of his cancer stick.
Volokov finally takes notice of me, puffing smoke in my direction.Prick. “Brodie Voss, nice to see you again after all these years. How is the arm holding up?” His thick Russian accent irks my whole being, nothing compared to when Noc speaks the same tongue. It's gritty, and feels like sandpaper grating over my nerve endings. He’s trying to get a rise out of me already. I plaster a fake smile on, but I know my eyes are empty as they pierce through him, the familiar hollow that lingers beneath the surface. His brows dip, catching my edge. “Volokov. The arm's completely fine, and I’ve had a bigger scratch from a cat.” I add a wink. That earns me an obnoxious laugh from him. He sits up straighter, feet sliding from the table as he points his cigarette at Noc “She's a feisty one.” Noc shifts his gaze to me, giving me my second warning of the day to rein it in, “You've no idea.”
He turns his attention back to Volokov. “I need Graves, That piece of shit tried to kill me. I know he won't meet me personally, so I need to know when you two are next planning to meet so I can return the favor.”
Volokov nods his head, stuffing the discarded cigarette in the dark, overflowing ash tray, clasping his hands together. “I heard. He's needs to remember his fucking place, I own him. But I have no more use for the dog. And I like to put them downonce they're of no use to me.” I’m at war with myself, trying to refrain from rolling my eyes in a full circle or throwing a fist at him. I fold my arms over my chest, tucking my hands under my armpits, crossing a leg over the other to let it bounce out some tension.
