Night fury second act, p.1
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       Night Fury: Second Act, p.1

         Part #2 of Night Fury series by Belle Aurora
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Night Fury: Second Act

  Night Fury: Second Act

  by Belle Aurora

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter One

  “I’ll fucking kill him.” Pressure builds in my ears as I glance down at the black wallet gripped tightly in my shaking hands.

  Tell Bob.

  Oh, my God. I have to tell Bob.

  My gut sinks. So many questions will be raised. Questions I’m not ready to answer. But it needs to be done.

  This is urgent.

  I dress as quickly as I can in my sweat pants and tee, pocket the wallet and make my leave. Before I exit, I glance around the room, Marco’s room. Lowering my gaze, I shake my head in disgust.

  So fucking stupid. You sure know how to pick ‘em, Cat.

  My heart races as I think hard about what I’m going to say to the man who raised me. The man who treats me as his own. The man who would kill for me. I come up blank.

  First James, now this. I’ll never live this down.

  I run a hand through my knotted hair and walk down the hall, out of the dorms towards Mirage. Suddenly, I pause mid-step. My heart skips a beat.

  Act natural. Don’t panic.

  I close my eyes and draw in a deep breath before stepping into Mirage. My eyes widen. I blink.

  It’s empty.

  No one’s here. Thank God.

  I let out a breath I hadn’t realised I was holding and make my way to the church. The closer I get, the angrier I become. How dare he! He knew. He knew and he still took my virginity. Yes, he said he was an asshole, but I had no idea it stemmed this deep.

  I thought we had a connection. A common interest. I thought we were one and the same.

  I was wrong.

  We aren’t alike at all. He played me like a finely tuned violin. And I let him.

  I’m livid. Rage bubbles in my belly, like a volcano threatening to erupt and unleash its fury on anything that dares get close enough to it. I grit my teeth and growl, “Fuck.”

  I pass my garden without so much as a glance and throw the kitchen door open. But it’s empty too. I sigh. Irritation has me muttering, “Where the hell is everyone?” The quicker I do this, the better. This isn’t something I can hide and hope it goes away.

  My chest heaves. Panting, I run up the stairs to my room and walk the hall, checking every room for signs of life. It seems I’ve been abandoned this morning.

  The last place I think to look is Bob’s office.

  Bob. My heart stutters and clenches painfully. Poor Bob. He will not take this well.

  Shuffling to the office door, I swallow hard and knock lightly.

  “Come in,” calls Frankie.

  I stare down at the door handle a moment wondering if I should enter at all. It would be so much easier to pretend I don’t have a hole burning in my pocket in the shape of a man’s wallet. Unsteadily, I grip the handle and open the door. Frankie, dressed in her habit, sits behind Bob’s desk, going over paperwork that needs to be filed.

  She glances up at me and beams, “Morning, kiddo. Heard you nailed it last night.” One brow rises and she utters huskily, “Or should I say, nailed Mr Hyke.” My face burns and she chuckles, “You little hussy. Who knew?”

  I clear my throat. “Is Bob around?”

  Her smile falls. “No, sweet girl, he got called out to the Fontaines.”

  I’m immediately alert.

  The Fontaines?

  Mrs Fontaine, the librarian in town, is the sweetest woman alive. She and Ari took turns giving me lessons in French throughout my childhood. Not necessarily something I need to know, but knowing two languages is better than one in my opinion. If something happened to Mrs Fontaine… My chest squeezes.

  I near whisper, “Why?”

  Frankie shrugs and sighs, “Mr Fontaine hasn’t been doing well for quite some time, Cat.” My shock must be written clear on my face because Frankie adds quietly, “He’s dying.”

  Silence thickens the air around us. I try in vain to cut through it. My response comes out weakly, “Oh.”

  She straightens and looks up at me. “Anything you want to talk to me about?”

  I paste on a smile that is so void of happiness, I feel ashamed to wear it. “No. Thank you, though. I really need to speak to Bob. When he gets in, can you ask him to come find me? He’ll know where I’ll be.”

  She scoffs, “We all know where you’ll be. That damn garden is more loved than I am.”

  I smile a worthless fake smile and move to leave. I reach up and grasp the doorframe till my knuckles turn white. Without turning back, I ask, “Do you know where Marco is?”

  Frankie doesn’t respond for a long while.

  I grip the frame tighter, shut my eyes tightly and grit my teeth.

  Please, don’t ask.

  Finally, she answers cautiously, “Uh, no. Sorry. He took off about an hour ago.”

  My feet carry me away from the office and lead me through the kitchen, to the back entrance of the building. And more importantly, my garden.

  I kneel by the vegetable patch, close my eyes and pray for guidance. Praying for courage, the rosary beads wound around my hand are so tight, they threaten to cut off the circulation there.

  When I hear the familiar rumble of an engine, I jump to my feet. I tell myself to be calm and think rationally. That’s obviously not going to happen today. Standing on shaking legs, I move to block the path where he rides. My face stern, eyes void, I see him approach, but really I don’t see him at all. Blood rushes through my body; pressure builds behind my eyes and ears. I feel as though I’m going to explode from the anger sizzling my insides.

  The motorbike stops a foot away from me. He removes his helmet, smirking, “I was going to come looking for you, but you found me first.” Standing from the bike, he walks over to me with a hungry look in his eyes. “Let’s finish what we started this morning.”

  My hands ball into fists. Of all the emotions rushing through me, two stand out. Disappointment and hurt.

  He hurt me.

  It fucking hurts.

  Meeting him halfway, I step forward, wrench my arm back, and in one swift move, I break Marco’s nose.

  I expect him to fall, but he doesn’t. He’s too solid to go down from one punch.

  He steps away from me, his green eyes blazing. Blood drips from his nostrils over his lips and down his chin. His voice should scare me, but I’m too pissed to notice. He utters slowly in complete calm, “What the fuck?”

  My response comes in the form of a high kick to his cheek.

  His eyes widen in surprise, but it’s too late. That takes him down. Not all the way down, but he sinks to his knees.

  I should feel victorious, but I don’t. I feel sad.

  I take a step back, watching him all the while. He stands, jaw set. “You’re upset about something. I get that. But I don’t know why.” He eyes search me while his voice softens, “Tell me what’s wrong, honey.”

  My back arches like a rabid dog preparing to attack. My body trembles, fighting to hold back the anger that threatens to overcome. I speak through gritted teeth, “Don’t you call me that. You shut your fucking

  Blood slowly drips down his neck. He put his hands up slowly in a placating gesture. “I’m okay. You broke my nose but we’re cool. I’m not angry. So why don’t we take this back to my room and we can talk about it there. Okay?”

  I’m just about ready to attack for a third time when he utters softly, “Baby, if I did something to offend you…”

  I spit, “Your being alive offends me. Shut the fuck up.”

  Not one to back down, he walks closer to me. I don’t back away; instead, I contemplate my next move.

  His eyes narrow in what looks to be hurt. “Seriously? Don’t say shit like that. Not cool, Cat.”

  I can’t stop myself.

  I launch myself at him. Only this time, he knows it’s coming. I see him raise his elbow a second before it hits my temple.

  My body flies backwards. I land, back first, with an oomph to the hard ground. Marco’s eyes widen. “Fuck!” He’s by my side in a mere moment. Looking over my body, he states heatedly, “I didn’t want to do that. I didn’t mean to do that.” He glares at me and booms, “Stop hitting me!”

  In a moment of weakness, my eyes sting.

  Chest heaving, I reach into my pocket with a quaking hand. I pull out the offending item and place it on my lap.

  Marco stands up and away from me. “Where’d you get that?”

  I don’t bother answering. What’s the point?

  It’s over.

  This is the first time I’ve seen cool and calm Marco panic. He paces, running a hand over his buzzed hair. “You tell Bob?”

  My lip curls. “Not yet, but I will the second he gets back.”

  He stops pacing and turns to look at me. “This wasn’t meant to happen. That was all before. I wasn’t going to—”

  The black Mercedes coming down the drive cuts him off.

  Not needing to think about his course of action, Marco walks back to his bike, leaving his helmet on the ground. As Bob steps out of the Mercedes, he looks back and forth between us. With Marco’s nose broken and my eye already swelling shut, Bob’s body turns rigid as he roars, “What the fuck is going on here?”

  Marco watches me for a second more. With deep regret in his eyes, the bike roars to life, turns around, and then speeds away.


  Far away.

  I hear Bob kneel by my side. I don’t dare look at him. The backs of his knuckles brush my swelling eye gently. “Cat, what happened?”

  Chest heaving, I realise I have no choice. I look up at my adoptive father. I swallow hard, preparing to tell him the dreadful news. News that fucks us all. “Marco’s a cop.”

  Chapter Two

  It’s James all over again.

  Cat, the fucked-up orphan, screws up a second time.

  There’s a theme happening here.

  As I stand in the middle of Bob’s office, I watch as he paces for a second. Suddenly, I want to turn my back, take my shit and leave. Leave for good.

  My once easy existence has become a hard living. I felt like a failure when it happened the first time. Now that it’s happened a second time, I’m convinced that Bob was wrong about me. When you make the same mistake twice, it’s no longer a mistake. It’s a choice.

  Sure, James wasn’t a cop, but the fact remains that I was wrong about him. As I was wrong about Marco.

  If this were my destiny, why the fuck is God making it so hard for me to stay on this path?

  Is this all a test?

  If so, how can I possibly pass? I feel as though I’m destined for failure, if my track record is anything to go by.

  Bob unbuttons his black shirt and pulls it from his pants. It hangs loosely, leaving his tank-covered torso out in the open. He mutters while he crosses the room, back and forth, in quick strides, “Trouble. I knew he was gonna be trouble.”

  My gut sinks. Standing with my head bowed, I mumble, “I’m sorry, Father.”

  He pauses mid-step, raises his arm and points at me, hard. “Don’t. Don’t you dare.” He walks over to me and places his hands on my shoulders gently. “This is not your fault, Catarina.” He sighs, “This is my fault.”

  I lift my head so quickly, I get a twinge in my neck. “No, it’s not.” He shakes his head. I continue, “So you didn’t find anything on him when you recruited him. It’s an easy mistake to make. Especially if they set him up as the perfect candidate. Maybe they’re watchin—”

  Bob closes his eyes tight and pinches the bridge of his nose. The reality comes crashing down.

  I slump on the spot and whisper, “They’re watching you.”

  He gives me no answer. That being my answer.

  My heart rate increases. My breathing heavies. My palms begin to sweat. Panic washes over me. I croak, “We’re all screwed, aren’t we?” It’s my turn to pace. I bite my thumbnail and shoot out rapidly, “Oh, my God. We’re going to jail. All of us are going to jail.” I pause mid-step. “I can’t go to jail, Bob. I’ll kill in there. I’ll never get out.” My voice rises, “We have to warn the team. I’ll—”

  Bob murmurs, “I knew.”

  He says this so softly, I force myself to calm for the moment and look at him. Sitting on the edge of his desk, he runs a hand through his salt-and-pepper locks. His brown eyes rise to look into mine. “I knew Marco was a cop.”

  My mind refuses to comprehend what I’ve just been told. As I stand in front of him, the word ‘no’ is repeated like a mental mantra. I don’t believe him. I narrow my eyes at him. “No, you didn’t.”

  He nods. “I did.”

  “No. You did not.”

  “I did, Cat.”

  My anger spikes. My heart races. I feel it thudding like a drum at my chest. Blood rushes through my ears. I’ve lost what little cool I had. I screech, “You did not!” He nods but I can’t accept that. “You didn’t. I don’t believe you. You wouldn’t do that to us.”

  He refuses to raise his head, and in that moment, I know it’s all true.

  Bob has never been a coward. Not ever.

  I remember looking up at him when I was a little girl. He would take my hand in a firm hold, look down at me and smile. A confident smile. A smile that told me if anyone ever tried to harm me, he’d kill them.

  I don’t understand.

  Stepping in front of him, I ask a hushed, “Why? How could you?”

  Lips tight, he answers clinically, “He was a loose cannon. I knew he’d come around to what we’re doing here. He just needed more time to bond—”

  Oh, my God.

  I step away from him as I realise the extent of Father Robert’s cunning. I lift a shaking hand to my mouth. My voice trembles, “You pushed us together.” He looks up at me, through me. “You told him to stay away from me knowing he wouldn’t be able to resist.”

  Bob’s face turns cold. Void. Empty.

  He turns his lifeless eyes to me and spits, “I did what I had to.”

  He stands and his posture is so menacing, my heart skips a beat. For the first time in my life, I worry that Bob may actually hurt me.

  This is not a drill.

  He takes a step towards me, glaring all the while. “You think you have the right to judge me?” Another step. “Everything I do, I do for this organisation. For Mirage.” He takes one more step. This one forces me back. “If you think for one second that I don’t know what I’m doing,” he sneers, “think again, little girl.”

  I blink up at my father figure turned bully. I’m in shock, and to someone like me, shock doesn’t come easily. Disbelief courses through me. The bridge of my nose tingles as tears blur my vision. As one tear breaks free, trailing my cheek, I whisper shakily, “I gave him my virginity.”

  The ice moulding Bob’s expression begins to crack and break away. His eyes apologetic, he murmurs, “Oh, sweetie—”

  I swipe furiously at my face and sniff. Something deep inside of me refuses to believe Bob would do something so callous, especially to me. I try to think, be emotionless. What would I have done?

ding courage and dignity, I steel my voice and jerk a nod. “If you say you know what you’re doing, I trust you. You’re right. You’ve never given me reason to doubt you before; I’m not going to start now. If my virginity was a cost to keep us safe—” I start to walk away. When my back is to him, I firm my voice, “Then so be it.”

  I exit the office knowing Bob and I have another skeleton to add to our closet full of bones.


  I find myself staring into Marco’s room. I have no idea why I’m here. I just know that it feels like the place I need to be right now. Although I want to step inside, an invisible force field stops me from going in. Standing outside looking in, my jaw tics. Everything that happened in this room was a lie. A setup. But as I look over at the still rumpled bed, I remind myself that although our time was short and manipulated, it was good.

  I take a leaf from Clark’s book and tell myself, ‘It is what it is’. I can’t turn back time, and quite frankly, I’m not sure I’d want to. All I can do at this point is accept it so I can move on. But the gripping pain in my chest does not comply. I close my eyes, inhale and exhale slowly, fighting my emotions, urging it down to a dull ache.

  In a way, I’m glad Marco was my first. There was no attachment.


  No emotion.

  More lies.

  No wanting more.

  Lies, lies, lies.

  I hate the fact that I was manipulated. Bob, whether I knew it or not, made Marco the irresistible bad boy by telling him to leave me be, in my presence, no less. I may be sheltered, but I’ve read my fair share of romance novels. I know that as soon as a girl’s father-slash-older-brother-slash-boyfriend tells a guy to stay away from that girl, she wants him on a subconscious level.

  Fuck you, Bob. Fuck you very much.

  On top of that, I hate that I now have a secret from the team. I don’t feel good about this. Not at all.

  It will come out.

  Truth will out.

  God help me when it does.

  My stomach feels twisted in knots. I worry about Marco. I worry about Bob. I worry about saying something I shouldn’t.

  Fuck this.

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