33. Nora
Nora
meet us in mossville
H e isn’t watching Adam. No, his eyes are on me. And while his entire being radiates rage so profound, I feel like I could reach up and touch it. His eyes are gentle and concerned as they take me in.
“I crucified Bassey to the gravel driveway in front of Ricky’s house for looking at her. What do you think I’ll do to you for touching her?” he asks, as I struggle out of Adam’s hold.
Adam drops his hand from where he’s banded it around my waist, and I immediately step away from both of them.
“This isn’t a party, Adam. You’re here to lie low, stay safe, and out of trouble. I know your father told you as much,” August says.
“Chill the fuck out man, the regatta is about to start. Go back to your post and leave us alone.” Adam’s words fly from him in an angry rush, saliva flying in all directions as he glares at August.
“It’s okay,” I say, as my hand lands on the small of August’s back. Despite the words exchanged between us last night, the last thing we need is for this thing swel ling between them to escalate. I try to step between them, but August blocks my way.
He clenches his jaw and looks over at Thalia and then back at Adam. “Yeah, okay,” he says, before turning and walking back up to the house where Yves and Alley both stand, watching from the deck.
My eyes follow August as he moves up the sloped garden path and onto the deck. He says something to Yves and Alley before disappearing into the house. Chancing a glance at Adam, I’m not surprised to see him watching August too. But I am surprised and unsettled to see the malicious smirk that twists up his face.
“Go in the house and grab the steak, Thali,” Adam shouts, turning his back on the house and grabbing the bottle of whiskey, gulping down the amber liquid straight from the bottle.
Every instinct I have is on high alert. Adam’s erratic, drugged out behavior, the noise of the music... All of it sets me on edge. And it’s happening on a day when the lake is packed with boats and people we don’t know.
Thalia looks at me, a silent request for confirmation that she can go into the house, her soft eyes checking that I’ll be okay alone with Adam. I nod, watching as she slowly strolls back toward Alley and Yves still standing and watching us from the deck.
B arely five minutes have passed since Thalia left to fetch the food, and while I know I’m okay alone with Adam, anxiety still crawls beneath my skin. When Adam cranks up the volume on his music, something in me snaps. Marching over to the speaker, fully intending to shut it off, only Adam chooses that moment to materialize at my side, jabbing the buttons aggressively. His movements and the anger twisting his face making him look like a petulant child. Ruddy and red-faced, swaying on his feet, he sneers at me as the loud bass thunders through the garden once again.
My arm shoots out, trying to reach for the speaker again, but he grabs my wrists. As he shakes me aggressively, panic races through me as my eyes dart toward the house, knowing I’ll see August. And I’m right. He’s racing down the stairs that lead to the boathouse.
“You can’t trust him, Nonny,” Adam says as he follows my gaze, realizing August is coming down to us.
“I don’t trust anyone, Adam,” I reply.
“He’s not who he says he is. I know you hate me right now, I don't know why, but trust me, he’s a snake waiting to pounce, and when he does, I don’t think you’ll survive.” He drops my hand and turns to face August. Adam’s face lights up in a terrifying smirk as a truly psychotic mania dances in his eyes.
August steps forward, about to close the distance between us, when a series of loud bangs rent the air. I gasp. A second later, splintering neon lights wash the early evening sky. Reds, blues, and yellows—the colors spread out and then fade away in a flash. Fireworks. The loud bang, just fireworks.
I look over at August as Adam’s words come rushing back to me. He grew up in Dahlia Heights. Everyone who grows up in Dahlia Heights is a Knight. Everyone who grows up in Dahlia Heights works for King or suffers under him, and suddenly, as that knowledge seeps into my heart, terror I’ve never known before tightens in my chest. He all but admitted to working against Ricky last night—him, Yves, and Alley. Could Adam be right?
Befo re I process any of it, another series of deafening bangs sound seconds before a fresh kaleidoscope of color fills the sky.
“Come here,” August calls out to me as the next round of fireworks starts.
My head turns between him and Adam frantically, unsure of whether to trust the devil I know or the devil I’m falling for. But again, I’m robbed of time to decide, to process, as another series of bangs go off.
It takes me a second to register the difference in pitch. The way the previous round of fireworks sounded like cannons and thunder, but these new noises sound more like hollow pops.
August dives for me as the thunderous crack of shattering glass rings out behind us. I spin toward the house as I hit the deck.
Thalia screams just as Yves yells, “Get down!”
August’s body covers mine, crashing into the hard wooden floor of the deck moments before another round of gunshots goes off. Twisting his body slightly away from mine, August reaches behind his back, pulling out his Glock. I’m rigid beneath him, frozen, in a state of horror-induced pause.
“Get the fuck down!” he screams at Adam as he turns to face the house. But he’s too late. The bullet’s impact rips through Adam’s shoulder, dropping him to the deck, inches away from us. Only a flesh wound; he’ll live.
Some dark and twisted part of me regrets that.
I can’t move, can’t look around, but I don’t need to. I know we’re fucked out here, in the open. The stretch of garden that leads back to the house is too open to make a run for the house without risking a bullet to the back.
“Can you move?” August asks Adam, as a fresh barrage of gunshots sounds around us. His only reply is a muffled groan. “Fuck,” August mutters before looking down a t me. “Little raven.” He smiles softly at me and, with wide eyes and shaking shoulders, I nod.
“I can run,” I whisper.
The sound of a speedboat approaching the house sends fear racing through my body. We need to move, to run. I have no idea what the fuck is going on, but we have to get off this deck now.
“Adam, get the fuck up. I’ll cover you. Get Nora back to the house. Adam!” August growls. Adam’s eyes snap to mine, acute panic hanging in them.
“On my count,” August says, as he shifts his weight off me and moves into a crouch. His eyes track every corner of the dense tree line surrounding the house and the lake as he tries to find the shooter’s nest. “Three, two, go,” he whispers, and Adam and I move, darting for the house.
We reach the steps to the back deck as two shots come in quick succession from the tree line along the beach. Another round of gunshots, more deafening than before, ring out behind us, August’s returning fire. He’s found the shooter.
Adam races up the stairs ahead of me and I glance over my shoulder, desperately needing confirmation that August is okay. He’s moving toward the house in slow increments, using the few trees along the path as cover.
But movement on the boathouse deck catches my eye, my heart catapults into my throat. One by one, five people, covered head to toe in black wetsuits and armed with assault rifles, creep along up the wooden staircase. August fires six shots in rapid succession. I watch in horror as one of them blows through the shoulder of one of the intruders.
The safe house is compromised. We need to leave.
A st rong arm bands around my waist, dragging me up the stairs. I flounder, struggling to get free as Yves pulls me into the house.
“August—” I splutter, as Yves pushes me behind him and draws his weapon.
“—will be fine, Nora. He will be fine. Go to your room now and grab what you need. We need to leave in exactly three minutes,” he orders.
How my feet manage to move will remain a mystery to me, but somehow, they do. Somehow, I race toward my room and frantically grab things. My phone. Pictures of my parents, a change of clothes. Somehow, I manage to shove those things into a bag. Somehow, I manage to throw on August’s sweatshirt. Somehow, I manage to do all of this in less than three minutes.
Racing back into the living room, I slam into the brick fucking wall that is August’s chest. His hands fall to my hips, steadying me as a frenetic energy crackles around us.
Alley’s bandaging Adam’s shoulder. Thalia’s shifting from one foot to another, clutching her overnight bag. Yves’ handing a gun to August. All of this is surreal.
“We need to leave,” August says. “Yves take Thalia. Alley, you’re with Adam. Nora, you’re with me. I’ll text from the road. Move. Now!” His fingers lace through mine as he practically drags me to the front door. After pausing for a second to check the driveway is clear, he pulls the door open, and we all file out. Each of us race for the car we need to flee in. August practically rips my door open, shoving me inside and slamming it shut. A second later, he’s in the driver’s seat. A second after that, we’re speeding down the dirt road away from the house, away from the people shooting at us, away from the only p lace I’ve ever felt close to my parents.
“We should call someone.” I sound insane. My voice is high-pitched and drenched in fear. Looking over at August, I can’t miss the death grip he has on the steering wheel. This is the first time I’ve ever seen him look mildly out of control. And if it wasn’t for the general air of death hanging over us, I might’ve admitted that it’s a little attractive on him. This wild, savage aura suits him. I pull my phone out of the bag at my feet and tap the screen. “It’s dead, fuck.”
“Here,” he says, handing me his phone. “Yves’ number is under ‘Morningstar'. Call him and put it on speakerphone.”
“Morningstar? Like the devi—”
“Nora! Focus, just fucking call him, now!” He yells as we turn off the dirt road and onto the highway.
The sound of Yves’ phone ringing lasts for less than a second before he answers.
“Meet us in Mossville. Take the long way,” August barks the words out and then grabs the phone out of my hand, killing the call.