Chapter 10
Arcane
Under the haunting glow of the moon, I stand with the eerie silence enveloping me, thickening the atmosphere with a palpable apprehension. Secrets hide in the stillness of the night, those that have now been unveiled—for there, all around me, are corpses scattered in the shadows.
I’m holding the note in my hand with such a hard grip; it’s a wonder it hasn’t yet crumbled into pieces. I should throw it away and allow the wind to carry it far off in the distance, but it’s as if I’m stuck in place, my feet glued to the slippery asphalt.
The wind grips my hair, causing it to tangle while I stand motionless, staring out at the dock around me.
Beautiful, bloodied angel.
I read the words over again, not sure if I’m hallucinating or not.
Blood is now on my hands, stained from the paper that must have been left on the corpse not too long ago. I dare take a step closer to the building, passing yet another guard whose chest is ripped open. The metallic tang of blood mingles with the stench of death, assaulting my senses like a heartbroken lover seeking revenge. It’s unbearable, causing me to gag as tears rush to the corners of my eyes. Another step away, and I notice yet another note. It’s as if they are scattered around, much like the bodies, placed in different areas to make a sort of mystery puzzle for me to solve.
I don’t want to, but the gut feeling within me tells me I have to.
I lean forward, grabbing the edge of the note, this one more crumpled than the other. The text is written in what looks like dried blood, red in a darker hue, the handwriting messy and scrawly.
I stare at the words, my brain refusing to comprehend if they even form coherent sentences.
The reaper wants you to find out…who killed the men?
A frown mars my brow, my heart thudding hard beneath my ribcage in an all too-fast rhythm. It makes me slightly dizzy when I glance down to continue reading the other words on the note.
A game to play, my devil.
In an instant, I’m spiraling down memory lane as the notes fall to the ground, their descent unnervingly slow.
“We’re going to play a game, you and I. A game that requires you to be observant. Trust no one.”
No, no, no, no. I’m shaking my head, staring at the dock with the containers littering the perimeters and the ships by the water. A game, he said, and the next day, he was gone. My lungs start burning, and I barely register that I’ve started breathing faster as I look at the note once more. It has to be a coincidence.
In that instance, I know it is a coincidence. How many criminal organizations haven’t had their fair trade of hatred for the Valentis over the years? Even far before I joined them, they had enemies everywhere. All the organizations in this town have, both from within Penumbra Crest and from those around the country.
Rage fills my being, blood boiling like the water left in a kettle for too long until it eventually explodes into bits of pieces, threatening to ruin the world around me. I clench my fists so hard it feels as if my nails will break, pushing into my palms until crescents form.
I look around once more until I can’t contain my emotions any longer. “Who’s there?” I shout, my voice echoing through the silence of the night. I hear my voice carried away, yet there’s no reply, and it pisses me off.
At that moment, I notice movement farther ahead. A subtle shift in the atmosphere and shadows, as if the darkness moves to the side. I squint my eyes but it stills, and I’m not even sure if it was real or all my imagination.
“Get the fuck out of the shadows,” I growl, holding the gun in front of me.
I make the stupid decision to stalk forward, refusing to be a little rabbit running away into the hole to hide until the predators are out of their way.
I step beside the bodies scattered around the asphalt, attempting to avoid the blood even if it’s everywhere, seeping through the ground and tainting it forever.
“I won’t tell you twice. Show your face.”
Silence greets me once again, just the sound of the wind as it knocks against the metal of the containers. I stop walking when I reach one, peeking around the corner.
It’s empty, and my thoughts scatter like leaves in a storm, tossed around the confines of my brain. Back here, the surroundings are cloaked in obscurity, three containers enveloping the area. Amidst the maze of metal, a small path opens up to my right, leading out onto the other side of the dock.
Slowly, I grab my phone from my pocket, ready to call Alec even if I’m disobeying their commands of not bringing Viper. No way in hell am I bringing that asshole, even if I’ve never met him. I’ve heard enough rumors about him and his goddamn family, how they’ve ruined more people than they’ve helped. There was even a shady deal between them and the Valentis, though I haven’t heard the details of what went down.
I’m just about to press the call button when the oxygen is knocked out of me, my body forcefully pushed against the metal of one of the containers, as if I’m held by an unknown entity. Both my gun and phone clatter to the ground with a reverberating thud.
I let out a yelp that is quickly silenced by something covering my mouth, preventing me from uttering a single word. My eyes are wide, and my lungs fight for breath.
One moment, I’m alone; the next, I’m confronted by a solid and hard wall preventing me from moving. Confusion clouds my mind as I try to understand what’s happening, my brain refusing to cooperate with the rest of my mind. Did a container fall?
Then, I feel it—shudders crawling down my spine like spiders seeking their prey, wanting to scare you off with their too-thin legs running all over you. Disgusting, small insects, horrifying with no point to this world. That’s what I feel when something presses against my throat, the moon glinting on the item’s surface.
A knife.
There’s someone in front of me, holding a goddamn knife to my throat. The blade presses against my skin, threatening to draw blood. My pulse thunders so loud, someone could feel it if they touched my pulse point.
The confusion dissipates as the moon glows, offering some light between the containers and casting shadows on whoever is here with me.
A man, equally as tall, stands before me, broad shoulders held in a posture radiating confidence and something more potent. Like a simmering fire existing underneath the skin, he holds the emotion of anger.
Narrowing my eyes, I feel slightly less brave with a knife against me. I curse myself for dropping the gun, knowing I could have used it as a weapon to protect myself. Now, the darkened figure before me is the one with the advantage.
He presses the knife harder, leaving a stinging sensation, and I know blood must be drawn, a smaller wound forming. His entire form is shrouded in shadows, making me unable to see more of his features.
It feels like minutes in which he merely stands there, drawing precious drops of crimson liquid while not doing anything else. There’s a lethal kind of beauty in the dangers around me, and only one question echoes in my mind. If he were the enemy, why isn’t he killing me?
Tilting his head as if studying me closely, I finally notice the motorcycle helmet that obscures his face. My soul somersaults within the confines of my bones, losing its grip on me as the realization hits me like an explosion caused by a bomb.
“Do you have any fucking idea of the mess you’ve created between our families?” he growls out, voice laced with an anger that can’t be tamed.
For a second, I’m stunned to silence, unable to make sense of any of this. The next, I’m looking into his eyes—or at least what I think are his eyes through the visor of the helmet—sneering at him.
A mistake, I realize, when he applies more pressure with the knife, widening my eyes with the chilling fear that he’s actually going to cut me .
He drives me back against the container, my skull colliding with the surface as it elicits a throbbing ache. The tilt of his head, more aggressive now, underscores the depth of his rage, his next words dripping with seething animosity. “Do you?”
I decide not to reply, frankly unable to with how tight he grips me. I fear that if I utter a word, the blade will cut deeper than it already has, and it’s a risk I can’t take.
As if noticing my train of thought, he slowly removes the knife, but his hand remains just as steady on me, preventing me from going anywhere.
“You were supposed to bring me with you, Arcane .” He spits out my name as if it’s a curse, leaving a disgusting aftertaste on his tongue that he needs to get rid of.
Within a moment of resolution, I will my muscles to loosen, using my arm to wrench free from his grip and throw an uppercut, leaving him stumbling back from shock. It gives me the escape I need to slip out of my confinement, using my foot to kick away my gun so he won’t reach it.
“You’re Viper, huh?” I pronounce his name with as much hatred as I can muster, letting my words pour out with a tone laced with disgust, much more potent than his. I take a step back right when he takes one forward, showing how pathetic I am, and I scold myself. “Tell your boss I have no intention of working with you,” I spit out.
Yet again, that tilt of his head betrays emotions I can’t decipher. I’m left grappling with the mystery of his expression and cannot discern his facial features or any clues to his identity beneath the helmet. All are covered by a single helmet, hiding him from the world. Somehow, I’m still sure he’s the Viper. One of the most notorious bikers in the whole Penumbra Crest.
“I’m my own boss.” There’s a scoff in his voice as he says this, and though I can’t see his eyes, I know they’re staring right at me.
His sheer presence is overwhelming, taking over the eerie space around us until it becomes one sole thing—him.
Never once do I break my gaze from him, keeping track of all his movements. I swallow harshly when he steps closer, and I attempt to appear unbothered, but it’s hard when I know he’s the one with the weapon now. He has his knife, whereas I dropped my gun.
His knife is covered with blood glistening off the sharp blade in the gentle, silvery glow of the moon.
Blood.
“You—” I take a shuddering breath, attempting to control both the fright and the irritation filling every nerve ending within me. “You killed those guards.” It sounds more like a question than a statement.
I imagine him smirking underneath the helmet, finding amusement in my confusion and rage. He remains silent, anger palpable in the tense stillness that hangs between us, allowing the wind to breeze against the unyielding metal surfaces of the containers.
“You fucking killed those guards.”
Rage is a potent thing visible in me, yet it’s also one of the most dangerous emotions you can show to your enemy. Staying calm and composed at all times serves as an advantage when you’re in checkmate mode. That allows you to keep your mind in control. Whereas rage takes over everything you’re feeling until the only thing you sense is just that. I’m fuming, my hands shaking with uncontrolled emotions.
If Mr. Valenti saw me right now, he’d throw me to the wolves, our sworn enemies, or worse—condemn me to the isolation chamber hidden in their basement. It’s a room meant for those associates, or even made men, who dare betray the syndicate. A shudder skates over my skin as I think about it, forgetting the existence of the biker for a moment.
“So what?” His voice barely cuts through the howling wind.
Grounding myself, I take yet another step back, telling myself it’s because I don’t want him near me. But I’d be lying if I said that was the only reason.
He draws closer, and with another container behind me, I’m unable to put more distance between us.
“So what?” he repeats, sending goosebumps erupting across my arms.
I think about all the reasons why I’m annoyed. The fact that the Grimaldis would know someone was here, disposing of their guards with no remorse. It will make them suspicious, heightening their security and making it more intact without any way to slip through their defenses.
“If you’re so adamant on this mission, Viper , then you should know the so what ,” I say as calmly as I can. “Fucking idiot.”
In an instant, I’m slammed against the container with such ferocity that my head collides sharply against the metal, sending waves of dizziness to swim up the surface. The world blurs into a hazy picture for a moment.
All I feel is the lack of air as he encircles his hand around my throat, not enough to kill me, but enough to weaken me. He’s tantalizingly close, the heat from his body brushing against mine and creating a different, forbidden , tension full of desire and danger.
His hand is right on my pulse point, trapping me in his hold, and I realize fighting is useless. Predators always chase the prey that fight or resist.
A silent and unmoving bunny is a living bunny.
Despite the fear gripping me, there’s a certain thrill in our proximity, as if I’m chasing the danger by desiring to stand close to him.
He increases the pressure until my chin involuntarily tilts upward, forcing me to meet his gaze. Tingling sensations cascade through my body in this twisted moment, having always enjoyed the arousing brink between life and death, no matter how perverse.
Underneath the tinted visor, the shadows of his eyes loom, darker and more intense than mine. They bore into me with a seething rage and hatred, yet there’s something else I can’t name.
This is a man who kills ruthlessly, enough to earn a reputation as a notorious biker. The second-born son of the García cartel, whereas I’m only a made woman in the underground world of Penumbra Crest.
The way he grips my throat, pressing his thumb against the pulse that could render me unconscious if pressed hard enough, reminds me too much of a person I’d rather forget. Someone who doesn’t deserve a place in my thoughts. It makes my heart ache in ways I never wished for, and I push those memories away, locking them in a box far down in my subconscious that it will take years to dig out.
“Here’s how things are gonna go, little angel.” He sneers the awful nickname like an insult, a cold glint in his eyes. “I possess knowledge that neither you nor anyone in your family are privy to, and I also have the schematics.” A smirk tugs at his lips, and I dig my nails into my palm.
So, he stole the damn schematics, proving the fact he killed that person in the warehouse.
I interrupt him before he can elaborate. “Are you so attached to your knife that you can’t help but hold it close to your chest?” I flutter my eyelids, cursing my stupid mouth for uttering a comment like that. Well, too late now, fucker.
He stands so close that I feel the subtle rise and fall of his chest with every breath, each one deeper than the last—filled with irritation from my comment. Bingo.
“Don’t you ever fucking interrupt me again,” he growls, the knife grazing my skin, drawing forth a drop of blood, yet not enough to cut too deeply. “You’re going to gather your thoughts and start cooperating,” he continues with a tone full of malice. There’s something so radiant and potent about him; it’s overwhelming, like being scorched by a hot iron. “Or else, there will be a war between our families. And trust me, you don’t want that.”
“You have no idea what I want,” I sneer.
He scoffs. “Oh, but I do. I hold the power to put you down like a sick dog in need of saving, or like a ship swallowed by the largest wave, meeting its dooming destiny. You don’t want to be that ship crashing into the waves.”
In the blink of an eye, he vanishes, leaving me alone amidst the corpses of the guards and the macabre notes he undoubtedly left behind.
He fades away as if he was never here to begin with. But the echoes of his presence linger, leaving behind a metaphor of words crashing against my insides like the deadliest virus.