Night Fury: Second Act (Night Fury 2)

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?

Finding 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.

Lies.

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.

My feet move of their own accord, knowing I need distance. I walk out of Marco’s room, upstairs and into the barn. I key in my code and enter. The keys dangling from the wall call my name. I start up the Kompressor and press the button to open the double doors. As I move to press my foot down on the accelerator, Bob seems to come out of nowhere. He steps up to the passenger’s side, brows drawn. I hear his muffled, “Where are you going, Cat?”

I feel an onslaught of oppressed teenage rebellion rear its head as I stare straight ahead and respond, “Out.”

My foot descends and like a flash, I speed down the gravel drive and out of the grounds. As I look in the rear-view mirror, the church in encased in a cloud of dust. The second I hit the main road, I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding.

Immediately, I breathe easier.

Chapter Three

The library seems like a fitting place to go to think. It’s always been an escape for me in the past; only today, every book I open, try to look at, I don’t really see at all. The words mash and blur together as my pulse throbs a staccato drumbeat through my temples.

I’m angry at Bob. No. I’m furious. So when I see Tomas stride into the library, head down, hand up by his face, fingers extended awkwardly, it forces me to calm myself and focus on him.

It only takes me a second for the hairs on the back of my neck to stand.

Something’s wrong.

I’ve known Tomas for a long while now and I have never seen him act in the way he is acting today. If I didn’t know any better, I would say he was hiding from someone.

I watch him from afar, gauging what could be happening here, when a man comes in looking dishevelled and anxious. Worry radiates off him as he frantically searches the library. I look from the man to Tomas. When Tomas sinks down between two shelves, my protective instinct takes over.

Standing slowly, trying not bring attention to myself, I calmly walk over to the shelf in front of the one Tomas is in. Having left the church in a hurry, I am still wearing my sweats from the night before. Luckily, I blend in like a piece of furniture.

The man mutters, “Fuck,” and continues to search.

I kneel and peer into the row Tomas is in. His frantic rocking hurts my heart. “Tomas? What’s wrong?”

He rocks harder. He grits his teeth; his face turns red and I quickly realise he’s now holding his breath.

I whisper frantically, “Please don’t do that. I can’t help you if you don’t respond. Who is that man?”

An animalistic warbling cry comes out of Tomas, so loudly, I know he’s given himself up. I hear pounding footsteps and stand in time to see the man reach his row.