Dark knight, p.1
Dark Knight, page 1
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
Copyright © 2023 Hailey Smoke.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real people, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Chapter 1
Aurora
“Damn! It’s really starting to come down out there, isn’t it?”
I toss my braids away from my face and look outside at Shawn’s exclamation. He is right.
“It’s like the heavens chose tonight to pour out all its woes. And I don’t even have an umbrella. Did the weather guy even predict this tonight?” he continues to mumble as he proceeds to wipe down the bar counter.
I laugh at his frustration. “I didn’t know you listened to the weatherman.”
“Not as a general rule but come on, man. It’s raining cats and dogs out there. For that tsunami you’d think we would have some sort of breaking news and have the city shut down.”
“It’s just a little drizzle,” I say.
“It’s a downpour,” he grumbles.
“I thought you liked the rain, Shawn.” I place the last of the dirty glasses in the crate on the floor and move to empty the bowls of pretzel crumbs.
“I do, Aurora. But I like to be home and cuddled up with the remote control when it does. Being on the graveyard shift here with that weather out there, is not my idea of a great night.”
“At least you don’t have a one-hour trip ahead of you after you leave here.” I hoist the crate into my arms and head towards the kitchen. He runs ahead to hold the door open for me.
“Facts. So, let’s finish up and get out of here. Hopefully it lets up a bit by the time we’re ready to leave.”
For the next hour, we work tirelessly to get the bar back into tip top shape. And, as we had hoped, the rain has eased a bit from the torrential downpour. But it still rains steadily. I grab two garbage bags and with a few quick snips have makeshift raincoats. Another bag cut in two will cover our heads.
Shawn grins when I hand one set to him.
“If this whole business venture you have for opening your massage therapy studio after you leave college doesn’t work out, you could hack it as a fashion designer.”
“Ha!” I laugh, grabbing my braids and pulling them into a ponytail before wrapping the ends to form a bun. I place my backpack in front of me before pulling on the garbage bag then tying the plastic on my head.
I strike a pose. “Am I ready for the runway?”
Shawn laughs. I walk through the door and wait patiently under the awning for him to lock up and put on his own raincoat.
“I need to go grab some stuff at the store so take care. I’ll let you know when I get home.” I hug him quickly before stepping off in one direction.
“Be sure you do. New York at three in the morning in the rain is not the place to be,” he calls after me.
I wave and continue my journey. I know he is concerned for my safety, but I pride myself on how quickly I have adjusted to this city in the past three years. When I had just moved here at age twenty, my parents had thought I was crazy. But look at me now. If put to the test, one can tell that I am not a native. But I have picked up enough city slicker savvy to get by and that is what counts.
I hurry to the convenience store and pick up the few items that I need to tide me over the week until I get paid. I stuff them into the backpack and make sure I have my bus fare in an accessible spot before heading out again. The rain has gotten a little heavier, so I speed up my pace. Despite my ‘raincoat’, I feel dampness on my knees and calves even through the thick fabric of my jeans, and by squelching with each step, I know that I am going to have to find a way to dry out my sneakers when I get home. Thank goodness I do not have work until in the afternoon tomorrow, so I have at least the morning to figure things out and get some needed rest.
I head towards my bus stop quickly, hoping that I will get into some sort of transportation before the rain gets any harder. I know May is known for its spring showers, but I have to agree with Shawn. It is really coming down now and this feels more like a storm. I try to avoid the puddles as best as possible and manage to sidestep a huge one just as a gust of wind lifts the bag up to my waist. I turn my back to the wind to adjust the bag and hear a soft grunt. I look up and find myself facing an alley. I stand transfixed at the sight of three shadowy figures.
Two men are standing over a kneeling figure with his hands behind him. Inexplicably, the hair on the back of my neck stands up, and my brain shouts at me to get out of there. But my feet are glued to the spot.
This is what it means to be at the wrong place and at the wrong time.
Everything seems to happen in slow motion, despite my heart drumming rapidly.
The taller of the two men raises his arm and points a gun to the kneeling man.
No! my brain screams. My eyes widen as the barrel flashes in the dark and the kneeling man slump to the side. The man continues to fire into the body. It sounds like little pebbles ricocheting and not the loud blast of gunfire. He must be using a silencer.
Just then, some vehicle comes around the corner and the headlights light up the alley for a few moments. The shooter looks up and I see his face. There is a long crescent-shaped like scar that runs from one eyebrow to the corner of his mouth. I gasp, the first sound to finally leave my lips as he and his partner look at me.
Run! My brain finally sends a message to my feet as the shooter’s partner pushes his hand into his jacket and stalks towards me.
A rush of adrenaline fuels my veins, propelling me to run. I hear his footsteps not far behind me. All my instincts tell me that I need to get to a place with people. The night market!
I kick it into high gear, channelling my five years of high school track and field as a mile runner. I dare not look behind me. The night market com into view and I’m happy to see that it is well-lit despite the weather. I dash into the most crowded section and pull a stall over in my wake.
“Hey! What the fuck!?” The seller shouts.
“Excuse me! Sorry!” I continue to run, pushing my way through the shoppers. I dare a glance over my shoulder and see the man still in pursuit but thankfully hindered by the stalls and people. I do not stop running even when I get to the end of the covered market space. There is no way I can go to a bus stop, not when he has an idea of what I look like and what I am wearing. I have to keep going somehow, but I am getting tired. My heart feels like it is going to beat out of my chest, and I feel the adrenaline wearing off somewhat. But I cannot give up.
Just then, I spot a bus about to pull up at a stop on the opposite side of the road. I do not care if it is heading to Brooklyn where I need to go, or Timbuktu. Four wheels are far better than two legs. I make a mad dash into the street in an effort to get to the bus stop.
“Wait!” I shout desperately just as the bus pulls away from the stop.
“Please wait!” I cry at the top of my lungs, chasing the bus. But it doesn’t fucking stop, it continues down the road as if it too is fleeing from me.
Screeeeeeeeech!!!
The sound of squealing tyres makes me stop in my tracks. I spin around, throwing my hands up to my face like a shield as I am blinded by headlights bearing down on me.
Chapter 2
Adrian
This is the kind of night that requires a companion between the sheets to keep me warm and cozy. But I am simply not in the mood for a quick fuck right now. Seeing my mother and sister in Binghamton takes priority. Though I talk to them several times each week, I have not been there since Christmas. And I am getting a little tired of my mother pining for me to come home. I do a mental check of my schedule and realise that I am up to my neck in work all the way into the summer. I could maybe sneak away for a weekend near the end of the month. The three-hour drive is not that bad if I leave for Binghamton Friday morning and get back to Manhattan Sunday night.
I stare at the water sliding down the windscreen as the wipers fight to keep up with the steady stream.
“It’s a good thing we called off that shipment for tonight, huh boss?” my bodyguard, Dmitri, peers out at the pouring rain.
“Yup. I don’t fancy catching a cold on account of a couple hundred thousand. If it were a couple million, maybe.” I look at him as he checks his phone while sitting in the passenger seat.
He chuckles and snorts. I turn my attention back to the street and instantl y slam on the brakes as a figure darts into the street.
“Fuck!”
The car stops just a whisper away from the person. I cannot tell exactly what it is as I see nothing but garbage bags. Damn homeless vagrant.
“Hey! Watch where the fuck you’re going!” Dmitri screams out the window.
I fly out of the vehicle, pulling my coat collar up against the rain. My hand is not far from my piece. Dmitri is on my tail and on high alert. There is no telling if this is a set up. I have not lived as a child of the mafia for thirty-two years and spent the past seven of it at the head of the Drakos family to take anything as a coincidence.
“What the fuck are you doing!?” I snarl at the figure which has yet to move.
“S-Sorry! I was trying to catch the bus!” The voice is feminine. She begins to rise on her feet, then her foot slips in a puddle of water. She yelps, her big brown eyes wide, her legs flying from underneath her. She slams to the ground and her head connects with my bumper. She collapses in a mound of plastic and limbs.
I give her a minute to rise but she doesn’t.
“Shit!” Muttering under my breath, I approach and tap her shoulder. She doesn’t stir except for the subtle rise and fall of her chest. I grab her chin and turn her head from side to side. She is out cold.
“Boss, people are looking. Let’s get out of here.” Dimitri says.
“Right.”
I wonder for a moment if we should just back up and drive around her or at least get her to the curb. But something tells me to pick her up and take her with us.
I stoop and place one arm beneath her head and the other behind her knees and lift her. I pick her up even though she is no featherweight, and it does not help that I cannot quite make out the lump in front of her. Fuck! Is she pregnant?
Dmitri holds the back door open, and I wrestle her onto the seat before climbing in behind her. I scan the crowd that has gathered, wondering if she was with any of them. But if she was someone’s companion, surely, they would have stepped forward. My eyes light briefly on a man dressed in black who is standing on the edge of an alley, shrouded in the shadows. He is staring at the car. Something about his demeanour tells me he is in my line of work.
Dimitri pulls away from the curb and we leave a few curious onlookers behind. If anything, I had witnesses that I did not hit this woman.
“Where to now?” Dimitri asks.
“Hold on, let me check if she has anything on her.” I lift the garbage bag in an attempt to reach her pocket, and find, with some relief, that the mound was a backpack and not a belly. I dig around in it and find a wallet. I pull it out and rifle through it and find her drivers’ licence.
Aurora Baxter. Twenty-three. And she lives in Brooklyn.
“We’re heading over the bridge.”
“No problem.”
I give Dmitri the address then takes out my phone and turn on the torch. It lights up the unconscious woman and I can see her clearly. She is young. Her soft complexion is the colour of rich mocha. The garbage bag on her head has slipped off and has revealed an abundance of twisted hair piled on top of her head. There is the beginning of a fresh bruise at the corner of one eye which I deduce to be from her collision with the car bumper.
My eyes slide down her slim figure. Her torso is enveloped by the backpack and garbage bag which somehow kept her dry. But from the knees down, she is soaked. Yes. taking her to her place is the best thing. There is no telling what could have happened to her had I left her in the streets. If she was a man, maybe. But women being left in vulnerable states is not in my DNA. I have a mother and sister who I would protect with my last breath and would want to think that I am sowing some good seeds in protecting the fairer sex whenever the opportunity arises – like with Miss Aurora Baxter here. But what the hell is she doing on the streets at this time in the middle of the rain? She does not look like a hooker. And the brief rummage in her backpack did not yield anything to allude that she is a hooker. Oh well. Whatever her reason is, getting her home is the best option.
I go back to thoughts of Binghamton as I look at the passing skyline, loving how the lightning flashes in the night sky.
“Mmmh.” She stirs, drawing my attention back to her.
“Owwh!” She winces, her eyes flying open.
Without warning, she lets out a blood curdling scream and I feel her foot connect with my knee.
“Fucking bloody hell! What the fuck was-” Before I can finish the sentence, she grabs the door handle and pulls it hard.
“Let me go! Please! Let me go!” She pleads, “Please don’t kill me! I didn’t see anything! I swear! Just let me go! Don’t kill me!” she continues to tug madly at the door while she continues to kick at me.
“Hey! Hey!” I grab her flailing legs and move to clamp her thighs by straddling them.
“Please! No!” She begins to beat at me with her fists. She gets out just one punch on my face before I capture her wrists.
“Hey! Calm down!” I command, pinning her supple body against the seat until she stops struggling. Fear remains carved on her face still even when I add. “No one’s trying to kill you.”
“But you chased me-”
“I did nothing of the sort,” I cut her off, “You ran into the middle of the road, and I missed you by a whisker,”
She stares at me for the first time and perceive her relax almost visibly. She takes a deep breath, and then another.
“Relax, Aurora,” I say.
“H-how do you know my name?” She stammers, staring at me with fearful eyes.
“The same way I know where to take you home.” I look outside. “We’re a couple blocks away now.”
I release her and sit on the other side, watching her as she hugs her backpack closer and still watching me with mistrustful eyes.
“That’s a really innovative raincoat.” I crack a half smile, but her expression remains stony.
“We’re here,” Dmitri announces as he stops at the curb.
She looks outside, her hand instantly on the door handle. As soon as Dmitri releases the central lock she tumbles out of the vehicle and slams the door behind her. I roll down the window.
“Careful now,” I call out, watching her face intently, “We wouldn’t want a repeat of earlier when you knocked yourself out.”
“Thank you,” she mumbles as she pulls the garbage bag around her and hurries away. My eyes remain on her until she disappears into the building amid the shower of rain.
“Odd duck, if you ask me,” Dmitri murmurs, driving away.
“Hmmm,” Is all I say, rolling the window up.
The drive back to Manhattan is a silent one and seems to go by quickly. We pull into the basement parking of my building and head up to my penthouse. The silence echoes. It feels empty despite the beautiful furniture. The longing for home hits me once more.
I wait for Dmitri to do his sweep before I go to the bedroom. We barely exchange good nights before he leaves to go to his apartment one floor down and accessible through the secret staircase in my kitchen. No one ever sees Dmitri ‘leave’. Everyone thinks I am guarded twenty-four seven. But I need my space from time to time. I strip out of my clothing and head to the shower.
I close my eyes as the warm spray soaks me. I sigh as it soothes my muscles and allows it to beat on me before I grab a washcloth and some shower gel. As my hands glide over my body, I feel my cock stir. Closing my eyes, I get to work relieving myself, knowing that is the only way I am going to sleep right now. After jerking one off, I wash up quickly and return to my bedroom. I don’t bother with pyjamas; I head naked to bed. My last waking thoughts before sleep creeps over me is of Aurora, standing there in the rain with her hands up on her face.
Chapter 3
Aurora
I am a nervous wreck as I drop my keys a third time. Finally, I get them in the lock and rush inside. I lock the door behind me and hurry across the room to check the window in the bathroom as well as the fire escape in the kitchen. I draw all the blinds before turning on a light in the small living/dining/bedroom. Shivers skitter down my spine. Placing a hand on my chest, I draw in several breaths to slow my heart. My weak legs give under me, and I plop down on the floor and lean forward but I’m hindered by the backpack still strapped in front of me.
I take off the garbage bag and the backpack and take a deep breath once more. I lean against the sofa bed. I close my eyes but fly open immediately when the image of the man being shot flash in that short second. No. Murdered. Nausea coils in my belly. All I can see is the snake wrapped around the scar on his murderer's face. Why the hell did I stand and watch it all? And now they know there is a witness. Had I not taken off, I would have maybe joined their victim and ended up in a dumpster somewhere, my body riddled with bullets.
