Page 49 of The Darkest Hour
The look of desperation and fear in my mother's eyes.
“I was never the same after that. The State gave me to my aunt. I never got to see my mother again. . .who eventually died in jail a year later. And I just. . . shut down, all my teenage years, becoming angry and resentful. I got into trouble, fell in with the wrong crowd.”
Onyx listened intently.
“By the time I was fifteen, I was running with a gang. They taught me how to fight, how to kill. It became my life. The adrenaline, the power—it was addicting. I did things. . .terrible things, just to survive, to prove myself.” I opened my eyes taking in the expanse of dark ocean around us. “Then, I got in trouble. Went to jail. A counselor on the inside worked with me.”
“How long were you in jail?”
“Five years.”
The rain caused ripples on the surface, falling harder, as if mirroring the turmoil inside me. “When I got out of jail, I joined the military, hoping to find a purpose, a way to channel my anger. I excelled, but the violence never left me.”
“I bet the government liked that.”
“Killing for America got me many awards, so yes, they loved it.”
“How long did you stay in?”
“Six years. Then, after my service, I was recruited into a covert ops unit. We did the dirty work no one else would touch. It was there that I truly learned to kill without hesitation, to bury my emotions deep.” I paused, the memories of those missions, the bloodshed, flashing before my eyes. “When that unit disbanded, I found myself adrift, consumed by anger and loss. That was when an old contact reached out, offering me a way to use my skills.”
“And that’s how you became Havoc, the assassin?”
“It was easier to live as a weapon than face the emptiness inside.”
Onyx’s breath warmed my neck as she whispered, “A weapon. I understand more than you know.”
“You would.” It felt good to talk to her. Darkness had been my companion for so long.
The rain was pouring now, warm drops slipped down my skin, but I didn’t care.
For the first time in years, I felt a connection with someone.
We clung to each other as the rain fell harder, our bodies shivering but our spirits entwined.
I’d buried all dreams of being an astronaut, buried any hope of a normal life. I became a killer because it was all I knew how to be.
It was all I believed I was truly good at.
Now what? This is how I die? Was it all worth it?
The rain battered down on us, the rhythmic patter blending with the lapping waves, creating a haunting symphony that matched the storm within my head. Onyx’s warmth was the only thing keeping the cold at bay, her presence a fragile lighthouse in the unending night.
Her story had opened wounds long sealed, but sharing my own had somehow brought a semblance of peace.
She shifted slightly, her voice cutting through the rain. “Havoc, there’s something I need to know.”
“Yes?”
“Why do you have a $30 million dollar bounty on your head, in the first place?”
The question hung in the air, heavy and loaded with implications. I could feel her eyes on me, searching for the truth beneath the emotional scars.
I took a deep breath, the rain chilling my skin but my resolve hardening. “It started with a mission.”
“What mission?”
“I was contracted to take out a high-profile target—a billionaire named Varon Reznov. He was a ruthless man, involved in human trafficking, drug smuggling, arms dealing. The kind of man who thought he was untouchable.”