"A/N: This chapter contains descriptions of physical assault and murder."
The organization in which Nox was raised has many rules—one of them being the union of partners. Before Viktor, she had two other companions: Bates and Mariah. Together, the three formed a ruthless trio, staying close for a long time.
Their bond cooled when Nox was appointed as Alistair's right hand, the leader of the Viper organization who never hid his favoritism toward her. That favoritism bred jealousy and discord within the trio.
Bates had always craved a position of prominence. Just as skilled as Nox, he trained as hard—if not harder—than she did. So, he never understood why Nox was chosen, while he was left to be just another assassin. The bitter taste of defeat mixed with an inferiority complex turned into a poison he drank without fear. From then on, he saw Nox as his enemy and did everything he could to bring her down.
Even after achieving some satisfaction when she was punished and expelled from the organization five years ago, his hatred for Nox only grew. At some point, he blamed all his failures on her. In his eyes, the only way to succeed was for Nox to disappear.
Almost as obsessed with killing Nox as she was with Maxin Romanov, Bates would only rest once he had killed her with his own hands—and it seemed that day had finally come.
A disturbing smile crossed his face as he prepared himself.
The cabin where Nox's car was parked was the same place they used to train as teens—and also where Bates and Mariah used to take their targets before killing them, to perform what they called a ritual. Nox never cared to know what it was. But now the roles were reversed. Maxin Romanov was the target, and she couldn't let any assassin, other than herself, get near him. No matter what. The boy had already been marked, and only she had the final word on his life.
The place was poorly lit and covered in dust. Her weapon of choice this time was a Taurus pistol, held firmly in her hands as she kicked the door. The old lock gave in, and the woman burst into the place, perfectly composed, nearly superhuman—radiating calm and power.
Inside the cabin, a hallway led to five doors, one of which was open with the only light in the building. Guided by it, Nox walked steadily, until her cold determination was met by the fury of the woman who stepped out of the room.
Mariah looked at Nox and fired a single shot before being reflexively gunned down in return. She dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes, a clean shot in the forehead. Mariah had never liked guns—she preferred taking care of her looks and chasing boys. Nox once told her that her lack of interest and practice would be her downfall. Back then, Mariah had laughed mockingly. Now, she probably thought of that a few seconds before dying.
The sound of gunfire, followed by Mariah's body collapsing, made Bates stash his knife into his waistband and reach for his pistol. Like a bull, he saw red and charged at Nox with psychotic intensity.
Maxin was left alone in the room, hearing only shouting and things being smashed. Like broken junk tossed into the trash, he didn't even resist his tragic fate as he was dragged to the incinerator.
"You really came! Bravo!" Bates clapped mockingly.
"Where's my target?" Nox asked coldly. Her forehead was starting to sweat, and blood dripped from her shoulder, yet she kept her indifferent posture.
"Your target? You killed a comrade over a punk? What kind of assassin pride is that?"
"Mariah shot first. I just returned the favor. And I'll kill you too, right now, if you don't bring me Maxin Romanov. Come on, Bates—where the fuck is my target?!" she shouted, gun pointed straight at him.
Bates acted like he was in a circus, laughing uncontrollably in her face. He clicked his tongue, stretched his neck, and tossed his gun to the floor.
Her eyebrows tensed. And then all Nox felt was her body being violently slammed to the ground. The impact made her gasp; the pain in her shoulder intensified. Her gun was just out of reach. Turning over, she began crawling toward it, under Bates' demonic gaze.
"Look who's crawling now!" he sneered, crouching and grabbing her ankle, dragging her toward him and flipping her onto her back.
Nox retaliated, kicking her leg up hard. Bates stumbled forward, and her fingers drove into one of his eyes. The burning sensation made him roar in rage, and he let go of her leg. The pain in her shoulder flared, making it harder to reach her weapon.
But Bates wasn't giving up. Fueled by hatred, he blinked hard, grabbed Nox by the neck, and threw her to the ground again. She tasted dirt on her lips and felt the weight of his body pinning her down.
"You bitch! Shameless whore!" he spat misogynistically, and began punching her in the face.
He unleashed all his fury on Nox. With heavy, brutal fists, her nose cracked, and blood from freshly split skin flowed down her face and neck. Her body was about to give in, entering a near-vegetative state under the madman on top of her. Breathing was difficult, and the pain was overwhelming.
What had always kept Bates from becoming the boss's right hand—besides Alistair's preference for Nox—was his inability to control his emotions.
When you're ruled by your emotions, you go blind. You lose reason and clarity. And assassins can't afford that. Emotions make you fail. Nox knew that—because it was the emotion on Maxin's face that made her hesitate, for the first and only time.
Bloodred-eyed, Bates kept beating her face. Her flailing hands moved to his hips, desperately searching for anything she could use. Her fingers found the handle of his knife.
Gripping it together, she pulled it from his side. Bates only stopped when he felt the blade bury into his flesh. His body froze. Thick blood poured from his mouth and dripped onto her.
Nox shoved him off with what little strength she had left. He was bleeding heavily—too much to survive.
She stood, feet dragging on the floor, and gave Bates one last look.
"You were once close to the boss, admired for your skills like I was. But the moment you took my target and tried to kill me... I erased any pity I might've felt for you. I'll see you in hell, partner."
The staggering figure picked up the Sauer P226 and stepped into the house.
The silence that tormented Maxin was broken by footsteps approaching. His nose caught the strong smell of iron from the blood-drenched figure who ripped off his blindfold.
She.
Maxin's jaw dropped, his amber eyes dilating at the bloody image of the assassin standing before him. His heart pounded wildly in his chest. No words escaped his lips as she untied his wrists and removed the gag.
His legs felt like jelly. Nox had to pull him close, forcing him to stand—just like in the alleyway—staring into his eyes through the blood on her face.
And at that moment, intensely looked upon, Maxin didn't think about running. The fear that once consumed him shrank and was almost replaced—by nothing less than curiosity.
"Let's go, Maxin. We're leaving."
He had always been resilient, no matter what happened. Always standing firm, fighting for survival. Always alone, hiding his deepest fears and desires. He had never had anything that made him feel truly alive—until now, when this assassin was on his heels. And Maxin couldn't help but feel butterflies.
He wanted to know how far she would go. What she'd do just to have him. And his heart was overflowing.
"I accept," he said, breaking the silence inside the black car, sitting in the passenger seat. "I accept being yours." The woman glanced at him, puzzled. "I'm in your hands. You can do whatever you want with me, assassin." So don't leave me, he nearly begged in his thoughts.
With big, bright, dog-like eyes, full of unspoken desires, Maxin stared at her—bravely.
"You have no idea what you just did, Romanov."
She ended her monologue with a lighter heart. Her face was free of blood, though swollen. She stepped on the gas, heading to the nearest motel. A part of her chose to ignore what the boy had said.
Mine? Ha. That sounds like a cruel joke.
But another part—one slowly being uncovered—liked it.
Liked the idea of something that could be hers.