Ghosts of Halloween: A Dark Why Choose Romance

Two years ago

We sit in the haunted house, a low fire burning in a cast-iron bowl on the ground, the smoke trailing out through an open window. Caden’s next to me, looking grumpy, and Jack paces the room. He waits for Harlow. He didn’t tell us, but I suspect he finally got the balls to say something to her. And, like the idiot he is, he just let her go, leaving the decision to her.

So he waits, crawling out of his skin, shooting nervous glances at Noah. That makes me snicker. I definitely want to see how Noah reacts when he hears Jack wants to fuck his precious little sister.

“So, I bumped into Vladimir today,” Noah says out of the blue, and the energy in the room changes at once.

Caden sits up and Jack freezes. Electric tingles run down my spine, and I turn to Noah, focusing my whole attention on him. He doesn’t look up, playing with the knife in his hands, his brown hair falling down his forehead. I can’t see his eyes, and he doesn’t look tense at all, but that’s the thing about Noah.

He never shows his nerves.

“Yeah?” I ask, pleased when my voice comes out unaffected. Casual, just like Noah’s posture.

“I think he’s finally gone over the bend,” Noah says, weaving the knife between his calloused fingers. “He said something about the Day of Judgment coming soon. And innocent lambs stealing secrets from snakes.”

Jack barks a laugh, and I let out a breath, sagging slightly. But Caden’s face sharpens, and he looks at Noah with a tight frown, thinking.

“Was he drunk?” he asks.

Noah shrugs, balancing the knife on his finger, still not looking up.

“Not sure. The word on the street says he’s not drinking anymore. Working hard to pay for his mistakes.”

Vladimir is the town’s drug overlord. He has monopoly, and all the dealers buy from him. He’s not really Russian, but he calls himself that to appear more threatening. Or maybe because his given name is Wesley, which doesn’t really suit his profession. I don’t give a fuck. Point is, he’s not the brightest tool in the shed, but he’s fucking vicious and takes his honor seriously.

Over a year ago, we stole a hundred grand from him.

“Was he angry?” I ask, picking up my bottle, my hands suddenly restless.

Noah looks up, takes aim, and throws the knife. It lands between two cracks in the floorboards, vibrating with the impact. When he looks at me, I see a flicker of fear in his always steady eyes, and that scares the shit out of me.

Fuck.

“He was smug,” Noah says, throat working. “It felt like he was gloating.”

“Jesus Christ,” Caden says, hands tightening on his knees. “He knows. We gotta go.”

“Where?” I ask, mocking in cold terror. “He’ll come after us. You think if we hole up somewhere, he’ll just…”

“Out of the state,” Caden interrupts me, his voice calm but forceful. “Out of the country if we have to.”

“The fuck you’re talking about, man?” Jack asks, his shock quickly giving way to fury. “Let him come after us! How many people does he have? Ten? Twelve? He won’t send them all. I say we deal with them when they come. I’m not letting that motherfucker drive me away.”

“You want to fight Vladimir’s goons?” I ask, shaking my head. “I know you can fight, but those men carry guns. And you can’t shoot for shit.”

“I can.”

We all turn to Noah, who reaches into the waistband of his jeans at his lower back and takes out his gun. He’s taken to carrying it recently, and I wonder if he expected this.

“You can’t be fucking serious,” I say, reluctantly siding with Caden. “If we start killing off Vladimir’s people, his bosses will take interest. And if they find out, too… We took what’s theirs, and he was just stupid enough to get their money stolen.”

“They cut off half his prick,” Jack says, slouching against a wall, his eyes on Noah’s gun. “He can still fuck but he has a micro dick. That’s what I heard.”

“Exactly,” Caden says, a note of urgency in his voice. He looks right at me, his eyes pleading in a way I never saw before. “And he’s useful to them. We aren’t. Do you really think they’ll let us go? Even if we deal with Vladimir…”This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

Jack turns away and kicks a broken wardrobe so hard, the door falls off.

“Fuck!”

“I want to know how he found out,” I say, fear mixing with cold anger. “It’s been a year. Why now?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Noah says, getting up. “I’m not going anywhere. You guys can run if you want.”

I stare at him, taken aback. Because that’s not the story he sold us before. When he convinced us to do the job, describing in detail how Vladimir partied and drank every time he got a lot of cash, how careless he was, leaving the money almost unprotected, how easy the job would be…

He had a plan B then. If they ever found out it was us, we would run. He promised us that.

“The fuck, Noah?” Caden asks, anger glittering in his dark eyes. “That’s not what we agreed on.”

Noah brushes hair off his forehead and looks straight at Caden, hand relaxed around the gun.

“This isn’t confirmed. It’s just a hunch I had, and I could be wrong. I won’t run and force Harlow to leave everything behind.”

Jack comes closer, shoving his hands in his pockets, his face guarded.

“So it’s about Harlow? Fuck, man, she’s an adult. She can handle moving. We’ll take care of her.”

“I will take care of her,” Noah spits, his grip on the gun tightening. “She’s my responsibility. And if we know for sure, yeah, we can run. But for all I know, Vladimir was just off his rocker and talking nonsense, so why…”

He breaks off when a loud thud comes from the front door. There’s a sharp crack, and next thing I know, a guy in black leather stands in the doorway, gun with a long barrel trained at Noah. It goes off with a pop, and I see in slow motion as Noah’s body jerks with the impact. His gun falls out of his hand, and he staggers back, mouth open, hand clutching at his stomach, where his gray shirt is suddenly soaked.

Soaked red.

I just stand there. I fucking stand there for what feels like ages, but can only be a second, before I’m knocked off my feet as Caden tackles me to the floor. We crash, another pop reverberating in the old house, and then Noah’s gun is in Caden’s hand, and he shoots, too.

Unlike the other guy’s pistol, this one doesn’t have a silencer. Shots reverberate in the room—one, two, three, four—and then, there’s only a ringing, horrible silence.

“He’s dead,” Caden says, sounding hollow and far away, even though he’s right next to me. “We’re okay. He’s dead.”

And then Noah makes a horrible, gurgling sound, and I know we’re not okay.

We’ll never be again.