His Dark Angel

Chapter 2

Nyx's POV

I was jolted from my doze by the dog's incessant barking. It was getting late. I sat up on the bench, my eyes scanning the surroundings. I must have overstayed my time at the park. I came here to watch the children, hoping to find some semblance of comfort in their innocence and to numb myself from the emptiness inside. Now, though, the park was empty, save for a few destitute souls and a couple of unruly youths. The reasons for my visit had long since left.

I stood, stretching my stiff limbs, and prepared to head home. You're probably wondering why I'm rambling on. To be honest, I don't come to the park for the scenery or recreation. No, I come for the kids. Before you jump to conclusions and call me a creep (and I suppose I might be, but not in the way you think), I adore children. Their innocence calms me; it’s the only thing that makes me feel anything. Lately, I’ve been numb to everything else. The world feels muted, like I'm watching it through a thick pane of glass. But with them, there's a flicker, a spark of something real.

You’re probably wondering who I am. Well, I’m Nyx. Just Nyx. No family, no friends, despite being well-off. I don’t work. I grew up in foster care, and when I turned 18, a lawyer showed up with some papers to sign. Turns out, my biological parents were wealthy before they passed, leaving me a substantial inheritance. It was a strange turn of events. Growing up in foster care wasn’t easy, but I survived. That’s what matters, right? I tell myself that, anyway.

I started my walk home, hands shoved into my pockets, my hood pulled low over my face. The streets were thinning out as the night deepened, but I wasn’t in a hurry. People here knew better than to mess with me. Despite being a girl, my reputation preceded me, and most avoided me. They knew what I was capable of. They saw the shadows in my eyes, the stillness that hinted at a storm beneath the surface.

Arriving at my run-down apartment complex, I walked inside. Sure, I had money, but I didn’t live like it. A roof over my head and food to eat—that was enough for me. I climbed the steps, heading up to the fifth floor. I was the only one who rented a place up here—the rooms were the worst, and I liked the isolation. The silence was a comfort, a stark contrast to the chaos of my past.

As I reached the top, I heard muffled sounds of a struggle. A child’s scream cut through the air, followed by the sound of desperate tugging. Curiosity gnawed at me. I quickened my pace. Or was it just curiosity? There was something else, a familiar prickle of…anticipation?

At the end of the hall, I saw it: a man and a woman were dragging a boy—no older than twelve—toward a room. He fought back, gripping the doorframe with bloodied fingers, refusing to let go. His head was bleeding too, but he fought like hell. The sight made me chuckle. The thought that a kid was giving them such a hard time amused me. It was a dark amusement, a twisted appreciation for his tenacity.

The sound of my chuckle froze the scene. All three of them turned to look at me. I could see the gears turning in their heads, deciding what to do about the situation. I let my hood fall, revealing my face. The woman flinched, unable to hold my gaze. The man, though, his eyes widened with recognition. He knew who I was. He gulped, clearly afraid. He saw not just a girl, but a predator.

I looked at the boy. Instead of cowering, he met my gaze with defiance. His eyes burned with resolve. That’s when I knew—this kid wasn’t just a victim; he was a fighter. And something in me stirred, a kinship with that fire.

The man cleared his throat, trying to salvage the situation. “Nyx, we don’t want any trouble. We’re just doing our job,” he said, his voice shaky.

I stared at him, letting the silence drag on until it was thick enough to make him squirm. He knew about my past, about the violence I was capable of. He knew that one wrong move, one wrong word, and he’d be dead. And in that silence, I let him feel the weight of that knowledge, the threat that hung unspoken in the air.

“Did you know I lived here?” I asked, my voice cold.

“Yes… Yes, I did. But the super said you were out of town until Monday. That’s why I paid for it,” he stammered.

“Why did you pay for it if you knew I lived here?” I raised an eyebrow, my curiosity piqued. A dangerous kind of curiosity.

He hesitated. “I figured no one would come looking for the kid here. It’s the perfect place to hide out.”

“Hmm. That’s true. But it seems the super lied to you.” I paused, watching their fear intensify. “No matter. Since you’ve paid, you can stay—but keep it quiet. I like things nice and peaceful.” A lie, of course. Peace was a luxury I rarely afforded myself.

He exhaled in relief. “Yes, of course. You won’t even know we’re here.”

I pulled my hood back up, turned toward my door, and retrieved my key. Just as I was about to unlock it, the boy called out.

“Miss, please help me. I’ve been kidn*pped. Just tell my brother where I am, and he’ll reward you, I promise.”

I glanced back at him, then at the kidnappers. A flicker of something crossed my face. Not pity, but…interest.

“Well, next time you decide to kidnap someone, tape their mouth,” I said flatly, opening the door behind me and stepping inside. I closed the door without looking back. But the image of his defiant eyes stayed with me.

I kicked off my shoes and removed my hood, settling onto the sofa. I grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. The screen flickered to life, showing the various rooms on my floor. I switched to the kidnappers’ room and watched as they finally managed to get the boy inside and lock the door. They probably thought they were safe now. Fools.

Even if he hadn’t asked for my help, I would have intervened. I didn’t like seeing kids in pain. It was more than that, though, wasn't it? It was a need to protect, a darkness that demanded an outlet.

I waited, watching them settle in until everything went quiet. It was almost midnight when they finally taped the boy up, rendering him immobile. I got up, stretching the kinks from my back, and retrieved a box from under my bed. I opened it, considering my options. After a moment of thought, I selected my hunting knife. It was a fitting choice for what I had in mind. A fitting dance partner.

Closing the box, I began to whistle a soft melody, spinning the knife in my hand while I slid the other into my pocket. I moved slowly, methodically, from my unit to theirs. I knocked on their door and waited, still humming. A lullaby of death.

The woman opened it, a hesitant smile tugging at her lips. I entered, shutting the door behind me. My knife was hidden in my waistband, but I didn’t need it yet. I approached her, my smile fading as I struck. My fist hit her with enough force that her head snapped back, and blood started flowing from her nostrils. A satisfying crunch, a stark reminder of my strength.

I pulled the knife from my waistband, using the hilt to hit her in the temple. She collapsed, unconscious. Silence fell, heavy and complete.

I dragged her to the center of the room and dropped her leg. Her partner was still frozen in disbelief. I whistled softly, turning my gaze to the boy. He watched me with wide, hopeful eyes. A silent plea, a desperate trust.

The man, though, was quicker on the draw. He pointed a g*n at me, but before he could even blink, I threw my knife. It embedded itself into his palm, causing him to drop the weapon. I grabbed the rifle, aiming it at his kneecap before pulling the trigger. His scream echoed through the room. A symphony of pain, a harsh punctuation to his defiance.

I left him writhing in pain, taking his revolver and tucking it into my belt. I walked over to the boy, kneeling to untape his mouth and wrists. Carefully, gently, as if handling something precious.

When I finished, I stood and offered my hand. He took it, rising to his feet. I dragged the woman to a chair and tied her up, making sure she couldn’t move. The man I dragged to another chair, securing him as well. Justice served, in my own twisted way.

I searched him, emptying his pockets. All I found was a phone.

I pulled over another chair and sat, dragging the sofa closer. I stopped whistling, focusing on the child. The adrenaline faded, leaving a strange calm in its wake.

“You want answers?” I asked him, my voice cold, impassive. A mask I wore, to hide the turmoil beneath.

The boy nodded once, his gaze determined. I gestured to the sofa beside me.

He walked over and sat down, facing the kidnappers as if ready for whatever was to come next. I smirked. This should be entertaining. A dark amusement, a twisted game.

I cleared my throat. “Let’s start with the basics.”

The boy’s eyes gleamed with anticipation, ready for the truth to unfold. I took a deep breath, preparing to unravel the answers. And perhaps, in doing so, unravel a part of myself.