Novel & Cerita Why Can't Black Noir Talk

We didn’t speak at first. Tony and Kai fell into step behind us, their presence heavy, silent. I could feel Kai’s eyes on me. I didn’t turn. I couldn’t. “What happened last night,” Damon finally said, his voice low, controlled, “ends today.” My chest tightened. “It was a dare.” “I’m not talking about the dare.” Of course he wasn’t. I exhaled slowly. “Then what are you talking about?” He stopped walking. So suddenly that I almost ran into him.

And left space for another Damian had never considered. Not once. Not until now. He sat there in the study long after the screen went dark, the phone still warm in his hand, Nikolai’s voice echoing where it had no business staying. Someone who listens. Someone who doesn’t talk over her. Someone strong, but not loud. No. He shut it down immediately. He couldn’t think about that. He wouldn’t. Damian Blackwell did not allow thoughts like that to take root. Thoughts like that were how men lost control. How they betrayed the dead. How they rewrote graves they had already knelt before.

Then black. Nothing.

"This is going errant" Wendigo exclaims in anger as he stares at the city view through the glass wall. He can't believe their plans went down the drain as though they never had any. "I knew it" he breathed out with grit teeth. While he rant and rant, Black gun seems so lost in his thoughts. Nothing else occupies his mind than the scene of the previous night. "Just how can he not be affected by bullets?" He asked Wendigo, who threw him a deadly glance.

“And yet, he’ll never say it. Because that would make him human. Vulnerable. And Damian Blackwell doesn’t bleed.” Her words shredded me. I stepped closer, lowering my voice so only she could hear. “We need to talk.” “About what?” she asked, her eyes cool but searching. I hesitated. The words I should say wrestled with the words I wanted to say. Apologies, confessions, everything tangled in my chest. But before I could speak, movement outside the floor-to-ceiling window caught my eye. A figure lingered too long, too deliberate. The faint red blink of a camera light pierced the darkness.

Noah resisted the urge to shake his head; they were one step away from screaming what they were if this continued. The horror on the man's face was gold, and finding nothing to say, he quietly walked into the house and slammed the door in the president's face. Nico turned now, shutting his eyes and breathing in the air, a playful smile at the sides of his lips, "People are easily riled." he turned to Noah, who was suddenly tired, "I just did something Miloish, didn't I?" "I can't say, Sir." In the car, he settled, looking at the house as Noah started the ignition, "That tattoo on his shoulder, Negro Diamante,"

But a hand brushed his arm as he passed, firm, deliberate. “Stay behind,” Blackwell said quietly. Noah froze. “I didn’t do anything today,” he muttered. Blackwell leaned closer, his breath warm against Noah’s ear even with kids still filing past. “Exactly. And that’s the problem.” Noah’s stomach dropped. By the time the hallway cleared, it was just the two of them. Blackwell didn’t bother to lower his voice now. “You can’t look at me without getting hard, can you?” “Fuck off,” Noah snapped, glancing around even though the hall was empty.

"That was humiliating." "Curtis is the one who should be humiliated." "Maybe. But everyone in there is going to say I caused a scene." Noah shrugged, "People are always going to talk. So let them talk." I turned to face him. "Easy for you to say. You're Noah Blackwood. People whisper about you, but they don't dare say anything to your face." "True." He moved closer, resting his hands on the railing beside me. "But you're about to be part of my company. Which means you have the Blackwood name backing you now, whether you like it or not."