Page 101 of Kortlek

With a wicked grin plastered on my face behind the mask, I immediately run forward. Cove’s right behind me, as he said he’d be. He’s taking out anyone he comes across that has a firearm, leaving me to deal with those that chose a different one.

The mace feels light in my hand, the steel object seemingly comfortable to carry around. I sway it around, hitting men, one after the other, enjoying the suspense building inside of me. Wyatt is somewhere here.

He may talk big, but he’s all bark, no bite. He’s a coward — he’s always been one. It’s now that I understand how deep his insecurities are and how scared he is. He’s letting people he called friends fight battles that aren’t theirs to fight.

Soon enough, I’ll take his life.

No mercy.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Something rushes through my veins. I can’t explain it. It’s dark, deeply rooted inside my chest, and it’s finally peeking its head, slowly rising to the surface. The sudden rush, the feeling of being unstoppable, consumes me, and I can’t focus on anything but the sheer excitement that flows through my body.

Blood drips down my gloved hands, some managing to get under the leather. Feeling the ichor on my fingertips sends a different kind of thrill down my spine. It’s sadistic, dark, and, in some ways, it satisfies the blood thirst.

Not enough, though.

The mace is coated in blood, the remains of what were once members of the New York Vipers. Now, they’re a lifeless mass on the dirty tiled floor of an abandoned warehouse, and no one will ever find them again. They died just how they lived — pathetically.

My eyes skim the surrounding area of the ruined room, broken glass, windows, and smashed door all around me. Tables in pieces, chairs with cobwebs all across them, the dust hitting my nose, causing me to cough. The mask is still on my face, and undoubtedly, it’s covered in blood as well.

“Oh, Wyatt,’’ I called out loudly in a singing voice. My footsteps echo as I walk slowly, walking from one room to the other one.

No matter the disagreement Arlo and I had, I know he won’t touch Wyatt. Despite everything, he cares about me, and he won’t take my revenge away from me. My father is a different story. I’m praying that he hasn’t found the bastard; otherwise, all of this would have been for nothing.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,’’ I sing, laughing softly at the eerie silence of the room. With a sigh, I leave, turning a right corner and entering a different room. The warehouse is massive, and a part of it used to be a factory of sorts. It’s good that Mom and Dad joined, because the grounds are too big for the four of us to cover alone.

My feet move at a leisurely pace, and I’m humming a soft song, dragging the mace behind me. Despite the carefree attitude I have going on, my senses are on high alert. I can’t afford to lower my guard, and I don’t intend to.

The room I walk into is just as dusty as the previous one.

It used to be an office. The wooden desk has cracks in it, and the stack of papers on top of it has lost its white color. An abandoned pen and a photo frame without a picture rest near the papers. The window isn’t broken, though it’s cracked open, allowing the cold air of the dark night to slip inside.

Shudders go through my body, and I inhale, preparing myself for what’s to come. He’s near. I know he is. Given how big of a coward he is, he’s probably hiding, waiting for the perfect opportunity to run away. Unfortunately, such an opportunity will not come.

He has nowhere to go, nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide.

I’ll be his demise, and I’ll bring him right to his knees. The bastard will die painfully; I’ll make sure that the last thing he sees before his soul leaves his body is my face. My eyes. The look of pure contentment and happiness that he’s gone.

I want him to know that he’s worthless and that he won’t be missed.

Swallowing harshly, I turn on my heel, leaving the deserted office with the door wide open. The halls are silent, gunshots and screams echoing in the distance. By now, Cove and Arlo are already competing on who’s going to get more of the prey, and that’s something I’ll join in the next time.

The hallway is long, and my hand tightens around the base of the mace. My eyes roam every single detail, every corner or place where Wyatt could possibly be hiding. I know for a fact that Arlo wasn’t stupid enough to give him a gun, but that doesn’t mean he’d go against the rules he set himself and leave him without a weapon.

That would be too boring.

Knowing Wyatt, he probably has a knife on him. Perhaps a bat if he was feeling bold enough to pick something that wouldn’t mean an immediate death for his opponent. But given how he’s been acting since he returned to New York, I'd say using his brain isn’t his strongest suit.

“Come on, Wyatt,’’ I groaned, getting irritated at the time it’s taking me to find him. “Let’s just get this over with. I have places to be, things to do.’’

My footsteps come to a stop in front of a double wooden door. Slight shuffling can be heard on the other side, and a sly grin tugs on the corner of my lips. All in me is telling me that this is it; he’s inside. Carefully, my hand wraps around the door handle, and I give myself a silent, mental pep talk before pushing the door open.

It looks to be a living room of sorts. It’s not uncommon for big warehouses to have these so the workers would have somewhere to spend their breaks, given that some shifts can last up to twelve hours.

The two big leather couches are torn apart almost entirely. The glass table between them is broken, glass shards all over the floor. As I step inside and close the door behind me, something runs down my spine, and I know I hit the jackpot.

Immediately, I spin around and lift the mace.

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