Page 102 of Kortlek

Wyatt isn’t wasting any time, and my quick reflexes save me yet again. His knife hits the metal object in my hands, his teeth bared at me, gritted as an insane amount of rage radiates off his body.

He’s someone who always took pride in his appearances. That’s why he was able to fool everyone. Perfectly ironed clothes, a smoothly shaved face, and neatly trimmed hair. But right now? He looks like the biggest mess I’ve seen in a while.

His clothes are worn out, ripped in a couple of places. The stubble on his face is the first thing I notice, followed by the unruly, uneven hair. Dangerously, he inches closer, trying to push the mace away.

I struggle a little, forgetting for a moment that there’s a reason he was always able to overpower me. He’s strong as hell when he wants to be, and right now, the murderous intent in his eyes tells me he wants me dead.

“You fucking cunt,’’ he spits out, raising his voice as he takes a small step back, breathing heavily. There are a few cut marks along his arms, and I immediately realize that the bastard must’ve fought another prey.

It's what I expected, but it’s still rather pathetic.

“I’ve been looking all over the place for you,’’ I grin. He knows it’s me. He doesn’t need me to take off my mask to know it’s exactly the person he hurt the most. “Why are you hiding, Wyatt?”

“Who says I’m hiding?” He retorts, taking another step backward just to ensure there’s enough distance and that I can’t swing the mace unexpectedly and kill him on the spot. “Maybe I was just waiting for you to appear.’’

I cock my head to the side, slowly pulling the mask up, letting it rest on the top of my head.

“Isn’t that sweet? You were waiting for me.’’

He rolls his eyes, but the anger doesn’t subside. If anything, it grows with each passing moment, and I can’t help but be glad that I’m getting a reaction out of him.

On the other hand, I’m calm.

I thought I’d be angry. Instead, I feel at ease.

For the first time since he returned to New York, my thoughts and head are clear. I see it all for how it is, and I stop blaming myself for what happened in the past. I’m not over it- not by a long shot- but I’m not letting anger cloud my judgment and lead my actions.

My body relaxes, and I hold eye contact with him. He can’t hurt me anymore. All he has going for himself is anger, and somehow, I think he knows he’s the one to blame. He’s angry at himself for allowing it to get to this point- to get caught.

I think he’s starting to regret ever coming back.

“Do you know what will happen here, Wyatt?”

My voice is flat, void of any emotions. It’s too indifferent, and he catches it, brows creasing slightly. His hand grips the knife in his hand; however, he’s yet to make an attempt to truly hurt or kill me. He’s trying to find an opening, but I’ll be damned if I give him one.

“Yes,’’ he responds, trying to keep his anger at bay. “You’ll die.’’

“Really?” I muse, a dangerous smile dancing on my face. I lean back against the wall, letting the mace rest next to me as I fold my arms in front of my chest. “And pray tell, how will that work out for you? Even if you somehow manage to kill me, it’s not the end. My parents are here, and Arlo and Blair are here. Cove is here. One of them is bound to kill you.’’

Something snaps inside him at the mention of Cove’s name, and I suppress a smirk. It’s far from jealousy. It’s envy. He wants what Cove has. He wants the strength and power in the ring Cove has. He wants the life Cove has, being able to do whatever he wants with no one to dare stop him.

He’s envious that Cove has everything life has to offer and beyond. He’s envious that Cove has a life with me that he could never get.

Insecurity rears its ugly head to the surface, flashing behind his eyes. He swallows, jaw clenched, and if the grip of the knife isn’t metal, it’ll snap in half from the force he’s using to grip it next to his body.

“It doesn’t matter. Do you know why?” He grits out, stepping closer to me. “Because you’ll be dead. Just like you said a while ago, no one will care that I’m gone. But you? They’ll care. They’ll remember me as the man who took someone so fucking precious to them. And trust me, baby, if I can’t have you, no one can.’’

A year ago, the words would have struck a chord in me. Hell, even a week ago they would’ve left an impact on me, forcing me to go back to the darkest parts of my mind. However, right now? The only thing I can do is blink, unbothered.

I push myself off the wall and take a step forward.

It’s not the closure I’ve been wanting, but it’s okay. It doesn’t have to be. I no longer crave closure. I don’t want to know why he hit me. I don’t want to know why he used me, manipulated, and isolated me from the people I care about the most under the pretense of love.

Wyatt and Cove’s definition of possessive is vastly different.

One wants to keep me locked up for his own pleasure and greed; the other one wants to keep me locked up for my own peace of mind.

“Sadly, I can’t let it happen, Wyatt. I think that you’re starting to realize that your words no longer have any merit. You no longer have any power over me.’’

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