Page 16 of Kortlek

The further I walk into the forest, the more the silence feels… weird. It’s strange I’m not hearing any whispers, any footsteps but my own, or even breathing. Unlike the time Cove caught me off guard in my kitchen and I didn’t hear him approach, I’m not fully alert.

My senses are sharp and have always been, especially when I’m putting effort into ensuring I’m aware of my surroundings. My ears are perked, my steps slow and measured, and my eyes are keen. The silence is enough of a tell that someone’s near.

I’m already deep in the forest, and it’s only a matter of time before I run into anyone. It’s maybe fifteen acres, not fifty. Wherever they’re hiding, they’re bound to come out at some point. And I’ll be right here, waiting for my turn to have some fun with the little, pathetic beings.

My eyes skim the surroundings. Nothing but darkness, trees, and grass that needs to be cut. Some even reach around my knees, and although I’m pretty sure I won’t find any snakes here, the mere thought causes me to shiver in displeasure.

Snakes are cute. When they’re a time zone away from me.

I shudder at the thought, then slowly continue walking through the forest. By now, I don’t even see the clearing behind me or the reflectors. It’s more likely that they were turned off once everyone was somewhere deep in the forest, though I can’t be sure.

From what Mom has told me about this place, Arlo, Cove, and Blair have a small lair. Apparently, it’s underground somewhere in the depths of the forest. Inside is a small monitor room where all the cameras are connected, with a couple of chairs around. That’s it. Enough for the three of them to properly surveil, and then strike when the prey least expects it.

I spot a couple of cameras around, though I pay them no mind. My biggest focus is making sure no one ambushes me from behind and trying to find at least one person. It’s slowly getting dull, almost like it’s dragging on, but I can feel the sudden shift in the air.

My footsteps come to a halt, and I straighten my back, eyes darting from one side to the other a couple of times. Somewhere behind me, footsteps can be heard. They’re doing their best to stay as silent as possible while approaching me. They’re still at a safe distance from me, but judging by the heavy footsteps, it’s a man.

A wide grin spreads across my face, my fingers twitching by my side. I need to calm down and enjoy this experience because knowing Arlo, this might as well be the first and only time I’ve successfully snuck into the playground.

Slowly, I turn around.

It’s a man in his mid-thirties. He’s wearing the same white shirt as the rest of the prey, with number twenty-four on it. He’s as tall as I am, though he’s way bulkier. He’s going to be a little problematic to deal with, though not impossible. My chest nearly explodes from excitement at the thought.

He steps forward, a gun in his hand. He’s still not aiming it at me, holding it by his side. His eyes are roaming all over me as he’s trying to get insight into who I could possibly be, trying to read me and decide how to proceed. Just by looking at him, I can tell he’s not a complete moron to fire his gun thoughtlessly.

“You’re not one of them,’’ he says. It’s not a question or a statement. It’s an observation. His eyes fall on mine, and he doesn’t look away, taking calculated yet hesitant steps forward. My eyebrow raises in amusement.

“No, I am not.’’ I confirm his suspicion, noticing the confusion slowly show on his face. He stops a couple of feet in front of me. His hand clasps tighter around the gun, though he still makes no attempt to aim it at me. Instead, he stands there, as if waiting for me to strike first.

“What’s your name?”

His brows crease ever so slightly that I wouldn’t have even noticed if I hadn’t been paying close attention to his behavior and body language. His shoulders stiffen a little, and he takes a sharp intake of breath, contemplating how to proceed.

“What’s it to you?” He all but spits out, taking another, rather bold, step forward. A branch snaps in half beneath his weight, my eyes momentarily flickering toward his feet. His sneakers aren’t what I’d choose to wear for this setting; then again, I highly doubt Arlo and Cove gave the prey any time to change their clothes.

I lift a shoulder. “You seem… less terrified than the rest of the sheep around here.’’

He gives me a slight smirk, his teeth shining in the dark as he takes another step forward. It seems as though I’ve accidentally boosted his ego. But that’s fine. It makes this all so much more fun and exciting.

After all, the downfall of all men will be their ego.

“Ah, you could definitely call me a wolf in sheep’s clothing,’’ he states confidently, and I resist the urge to laugh in his face, though the corner of my lip does twitch at it. “I’ve seen prison, doll, more than once, and this little game is nothing considering what happened to me over there.’’

I quirk a brow. “Oh, and what happened to you in prison?”

His jaw clenches, eyes narrowing at me dangerously as he takes another step forward. Now, I could extend my hand and touch his chest if I ever so desired, but given how angry he is, I highly doubt that would be a smart move on my part.

“Nothing a doll like yourself should worry about,’’ he grits out. He’s fighting to keep his anger locked in. Smart man. He’s not underestimating me, which doesn’t happen often. His eyes flicker to my gloved hand that holds the black dagger, then look back up at me with raised brows. “Are you sure you know how to use that?”

And I take it back.

“Nah, I just picked it up on a whim, hoping I’ll get the hang of it,’’ I say, sarcasm coating my tongue and provoking a laugh from him. Amusement is written all over his face, and it only makes my blood boil. The motherfucker doesn’t even know what’s waiting for him the moment I decide to use the dagger.

My mother taught me well.

“You still haven’t told me your name.’’

He chuckles but decides to humor me regardless. “Martin Dallas.’’

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