Page 18 of Kortlek

I can’t.

The first thing I do is pull the dagger out, wiping his blood on the side of my hoodie; the stench of claret juice fills my nostrils, and a small moan slips from my lips. The immense desire to draw more of it wins, and once I cut out the pants around his crotch in a swift, though sloppy, movement, his dick is gone. I slice it off, then dangle it in front of me.

Briefly, he’s shocked. Then the pain comes, and the sound of it is like the prettiest melody I can possibly imagine. Deeply sadistic, fucked up, and twisted. But not once have I claimed to be a saint. I lost my soul the moment I took a life for the first time. Ever since, I’ve been feeding the demons inside me, giving them what they wanted so desperately — blood.

Martin passes out from the pain, and I do what I’ve been meaning to do since the moment I laid my eyes on him. I stab him. I stab him to the point his entire chest is covered in stab marks, leaving me little to no canvas to work with.

The harsh impact makes the blood spill everywhere, coating my leather gloves, splashing over my face and hair, soaking through my clothes. I can feel his blood on my flesh, and it sends another wave of deeply perverted, sadistic pleasure right down to my core.

I’m laughing almost hysterically as he lies in front of me, motionless, dead. Yet, I can’t stop. My hands move on their own, destroying his body beyond repair. I bite my lip, shivers running down my spine as the man in front of me becomes unrecognizable.

The amount of blood oozing from the small holes is unreal, unlike anything I’ve seen. It’s disturbing how much this turns me on, yet I can’t help it. A deep sigh slips my lips once I realize that the bastard is finally dead, hence my fun is over.

My ears perk as I hear a pair of footsteps behind me, and I immediately turn around.

I know what this looks like.

A girl, dressed in all black, covered in blood from the man whose dead body is right in front of her. The dagger is still clutched in my hand, blood dripping from it on the stained grass next to me. The smile doesn’t falter from my lips as I realize that it’s one of the hunters.

“Looks like little bunny has found herself a plaything.’’

CHAPTER EIGHT

This bunker is fucking small.

I can’t stand up properly because my head hits the ceiling; hence, I’m confined to the stupid chair until it’s time for us to move. I understand that it was made last minute and that I shouldn’t have expected anything grand, but a decent-sized room would have sufficed.

Arlo’s shorter than me, so his head is safe. Mine? Not so much. I’m pretty sure if we were to hit it again, it’d split open. And I’m not exaggerating. Blair’s also safe, since she’s barely tall enough to sit in a car without the kid’s seat. The two of them are sitting by the computer, the mic turned off once Arlo’s announcement went through.

The clothes and the masks for this Kortlek are fucking ridiculous. The clothes are not as bad as the masks. It’s a basic, plain black suit with a white shirt and a red tie. It doesn’t sound too bad, but who the fuck can run, hunt, and kill in a fucking suit?

Not me.

Blair also messed up the sizes when ordering mine. I’m wider and taller than Arlo, so I wear a bigger size. Lengthwise, she managed to get it right, but the shirt and blazer are threatening to snap on me if I ever so much as move a muscle the wrong way.

And don’t even get me started on the masks.

They were made and personalized by Blair herself each. They’re all pitch-black, regular masks with holes for eyes and two smaller ones where nostrils are so we’d be able to breathe. However, she had to add a twist of her own — each mask has hearts and butterflies drawn on them.

The colors are raging, neon, and enough to make me want to gouge my eyes out. It looks ridiculous. It’s like someone gave a child free rein on an art project, and boy did she take advantage of it all. Arlo, being pussy-whipped, complimented the masks as if they were the best he’d ever seen.

Arlo’s are decorated in neon blue, the butterflies and hearts looking absurd. Blair’s are in pink — obviously. Mine are in a raging shade of red, whilst the last guy’s are purple.

The guy… well… he doesn’t speak much.

While discussing the location and where to hold the game, Arlo was worried that we were biting more than we could chew. I tried shutting that insane idea down right away, but eventually, I was outnumbered and outvoted by Blair and Arlo.

They invited this awesome fella to join us.

I don’t know much about him. Hell, I don’t even want to know. All that I was told was that he used to be in prison but managed to escape. Supposedly, he killed many people, and Hudson De Santis recruited the man himself.

If Hudson says you’re good, you’re good. Hudson is still considered God amongst the colleagues in this field of work. Not many would dare to oppose him, and those who do are quick to meet death. I’ve learned long ago that Hudson shows no mercy, and he doesn’t know the meaning of a ‘second chance’, which seems fitting.

Which is why I’m not questioning this man’s abilities. He’s definitely good if he has Hudson vouching for him. However, it’s unnerving how calm he is. He’s my height, too, and aside from a few times when his eye twitched in annoyance after the top of his head connected to the ceiling, he hasn’t complained much.

Neither did I.

I hate when people speak only to complain or to speak utter bullshit. Why speak if nothing smart, educational, or informative will leave your mouth? Arlo keeps saying that words aren’t soap; you won’t run out of them, but Arlo is also like a fucking chicken, constantly clucking about nothing.

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