Page 19 of Kortlek

My eyes flicker all around the screens in front of me. There are six of them, each one having multiple cameras showing in real time how our little playthings are finding their time in the playground. The sound is on, too.

Some are arguing, trying to come up with the best plan to surprise us and kill us. The thing is, they don’t know how many hunters are here. For all they know, there could be fifty of us and only thirty-eight of them. One of them even suggested that, though he was quickly shot down by the rest.

Smart folks.

Some are climbing trees, holding their guns ready to fire. It’s quite cute. Did they think we wouldn’t think of that? All the branches are thin, so in about five to ten times, they will snap, and they will either break their necks or arms and legs.

I’d prefer if it were their limbs. If they die, the game gets boring.

For the first time, we have almost forty prey. Given that the chances of it happening anytime soon again are slim to none, I have every intention of taking full advantage of the situation. Tonight is the night when I can go all out without a care for the consequences.

Arlo turns to look at me with that ridiculous mask on. I snort behind mine, shaking my head. I cannot believe I actually put it on my face. But if I hadn’t, Arlo would’ve forced it on me, superglued it if necessary, just to spare Blair’s feelings.

As I said, pussy-whipped.

“Has your shoulder wound healed yet?”

My jaw clenches at the memory. Aria’s skills need improvement, but I don’t think I would’ve needed stitches had she not pushed her fingers into my wound. That night, I got a couple of stitches because she tore into the flesh much wider and deeper than the original wound.

Fucking lunatic.

“Yes,’’ I say through gritted teeth. “It’s fine.’’

Arlo nods once and doesn’t press the issue. However, I can see the lingering worry on his face before he turns his attention back to the screens in front of him. It becomes silent again, and I’m waiting for Arlo to give the signal that the prey has scattered around and that we can finally leave this fucking bunker.

The man who was stupid enough to stab me, Jackson, didn’t die. How Arlo let him live is beyond me, though I don’t question it much. He spent a week in the hospital, intensive care, and he was supposed to make a full recovery.

Supposed to — only because he fucking vanished off the face of Earth.

Arlo destroyed his face beyond recognition and broke all of his limbs. He was in a cast, on life support, trying to survive. How does a patient of that severity simply disappear from the hospital? The cameras stopped working one night for approximately fifteen minutes.

In that window frame, Jackson disappeared.

Hudson and Noelle immediately started looking into Jackson. On paper, he’s as clean as they come. But he was also participating in an underground, illegal boxing ring, which makes his clean background fall apart severely.

They asked around their circles, and apparently, two years ago, a small gang formed. We don’t know much about them yet, though Hudson is looking into it closely. From the little information we do have, we’ve come to the conclusion that the attack on me was planned.

It pissed me off that I have no idea how it involves me or why. Arlo thinks that they wanted to get through me to get to him, but I highly doubt it. Jackson’s goal was to kill me. Arlo was right there. He could’ve gone straight for him, and although Arlo would’ve killed him in a split second, it still would’ve been more useful than aiming for my throat and missing.

“What the fuck?!”

Arlo’s voice breaks my train of thought, and I rise from the chair, hissing as my head hits the ceiling again. I bend a little, making my way toward him. Arlo’s clutching the edge of the desk painfully, his knuckles turning white. The anger is radiating off him.

My eyes flicker to the screen, and within a second, my emotions mirror his.

Aria is fucking here.

She’s here. As in, she’s dressed in all black, currently slicing off a dick from one of the prey. She laughs like a maniac, her laughter ringing in my ears. She waves the severed organ in front of the man’s face, and he passes out. Or die.

I don’t know.

I don’t care.

My hand curls around the armrest of Arlo’s chair, squeezing it tightly. My teeth grit together in anger, my entire body on fire. How dare she? How dare she put herself in danger when she was explicitly told not to come here?

Who even gave her the location? We were extremely careful not to let it slip because we feared this would happen. And it happened regardless. Fucking hell. I watch as she starts stabbing him, the manic, insane look on her face. She doesn’t even feel the blood coating her face, clothes, and hair.

“Cove,’’ Arlo grits out, his voice dangerously low, “go and grab her before I kick her ass for even thinking of coming here.’’

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