Page 41 of Kortlek

The confusion in my head continues to grow with each passing second. “Go on.’’

“Jackson was a part of the gang.’’

“Was? Didn’t Arlo let him live?”

“He was hospitalized, but he went missing. No cameras were able to catch his disappearance. A body appeared in the lake, and well, it fits Jackson’s description.’’

“So, someone killed him because he failed to kill you?”

“That’s what we think, yes.’’ He takes a sip of the whiskey. “I need you to listen to the next part carefully.’’

The stern tone in his voice causes my body to go rigid. With a reluctant nod, I lean forward, listening intently. Cove’s eyes don’t leave mine as he speaks, and the more he tells me, the more I’m suppressing emotions from flooding me.

“One of the members of the gang is a man named Karl Brown.’’

“Never heard of him.’’

Cove pauses. “It’s his new name. He changed his face a little and his name, but you know him as Wyatt Chambers.’’

My heart sinks to my feet, and my hands tremble on my lap. I blink a couple of times, trying to understand what Cove is telling me. I swallow a knot that forms in my throat, but another one appears right after. Cold sweat washes over me, my body frozen in place aside from the trembling hands.

“Pardon?” I whisper.

“Wyatt Chambers is a part of the gang under a different name and face. But it’s him. He’s back.’’

“No,’’ I say, not believing him.

“Yes,’’ he confirms.

A small cry slips from me, and a tear rolls down my cheek. I keep my face as stoic as I was taught, but I can’t prevent tears from sliding down my face, falling onto my bare thighs. I blink the blurry vision away, but it blurs again just as quickly.

Everything comes rushing back to me.

The day I met Wyatt.

I was sixteen years old, hanging out with Rose at one of the playgrounds right next to our high school. It was one of the warmer spring days, and we were counting days till the summer break. Wyatt was there, playing basketball with his friends.

The moment our eyes met, it was like the wind got knocked out of my lungs.

He was charming, he was polite and flirty, and he was handsome as hell. He was good at basketball, had amazing grades, and kept a circle of close friends. Everyone who knew him back then described him as loyal as a dog.

I think that I got hooked on the fact that he was an older boy, in college with a bright future in front of him. Back then, I didn’t know he was slowly grooming me, turning me into his punching bag and puppet.

He asked me out, and I accepted. Our relationship lasted for a year. The first six months were one of the best months of my entire life. He was attentive and loving, and he’d bring me little gifts every day between classes. During winter break, he’d take me out on romantic dates. There’s not a restaurant we haven’t visited; there’s no concert we haven’t seen.

I’m not sure how it changed or when.

At first, he’d get slightly annoyed when I spent time with Rose. Then he’d be mad when I cancelled a date to help out my parents or if I had something else going on. It soon morphed into him telling me how much Rose isn’t good for me.

His words were sweet, and I thought he had my best interest at heart.

I didn’t realize at sixteen that he was isolating me from everyone I love. He made me doubt Arlo, my parents, Rose, and everyone else I had in my life at the time. He made me believe he was the only one who truly loved and cared about me. He made me think I was nothing without him, and I let him.

I was too weak to realize it was manipulation at its finest.

And the worst part? Despite everything, I loved him. When he hit me for the first time, I made excuses. He didn’t mean it; he was angry; it was my fault. The first time didn’t leave a bruise, and I didn’t tell anyone.

The second time he hit me, he left a nasty bruise; my entire right eye was swollen. To cover it up, I started a fight with random men and blamed it on them, just to protect him from Arlo and my parents because I knew they’d kill him.

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