Page 56 of Kortlek

Blair hums. “What for? Revenge?”

I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. I was right to assume he was trying to keep a low profile, but hearing Wyatt be described as a quiet man goes against everything I know about him. It feels like the calm before the storm, and the storm will be enormous and destructive.

“Could be,’’ Joe shrugs. “But if he was involved with criminals who managed to scare him into hiding, I think he won’t just blindly seek revenge. If they did it once, they sure as fuck can do it again.’’

“Does he speak of anything around here? Maybe something you didn’t think was relevant at the time, or something that could tell me where he’s living.’’

Joe pauses to think. “He’s here frequently, and since it’s in a less crowded part of the city, he’s either insane to come here often or he lives nearby. I never asked; I never cared. I did overhear that Karl and his folks are planning a game.’’

My ears perk up, but Blair beats me to it. “A game? What kind of a game?”

“Fuck if I know,’’ he snorts. “All I know is that it involves a lot of blood, and that’s when I stopped listening. Karl is a nice man;he doesn’t cause issues at the bar, doesn’t get drunk, or cause problems with the staff. I’m not about to go and question him about it.’’

Blair nods. “Right. Anything else?”

“Just that he keeps talking about a woman.’’

My body tenses. Blair reaches under the bar and gives my knee a soft squeeze of reassurance, not once taking his eyes off of Joe’s face. She raises a brow. “A woman?”

Joe laughs. “Apparently, she’s half the reason he left the city. He wants some sort of revenge on her. I haven’t seen the lady, but whenever he talks about it, he’s angry as fuck.’’

I swallow thickly, gulping down the rest of the beer. My eyes dart through the bar, spotting Rose across the room. She’s chatting with some people, and it still amazes me just how easily she can fit in any situation.

Her eyes find mine, and she gives me a small, curt nod before returning to her previous conversation.

“Thanks, Joe,’’ Blair says, pulling out the agreed-upon money. His eyes light up slightly as he counts the bills, then he shoves them into his back pocket.

“You’re welcome, doll,’’ he grins. “And just because you’re being generous with your cash, I’ll be generous with a little more information.’’

“Oh? Do tell.’’

“Karl has already kickstarted his revenge plan.’’

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Sweat drips down my forehead. My breathing is labored, and I take a small break to catch my breath. I lower my hands, walking around the basement of my parent’s home. They were creeped out by my sudden desire to stay for a couple of nights.

I moved out against my better judgement. I wanted freedom and my own safe space. Mom was worried; Dad was reluctant to let me go on my own. Eventually, we compromised. They got me an apartment in the building next to Arlo’s.

However, for the past couple of weeks, I have stopped feeling safe in my own home.

Given the hidden devices that were scattered all over the place, the night when I encountered Wyatt, and the fact that if I could trust Joe’s words, he already set his revenge plan in motion, I feel utterly and completely scared.

My parents house is the safest place I know. They have no problem with me staying or moving back in permanently, but that’s not what I want. Rose’s keeping an eye on my place in my stead, and for now, I’m just focusing on gathering as much intel on the stupid gang and Wyatt, Karl — whatever he wants to call himself.

I take a deep breath, sipping on the water before tossing the bottle aside and returning to my training.

My eyes are moved to the paper targets in front of me. I have a variety of displays of daggers and knives. They’re all Mom’s and she let me use them for practice; she even went as far as to sharpen and clean them thoroughly.

I’m my mother’s daughter, for sure. From an early age, she taught me how to hold a knife, how to grab it from the opponent’s hand with little to no damage done to me, and how to toss them. I’m still struggling with moving targets, but I make a mental note to practice during the next Kortlek.

My hand reaches for a pretty dagger. The handle is metal with a serpentine engraving, twirled around it. The reptilian’s head rests just at the beginning of the blade. The blade itself is long, thin, and sharp. Mom claims it’s one of her favorites, so I decided to try it.

I fiddle with it for a while, testing out the handle and how it feels in my hands. It’s light, fitting perfectly in my palm. My hand grips the handle, and with a deep breath, I lift my hand and toss the dagger forward.

Across the room are the paper targets, many of which already have holes in them. I’ve been practicing for the better part of the day. This time, the blade gets stuck between the paper person’s eyes, and I groan loudly.

Today isn’t my day. Not only do I suck at throwing knives,but I’m also too lazy to start working out properly. I did warm-ups, half-assed it really, and the sore muscles that will come tomorrow will make me regret it. But I’m living in the moment.

---