Page 6 of Kortlek

If Arlo knows something — it’s not to question my gut feeling. It has never failed me before, and it’s something he always takes seriously, no matter the situation or circumstances. I can feel his eyes boring into the side of my head as I try to force my eyes from the ring, but I can’t.

I’m all but paralyzed in my spot.

“You need to give me more than that, Aria,’’ Arlo urges, the command in his tone making me flinch slightly. “What are you feeling?”

“Jackson… he has something planned, and this will end terribly.’’

Arlo immediately stands up, ready to jump into the ring, eyes still on me.

“Then, I have to go and warn Cove.’’

“Too late,’’ I whisper.

Cove steps into the ring. His expression is as blank and as stoic as ever, not a trace of emotion or what he’s thinking visible on his handsome face. He stands in one corner, fixing his gloves, not paying much attention to Jackson.

On the other side, Jackson is smirking smugly, patiently waiting for Cove to get ready.

Cove, just like the young man from the first match, tends to let his opponents win the first round. It’s his way of studying their movements and his way of toying with them. Letting them win the first one gives his opponents a false sense of accomplishment, of victory. Then, during the second and third rounds, Cove goes all out. His opponents often left bloody, without a tooth or two, and with a broken nose.

There’s no denying that he’s a beast in the ring, but even beasts have weaknesses. And somehow, I fear that Jackson has found it.

During the first round, my heart nearly leaps out of my chest. My hands don’t stop shaking, and no amount of reassurance from Blair helps my mind be at ease. If anything, the fact that Arlo has approached the ring closely and is watching Jackson like a hawk makes me feel worse because he’s also waiting for something to happen.

Whatever it is, it won’t be pretty, and I’m afraid of the fatality it could bring to Cove.

Whether it’s because of the feelings I’m trying to suppress or genuine friendly worry toward Cove, it’s irrelevant. All I know, all I feel, is tremendous panic, slowly building deep inside of my chest, threatening to burst.

The first round goes as expected.

Cove loses.

The second one ends in Cove’s victory.

By now, my anxiety is ready to hit the roof, goosebumps prickle my skin, and I’m unable to look away. I’m afraid that if I look away, in that split second, Jackson will land a fatal blow to Cove, and I won’t be able to prevent it from happening.

During the first round, Jackson looked smug.

During the second one, he looked even more smug, if possible.

That just proves the unexplainable feeling of dread in my bones. He’s up to something; he’s waiting for the final round to do something outrageous, something dangerous. And Cove is too much in his groove to notice the glint in Jackson’s eyes. The pure evil, menacing grin and even his body language tell me he’s about to do something.

I blink, and as soon as I open my eyes again, I spot it.

A small metal flashing directly into my eyes from the spotlight that’s on Jackson. It’s small, and Cove doesn’t seem to notice it yet. It’s tucked in his fisted, gloved hand, the tip peeking through. That hand is kept down, next to his body, while the free one is ready to punch Cove.

It’s a pocket knife.

My chest tightens, and I can’t help the piercing scream of Cove’s name that slips from my mouth. Even in the midst of the crowded basement, with people yelling left and right, cheering on Cove, my screams pierce through the room, reverberating around me. The agony, plea, and panic in my tone make Cove quickly flicker his eyes toward me.

That’s my biggest regret.

Because when he looks at me, all confused, Jackson strikes. He isn’t quick enough because Arlo jumps into the ring and manages to successfully tackle him down, though not before Jackson stabs Cove.

His aim was Cove’s throat, but since Arlo’s body weight pushed him, he missed and stabbed the spot where Cove’s neck and shoulder meet.

I run toward the ring, entering it without a second thought, whilst Arlo’s dealing with Jackson. From the corner of my eyes, I can see Arlo plummeting his fists into Jackson’s face, his bare hands getting bloody with each passing moment. The pure fury and rage in Arlo’s eyes is undeniable — he’s putting all of his strength into hitting Jackson, and he won’t stop until the bastard is dead.

Cove’s just… standing there.

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