Page 63 of Kortlek

It just proves how fucking wealthy they are.

Aria is back in the house with Noelle and Blair. Apparently, once Hudson and Arlo are finished, they’ll be hungry as fuck, so the three of them are preparing some sort of a big meal. It’s been an hour and a half since I’ve been here, and thus far, the two men have been playing around.

Behind the glass window are Hudson and Arlo, circling around the driver that Aria captured. To be fair, they were all captured unharmed, but where the rest of them have ended up is a mystery that I have no interest in solving.

I trust that Arlo and Hudson have taken proper care of them.

The man’s name is Oliver Grey. His record is too big for me to read in one sitting. From delinquent acts during his high school days to the recent arson charges. The man has done everything a person could think of, and how he’s not in prison yet is beyond me.

While Aria and I were waiting for Hudson to pick the men up, she grabbed Oliver’s phone and quickly skimmed through it. He’s often talking to Wyatt, but nothing that would tell us where the bastard is hiding or what he’s planning.

Just by looking at Oliver next to the other men that were with him, Aria concluded that he’s the closest to Wyatt. She’s not wrong, though. From what Arlo told me, they briefly interrogated the other men, and they have no fucking clue about anything. They just did what they were paid to do.

Oliver, on the other hand, has kept his mouth shut.

For the past hour and a half, Hudson and Arlo have only been circling him. Neither of them uttered a word; they just stalked out the prey, waiting for the perfect opportunity to pounce. Oliver is slowly starting to sweat.

He’s trying to keep up with the indifferent expression and a passive gaze, but it’s faltering with each passing minute. Sweat drips from his forehead, his Adam's apple bobbing with each swallow motion, and he’s been doing it a lot.

He’s trying to stare into the wall, but whenever Arlo and Hudson would move to stand behind him, his eyes would follow them. He’s clutching the armrest, his knuckles white. The tight rope around him makes it impossible for him to move an inch, and it’s a rather amusing sight to witness.

Arlo checks his watch, then looks at Hudson. The two stand in front of Oliver, having a silent conversation for a minute. Hudson nods curtly and steps back slightly to give his son more room. Arlo cracks his back momentarily, then runs his hands through his white hair.

And when he grins, the diamond tooth gem on his canine shines brightly, causing Oliver to flinch. The bastard’s flinching for the wrong thing. The look of pure insanity flashes on Arlo’s face, making me straighten up a little.

May the Lord help those Arlo De Santis deems an enemy, because there’s not a person in this world that would save them from his wrath.

There’s a reason they call him The Ghost.

When he comes and leaves, no one sees him. However, he always leaves bodies in his wake, and New York is terrified of the Ghost. Because unlike the horror stories, this one is very real, and once you’re on his radar, you’re as good as dead.

I may be physically stronger than Arlo, but he’s not bad. As much as it hurts me to fucking admit it, if he put half as much effort into his training, he’d get to my level quickly. There’s not a single thing he’s bad at. Well, except allowing me to fucking provoke him like a kid.

“So, Oliver, ready to talk?”

My thoughts get broken when I hear Arlo’s voice. The menacing grin is still on his face as he bends to Oliver’s level. Hudson stands in the corner, leaning against the wall with a cigarette in his hand, observing his son carefully, a look of pride on his face.

“I’ve nothing to say to you,’’ Oliver spits.

He literally spits in Arlo’s face.

I freeze momentarily, and so does Hudson. But our next reactions vary. Hudson starts laughing his ass off, the cigarette slipping from his lips and rolling onto the floor. He puts a hand over his mouth, still laughing hysterically.

I, on the other hand, can feel the anger radiating off Arlo. Slowly, he uses the back of his long-sleeved shirt to wipe the spit, eyes darkening a couple of shades. His body starts trembling in fury, and it only intensifies when he hears how hard his father is laughing.

This is about to get very ugly very soon.

Arlo steps back an inch, grabbing Oliver’s wrist and yanking it forward. He stares deeply into Oliver’s eyes, and in an instant, a loud snap is heard, followed by a scream of agony from Oliver. Arlo broke his wrist.

Tears pool in Oliver’s eyes, slipping down his cheeks. His screams don’t subside, and Arlo releases his wrist. His shoulders relax slightly, and a deep breath leaves him. He’s trying his best not to kill the motherfucker before he spills something.

“Let me start this again,’’ Arlo drawls out. “Where the fuck is Karl Brown?”

Oliver is panting, trying to ease the pain. His eyes are squeezed shut for a couple of minutes, and Arlo’s patiently waiting. The moment Arlo’s hand wraps around his other wrist, Oliver’s eyes snap open, and he shakes his head furiously.

“No, no, please,’’ he squeaks out, desperation written on his face. “I’ll tell you everything I know.’’

“Go on, then. I’m a busy man. Stop wasting my time with your useless breathing.’’

---