Page 90 of Kortlek

Cove’s eyes dart to the floor, to Wyatt’s unconscious body. He starts walking toward him, fury on his face. With a panicked expression, I grab Cove by the elbow, but he shakes me off easily. My chest starts to tighten, uneasiness overwhelming me.

“Cove, no,’’ I warned him, desperation in my voice. “Please, don’t hurt him.’’

His shoulders go rigid. Slowly, he turns around to face me, and I have to swallow harshly, stepping back. I’m not scared of Cove. I know that even in his worst state, he won’t hurt me. I’m scared that he won’t be able to hold himself back, that the anger he feels toward Wyatt will overpower the love he has for me.

Cove’s jaw is tightly clenched, his fingers twitching by his side. He wants to feel Wyatt’s blood on himself, and I don’t blame him. I want that, too. It’s just not the right time to try and do that. When Wyatt dies, I’ll make sure he suffers. I’ll make sure he knows exactly why I killed him and where he’ll end up.

“Bunny,’’ Cove’s voice drops to a low whisper, stepping dangerously close to me. “You are one insufferable woman, you know that, right? All of this could be over if you just let me handle him.’’

With a shaky breath and unsteady hands, I close the distance between us, getting on my tippy toes and cupping his cheeks. His eyes don’t leave mine, and he lets me touch him. However, he doesn’t do much more. He just stands there, trembling in silent anger, and waits for my next move.

“I know,’’ I whisper. “I know you want to see him die. I want it as well. But this isn’t how I want his life to end, and you know it. If you take this away from me, you’ll hate yourself for the rest of your life.’’

“And you?” His question is expected. Hell, I already know the answer.

“Yeah, I’ll hate you, too,’’ I admit in a lower voice.

Cove takes in a couple of deep breaths, his hands coming to rest on top of mine whilst cupping his face. The struggle to put his emotions into words is there, and I don’t push him. Instead, I watch his mouth open and close a few times, then he releases another deep sigh, closing his eyes momentarily.

“I’m sorry,’’ he mutters.

My lips twitch, threatening to break into a smile. He’s grumpy, almost pouting, and it’s one of the cutest expressions I’ve seen on his face since I’ve known him. He notices the amusement on my face and growls in response, brows narrowed.

“Don’t laugh at me.’’

“I’m not.’’

“You’re about to.’’

“I am.’’

Without saying a word, his hands come to my sides, and he picks me up. My legs wrap around his torso, my arms locked behind his neck as I snuggle into the crook of his neck. He glances at Wyatt one last time before leaving the basement.

Once we reach the top of the stairs, his hands tighten around my thighs, and I lift my head from his shoulder. A shudder runs through me, my eyes scanning the area.

Arlo’s in the corner, on the phone. I meet his gaze, and a visible sigh of relief slips from him, and he nods at me, then goes back to his conversation. Every single person in here is dead. Some were killed by Arlo, given his little signature.

The rest, however, were dealt with by James. I’m not squeamish, nor do I flinch at the sight of blood, mutilated bodies, and corpses. But this? It’s a whole other level, further proving that Rose is dating a psychopath.

Maybe I should’ve left him locked up.

Cove steps outside, and I curl up against him more. The fresh, cold air hits me alongside the rain droplets. As he takes me to the car, the rain starts pouring harder, drenching both of us. He gently puts me in the passenger seat and quickly gets behind the wheel.

The first couple of minutes of the ride are eerily silent. Cove’s not even looking at me, and although I managed to soothe most of his anger, I can smell the remains of it in the air. He lowers one window slightly, then pops a cigarette in his mouth, the cloud of smoke leaving through the small gap.

Cove’s not a constant smoker. He always has a pack on him, and a lighter, but he’s not addicted to nicotine. Instead, he uses it when he’s desperate to focus on something else rather than his anger. His temper is unpredictable.

I remember that once, during a night out, a man accidentally bumped into Cove at a club. Unfortunately for the said man, Cove was already in a terrible mood. It took six people to pry Cove off the poor man, and he’s been banned from the specific club ever since.

“Cove,’’ I softened my voice to not startle him. “Are you alright?”

A bitter laugh reverberates through the car, and he takes a long drag of the cigarette. He exhales the nicotine slowly, then gives me a quick glance before focusing his eyes back on the road, his hand gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white.

“You’re asking if I’m alright? Aria, he could’ve hurt you,’’ he pauses. “and he fucking did!’’

My hand reaches up to touch my cheek. It’s not too bad — it won’t swell or leave a bruise, but the skin is still red from the impact, and it will stay like that for the rest of the night.

“I’m okay.’’

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