Page 23

S weat 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.

I grab a pair of boxing gloves and put them on my hands. Since I’m already here, it wouldn’t be too bad to blow off some steam. I’m beyond angry. My shoulders are stiff, and the anger boils in my blood. This entire situation with Wyatt is frustrating.

Right now, the fear is gone.

However, the moment I meet him again, I’ll freeze up again.

I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how to get rid of the paralyzing fear that consumes my mind and body. It doesn’t help that the nightmares have returned, too. It’s never a specific situation Wyatt put me through.

It’s always a vile scene, straight out of a horror movie. The demons have his face, his voice, and that brutal laughter of his. It’s enough to wake me up in screams and cold sweat. They’re not as frequent as they used to be, but since I can’t tell when they’ll reappear, I try my best to stay awake for as long as possible.

It’s not a solution.

I’m too scared to tell anyone. I don’t want to worry my parents, Arlo, or Cove. I don’t want them to know just how utterly helpless I’m feeling. Each day, the feeling of dread grows more and more, and I don’t know when I’ll snap.

Telling Cove seems like the most logical thing to do, but he has his hands full as it is. He’s helping Arlo constantly to track down where the Vipers are hiding, who they’re in contact with, and how big their connections are.

I don’t want to add it onto his plate. He’d worry and most likely lock me up in a basement until this entire thing is over. But I can’t let him do that. It’d be too cowardly of me to let him shoulder all of my burdens.

My breathing is still rough from the exercises I did, and with a small breath, I step in front of the punching bag. My eyes close momentarily as I try to concentrate, and once I open them, all I see is Wyatt.

My fists hit the bag repeatedly, and it goes on for what seems to be an hour. I’m not looking where or how I’m hitting — but I’m fucking hitting, imagining Wyatt instead of the punching bag. My body warms up, sweat dripping down my forehead. The back of my shirt is soaked, and soon enough I start using my legs, too.

“That is fucking terrible.’’

I freeze lightly and then slowly turn around. My heart starts beating furiously in my chest at the sight of Cove leaning against the door frame of the basement, arms folded in front of his chest. I try not to ogle his form, his perfect muscles outlined by the compression shirt, and the way the grey sweatpants look on him.

He looks edible.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, trying to catch my breath. I hold onto the punching bag to stop it from swaying, then take off the gloves and grab a new bottle of water. Once I’m seated on the blue mat underneath, Cove pushes himself off the door frame and strolls toward me.

He grabs the towel from the bench and starts dabbing away the sweat.

“I wanted to see what you were up to since you weren’t answering my texts,’’ he mumbles, setting the towel away and taking a seat in front of me, legs sprawled in front of him.

“I’ve been here for,’’ I trail off, glancing at the clock across from me and frowning, “an hour and a half.’’

My shoulders slump. It truly felt like an eternity. I thought I was here for at least two and a half hours. Damn, I’ve gotten too lazy.

“An hour and a half is too long,’’ he grunts.

“I’m having a hard time believing my father just let you in.’’

“He’s not at home. This is Noelle’s and mine secret,’’ he gives me a devilish smirk, and I roll my eyes.

“Of course,’’ I draw out.

He raises an amused brow. “But let’s talk about something serious. Your form is terrible, and if you continue to hit the bag like that, you’ll break your fingers.’’

My eyes briefly glance down at my lap, where I’m fiddling with my fingers. My knuckles are red, and I realize that he is right — not that I’ll ever admit that out loud. I did hit it with all the strength I had, and I clearly did it wrong.

“Let’s focus on Wyatt.’’ I switch the subject, noticing the way Cove’s expression hardens. “What did you and Arlo find out?”

“Now that you mention it,’’ he pauses for a moment. A small squeak comes from me when I feel his hands on my hips. With ease, Cove lifts me up and puts me on his lap, arms immediately wrapping around my waist, tugging me as close as humanly possible. “I found out something very, very interesting.’’

I raise a curious brow. “Oh?”

“Mhm,’’ he nods. “Apparently, one very pretty girl was seen at this certain bar,’’ his voice drops an octave, his fingers slowly brushing up my side. “She had white streaks in her hair, and she looked awfully a lot like you. Isn’t that a strange coincidence?”

My body tenses, and he immediately notices. His eyebrow lifts slightly, carefully observing for any reaction from me. I didn’t expect he’d find out that soon, and I’m unprepared for the conversation. I laugh softly, nervously, and look away.

He takes my chin between his fingers and forces me to look at him. “No, no, you’re not getting out of this, little bunny.’’

“Alright, fine,’’ I cave in. “Yes, I went there. No, it wasn’t smart. No, I don’t regret it.’’

His fingers tighten on my chin slightly. It’s not enough to hurt or bruise my skin, just enough to show he’s very angry. His eyes narrow to slits,his jaw clenches, and he doesn’t let go. Instead, he pulls me closer to him, staring into my eyes.

“Very reckless, very stupid.’’

“I know,’’ I mumble.

It feels like I’m a petulant child being scolded for misbehaving. His other hand wraps around my waist. I didn’t see it at first, but now it’s crystal clear — there’s an immense amount of fear behind the anger in Cove’s eyes.

Cove’s scared.

He’s scared he’ll lose me.

And he doesn’t know how to convey it into words.

My heart flutters in my chest, and guilt threatens to eat me alive. Slowly, I put my hands on each side of his neck, watching as his muscles slowly start to relax under my touch. With soft strokes, I give him a soft smile.

“I’m okay, Cove.’’

“You are,’’ he agrees. “But there are a million things that could’ve gone wrong.’’

I place my forehead against his, closing my eyes. This proximity, the intimacy of the moment, makes me feel at ease. It makes me feel safe. Basking in Cove’s scent, with his arms wrapped around me, holding me tightly, is one of the best feelings in the world.

“I’m sorry,’’ I whisper. “I know it was stupid. But sitting and waiting for Wyatt to show himself is eating me alive. I feel useless.’’

“You’re far from it, bunny,’’ he murmurs, inching a bit closer until our lips were slightly grazing. “You’re one of the most capable women I’ve ever met. But you need help with this. You can’t do it alone. It doesn’t make you weak or useless. It makes you smart. You shouldn’t do this on your own. And you won’t, because I won’t let you. I’m with you through all of this.’’

I close the distance and kiss him. Cove’s response is immediate, one of his hands going to the nape of my neck, pulling me as close as possible. His mouth moves with mine, though it’s not hard to figure out he dominates the kiss with ease.

The sweet taste of whiskey and nicotine lingers on his tongue, and it’s one of the most consuming tastes. It tastes so raw, so deliberate, so Cove. It’s him, in all of his coarse, wonderful glory, and the three words nearly slip out of my mouth.

My heart can’t handle all of this. Not once have I felt like this. Cove wakes up something in me. A side I never knew existed. All I want is to be with him. He’s no stranger to shit life; his was definitely far worse than mine.

Seeing him express even an ounce of affection, love, and softness toward me just makes me want to take care of him. But I won’t be able to do that until I learn how to take care of myself.

I need to do this right, for Cove and for me.

Even the slightest thought of losing Cove sends me to a dark place. I’m not sure when it happened, but I became addicted to him. I became dependent on his presence, and I don’t want it to change.

If I lose everything, I pray that it won’t include him.

I won’t survive it.