Page 7

I t’s eerily silent. Nothing but my footsteps on the branches creaking. My boots are heavy on my feet, but they can give one hell of a bruise if used correctly. Hence, I’m choosing to ignore the dull ache in my feet, continuing to move forward.

A dagger is firmly between my fingers as I spin it, fiddle with it, and continue to seek out the prey. I’ve brought a gun, too, with two extra clips just in case. Though, I’m not using it unless it’s absolutely necessary. I take after Mom in that regard — I prefer knives and daggers. They leave a prettier mark.

It’s ironic for a sniper to prefer anything but a gun, yet here I am. I’m a walking contradiction, anyway, so it doesn’t really bother me that I can’t seem to make up my mind which weapon will be my choice. I can’t stick to a single one. Why would I? Too many options, too many great ways to kill with different weapons for me to pick and stick to just one.

The wind blows in my hair, my hood falling back. My hair is braided into two Dutch braids, enough to keep it out of my face for the time I’m here. The white strands mix with the black ones, and it’s a rather pretty sight. I should wear my hair like this more often.

The further I walk into the forest, the more the silence feels… weird. It’s strange I’m not hearing any whispers, any footsteps but my own, or even breathing. Unlike the time Cove caught me off guard in my kitchen and I didn’t hear him approach, I’m not fully alert.

My senses are sharp and have always been, especially when I’m putting effort into ensuring I’m aware of my surroundings. My ears are perked, my steps slow and measured, and my eyes are keen. The silence is enough of a tell that someone’s near.

I’m already deep in the forest, and it’s only a matter of time before I run into anyone. It’s maybe fifteen acres, not fifty. Wherever they’re hiding, they’re bound to come out at some point. And I’ll be right here, waiting for my turn to have some fun with the little, pathetic beings.

My eyes skim the surroundings. Nothing but darkness, trees, and grass that needs to be cut. Some even reach around my knees, and although I’m pretty sure I won’t find any snakes here, the mere thought causes me to shiver in displeasure.

Snakes are cute. When they’re a time zone away from me.

I shudder at the thought, then slowly continue walking through the forest. By now, I don’t even see the clearing behind me or the reflectors. It’s more likely that they were turned off once everyone was somewhere deep in the forest, though I can’t be sure.

From what Mom has told me about this place, Arlo, Cove, and Blair have a small lair. Apparently, it’s underground somewhere in the depths of the forest. Inside is a small monitor room where all the cameras are connected, with a couple of chairs around. That’s it. Enough for the three of them to properly surveil, and then strike when the prey least expects it.

I spot a couple of cameras around, though I pay them no mind. My biggest focus is making sure no one ambushes me from behind and trying to find at least one person. It’s slowly getting dull, almost like it’s dragging on, but I can feel the sudden shift in the air.

My footsteps come to a halt, and I straighten my back, eyes darting from one side to the other a couple of times. Somewhere behind me, footsteps can be heard. They’re doing their best to stay as silent as possible while approaching me. They’re still at a safe distance from me, but judging by the heavy footsteps, it’s a man.

A wide grin spreads across my face, my fingers twitching by my side. I need to calm down and enjoy this experience because knowing Arlo, this might as well be the first and only time I’ve successfully snuck into the playground.

Slowly, I turn around.

It’s a man in his mid-thirties. He’s wearing the same white shirt as the rest of the prey, with number twenty-four on it. He’s as tall as I am, though he’s way bulkier. He’s going to be a little problematic to deal with, though not impossible. My chest nearly explodes from excitement at the thought.

He steps forward, a gun in his hand. He’s still not aiming it at me, holding it by his side. His eyes are roaming all over me as he’s trying to get insight into who I could possibly be, trying to read me and decide how to proceed. Just by looking at him, I can tell he’s not a complete moron to fire his gun thoughtlessly.

“You’re not one of them,’’ he says. It’s not a question or a statement. It’s an observation. His eyes fall on mine, and he doesn’t look away, taking calculated yet hesitant steps forward. My eyebrow raises in amusement.

“No, I am not.’’ I confirm his suspicion, noticing the confusion slowly show on his face. He stops a couple of feet in front of me. His hand clasps tighter around the gun, though he still makes no attempt to aim it at me. Instead, he stands there, as if waiting for me to strike first.

“What’s your name?”

His brows crease ever so slightly that I wouldn’t have even noticed if I hadn’t been paying close attention to his behavior and body language. His shoulders stiffen a little, and he takes a sharp intake of breath, contemplating how to proceed.

“What’s it to you?” He all but spits out, taking another, rather bold, step forward. A branch snaps in half beneath his weight, my eyes momentarily flickering toward his feet. His sneakers aren’t what I’d choose to wear for this setting; then again, I highly doubt Arlo and Cove gave the prey any time to change their clothes.

I lift a shoulder. “You seem… less terrified than the rest of the sheep around here.’’

He gives me a slight smirk, his teeth shining in the dark as he takes another step forward. It seems as though I’ve accidentally boosted his ego. But that’s fine. It makes this all so much more fun and exciting.

After all, the downfall of all men will be their ego.

“Ah, you could definitely call me a wolf in sheep’s clothing,’’ he states confidently, and I resist the urge to laugh in his face, though the corner of my lip does twitch at it. “I’ve seen prison, doll, more than once, and this little game is nothing considering what happened to me over there.’’

I quirk a brow. “Oh, and what happened to you in prison?”

His jaw clenches, eyes narrowing at me dangerously as he takes another step forward. Now, I could extend my hand and touch his chest if I ever so desired, but given how angry he is, I highly doubt that would be a smart move on my part.

“Nothing a doll like yourself should worry about,’’ he grits out. He’s fighting to keep his anger locked in. Smart man. He’s not underestimating me, which doesn’t happen often. His eyes flicker to my gloved hand that holds the black dagger, then look back up at me with raised brows. “Are you sure you know how to use that?”

And I take it back.

“Nah, I just picked it up on a whim, hoping I’ll get the hang of it,’’ I say, sarcasm coating my tongue and provoking a laugh from him. Amusement is written all over his face, and it only makes my blood boil. The motherfucker doesn’t even know what’s waiting for him the moment I decide to use the dagger.

My mother taught me well.

“You still haven’t told me your name.’’

He chuckles but decides to humor me regardless. “Martin Dallas.’’

I nod. “Well, Martin Dallas, it was a pleasure knowing you.’’

He raises a brow. That’s when I fist my left hand and aim for his face. At the last moment, he manages to turn his head to the side, and instead of his nose, I hit his jaw. Pain explodes in my knuckles, which is a good sign. If it hurts me, it should hurt him a lot more.

He stumbles back, hissing out in pain and clutching his jaw. I’d say I dislocated it, but since his hand is covering it, I have no way of knowing for sure. Oh, well. It doesn’t matter, anyway. Soon enough, I’ll figure it out.

“You fucking cunt!” He screams out, his speech a little slurred. His eyes twitch whilst he speaks, the pain almost unbearable. It invokes a grin from me, and I can’t help but watch with a happy gleam in my eyes. I did dislocate it.

Good job, Aria.

It’s almost like the fucking moron forgets he’s holding a literal gun in his hand, and instead of using it, he darts straight to me. For good measure, I let him hit me back. He aims for my throat, but I’m not that stupid to let him do anything to my windpipe, and instead he hits my chest with his fist.

I can’t lie; it fucking hurts. He’s definitely stronger than he looks, or it’s maybe the adrenaline thing, given how angry he is. Fury radiates off him as I step backward, cracking my back and pushing my dagger in my boot.

“Come at me, you little bastard. You hit like a little girl,’’ I taunt with a wide smile. I get into the position while making a mental note not to let his gun slip from my view. I’m not sure when his anger will boil over and he’ll decide to just shoot me. Sadly, I’m not bulletproof, and wearing a bulletproof vest seemed like cheating, so I opted against it.

Martin doesn’t need to be told twice. Immediately, he’s running toward me, determination in his long strides. His hands are fisted in front of his face, the gun tucked at the back. Looks like he wants some hand-to-hand combat, which I’m more than happy to give him.

Am I a good fighter? Objectively speaking, I’m mediocre, at best.

But I’m too egotistical to back down. If it means ending up with broken bones, then I’ll have broken bones before I back down. This kind of challenge, this kind of thrill that runs through my veins, is one of a kind. And I’ll be damned if I let the opportunity slip through my hands.

Martin is fast.

He swings his right hand, aiming for my jaw. Looks like the motherfucker wants to return the favor and dislocate my jaw. I don’t let him and lift my arm up. It takes the blow instead of my face, and the impact causes me to involuntarily take a couple of steps back.

He doesn’t give me the time to react before he swings his other hand, this time aiming for my ribs. Unfortunately for me, I’m not the Flash; hence, I don’t have enough time to react before his fist connects to my side.

I gasp for air, the pain spreading through my entire body. The ribs aren’t broken — thank fuck — but it will definitely leave a nasty bruise behind, something I can deal with. Besides, what’s a soldier without a battlefield scar? I’ll look sexy as fuck.

“What’s wrong, doll?” He mocks, then laughs in my face. I make the mistake of lowering my hand down to clutch my side, and that’s when his hand wraps around my throat, slamming me violently against the tree behind us. “Where did that cockiness go, huh? Not so brave now, are you?” He laughs, licking his bottom lip.

His eyes darken a shade, and it’s not what I expected. It’s only then that I remember what kind of people the Kortlek prey are, and it makes me freeze momentarily. By the savage look on his face, it’s not his first time doing this. If anything, he seems confident it won’t be his last time, either.

Rage bubbles inside my stomach, rippling through my body. I clench my jaw as his grip on my throat constricts, the air slowly leaving my body. But I don’t stop fighting. My dagger is in my boot, and the rest of the weapons are proportionally scattered all over my body, too far for me to reach. Instead, I grab his wrist, trying to pry him off me.

“Aw, how cute,’’ he ridicules, his grin reaching his ears. “The brave little doll is now helpless. What should I do with you, hm? Should I get a taste of those sweet lips wrapped around my cock? Or should I fuck you until you’re screaming and begging for me to stop?”

The moment he says that, I can’t stop myself. I raise my knee as high as I can and use all my strength to hit his balls. A loud scream pierces through him, and he releases me, immediately clutching his crotch area. I don’t stop there, though.

Once my feet are back on the ground, I kick his jaw again. I’m pretty sure it’s broken now, and thanks to the metal in the front of my Dr. Marten boots, the next kick draws blood. The sound of his nose breaking fills my ear, blood spilling.

All I can think about is how many women, how many people, he’s told the exact same words as me. How many people suffered at his hand, unable to fight for their lives? Eventually, they were either killed by this fucking bastard or left with life-lasting trauma.

Fury unlike I’ve ever felt before consumes me, and I push him to the ground.

I pull the mask down to my chin, whisk out the dagger from my boot, and fiddle with it. He’s too busy trying to recover, groaning on the ground in pain like the fucking pig he is, to notice that I’m looming over him. The desire to feel his hot blood coat me is something I can no longer suppress.

As I lower down to his level, my free hand grips his hair tightly, yanking his head to look at me. His eyes slightly widen at the murderous expression on my face, and in this moment, I want to see more of it. I want to see him afraid to the point of pissing himself, to the point of begging me to spare his pathetic life.

“Not so brave now, huh?” I hiss, throwing his words back in his face. I slowly move my dagger across his throat. The blade is sharp, and it slightly grazes his flesh, leaving red marks in its trail. If I press more, I’ll draw blood. But I’m leaving that for later. Right now, I want to see him shake from fear.

“Wait,’’ he stammers out, giving me a pleading look. He gulps, his Adam's apple bobbing with the movement, hands shaking as he raises them up. “I didn’t mean it. It was just a harmless joke, y’know? It’s kill or be killed here.’’

A deep, rumbling laugh comes from the depth of my chest. The irony of this situation doesn’t go unnoticed by me, though I keep my focus on him. I slowly move the dagger downward, the shirt with his number tearing under the blade.

“Oh, I love harmless jokes,’’ I humor him. “And I’m about to show you my favorite one.’’

Without any hesitation, I aim my dagger down and pierce through the fabric, going straight through his dick. He immediately screams out in agony, blood gushing out as he tosses and thrashes beneath me. He screeches, wails, and begs for me to stop, but I don’t.

I can’t.

The first thing I do is pull the dagger out, wiping his blood on the side of my hoodie; the stench of claret juice fills my nostrils, and a small moan slips from my lips. The immense desire to draw more of it wins, and once I cut out the pants around his crotch in a swift, though sloppy, movement, his dick is gone. I slice it off, then dangle it in front of me.

Briefly, he’s shocked. Then the pain comes, and the sound of it is like the prettiest melody I can possibly imagine. Deeply sadistic, fucked up, and twisted. But not once have I claimed to be a saint. I lost my soul the moment I took a life for the first time. Ever since, I’ve been feeding the demons inside me, giving them what they wanted so desperately — blood.

Martin passes out from the pain, and I do what I’ve been meaning to do since the moment I laid my eyes on him. I stab him. I stab him to the point his entire chest is covered in stab marks, leaving me little to no canvas to work with.

The harsh impact makes the blood spill everywhere, coating my leather gloves, splashing over my face and hair, soaking through my clothes. I can feel his blood on my flesh, and it sends another wave of deeply perverted, sadistic pleasure right down to my core.

I’m laughing almost hysterically as he lies in front of me, motionless, dead. Yet, I can’t stop. My hands move on their own, destroying his body beyond repair. I bite my lip, shivers running down my spine as the man in front of me becomes unrecognizable.

The amount of blood oozing from the small holes is unreal, unlike anything I’ve seen. It’s disturbing how much this turns me on, yet I can’t help it. A deep sigh slips my lips once I realize that the bastard is finally dead, hence my fun is over.

My ears perk as I hear a pair of footsteps behind me, and I immediately turn around.

I know what this looks like.

A girl, dressed in all black, covered in blood from the man whose dead body is right in front of her. The dagger is still clutched in my hand, blood dripping from it on the stained grass next to me. The smile doesn’t falter from my lips as I realize that it’s one of the hunters.

“Looks like little bunny has found herself a plaything.’’