BLOOD AND BONE | rewritten

53

No one saw the boy who called himself Jake slip away. The others were too shaken by Peterson's loss. During the journey back to Hunt's compound, Jake could practically taste the fear radiating from them.

There was also frustration there, stemming from the fact that he hadn't taken the opportunity to destroy Corinthian as he promised. Hunt's deal came to a close tomorrow. It was of no importance to Jake. Though men like Hunt always figured they knew best because of the plaques hanging in their offices, the Director had never lived on the streets. Never truly knew what he was dealing with.

Jake satiated the hunger clawing at his throat by thinking of the golden watch, crushed to a thousand pieces under his heel. It was the first of many things he would strip from the disgraceful leader of the Needles.

Snaking through the familiar Carrion District pathway once more, he held himself as he always did, with iron purpose. They all bought the treaty: the Needles, the Crimsons, his crew, even Corinthian himself. The only one who suspected him of ulterior motives was Tesla; he'd felt her eyes on his back as they left. But it was just that-suspicion. Jake liked being assured that everyone else was in the dark while he alone held the light to brighten or extinguish at will. Once someone knew too much, they could threaten his goals. Their weaknesses were his to exploit, not the other way around.

That was the exact principle he would apply to Corinthian's demise.

A rare breeze wafted through the crevice he stalked through, plastering his hair to his forehead. But he never minded the cold. After all, it ran through his veins.

He could feel the proximity to Corinthian in his blood. It was as if he'd honed his mind to bloodlust for so long that his body had followed suit. When he passed a series of dumpsters behind a tavern, he suspected by the amount of flies they held more than one corpse. It mingled with the stench of expired food, giving the air a smell of rot.

Barely any time had seemed to pass before he was in front of the warehouse again. All it took was a bit of pressure on the cratered place, and the grate pulled up to admit him.

The place was abandoned. The Needles were long gone, no doubt ransacking the Crimsons' place of residence. In the background, the yells of the survivors echoed as they remained trapped in Corinthian's grasp, soon to be executed.

Jake lazily made his way toward the office, remaining in the gloom to avoid being sighted before he wanted to be. Then he caught a glimpse of him. As Jake predicted, he was behind his desk; someone had to watch over the prisoners and he didn't trust anyone else to do it. It pleased Jake to know that distrustfulness was mostly by his creation.

As his eyes burned from the bright light within, it occurred to him just how alive Corinthian was. How solid he was, sitting in that chair. Jake felt like a half-formed wraith in comparison.

Virtually silent, he neared the door. It was cracked a sliver. Pushing it open, he strode inside and stood a meter and a half from his rival. A meter and a half from slamming Corinthian's too put-together face into the desk, a meter and a half from dragging ice across his stomach. Jake wanted to learn the shape of his scream as his insides fell out.