Page 77 of Eternal
The word clanged in my head like an alarm, growing louder, heavier, my grip tightened on the USB as I yanked it from the port, the edges biting into my palm.
I tried to sit back, to breathe, but the pounding in my side matched the thrum in my skull. Pain blurred the edges of my vision, and for a second, I thought about the blood soaking through my shirt, warm and sticky.
Later. I’d deal with it later.
For now, I had this, this fucking USB that suddenly felt like a grenade in my pocket.
What the hell is going on?
My eyes darted to Rafe’s lifeless body, slumped over the desk, his phone, I need his phone.
Maybe in his jacket on the chair?
Jackpot, I whispered to myself as my fingers brushed over the phone.
“A fingerprint lock, how irritating are you, even dead,” I whispered to his body.
The door crashed open at the same time, and there he was, Damir, filling the doorway, eyes scanning the chaos, Rafe’s body slumped over the desk, blood pooling beneath him, the giant man I’d cut open lying still on the floor. And me, crouched in the middle of it all, knife still in my hand, my face streaked with blood.
Thank God, he couldn’t see the cut or blood through my outfit. If he did... he'd make a scene.
I’m starting to learn this about him, his unhealthy obsession with controlling everything when it comes to me.
His gaze locked onto mine, and for a second, I saw this drop of concern in his eyes. “What the hell are you doing?”
I didn’t answer immediately, focused on Rafe’s hand. Damir’s boots crunched over the blood as he came closer, but I didn’t look up, my fingers gripped the limp hand tighter, lining the blade against the finger.
“Voron,” he said again, his tone harder now.
“Shh,” I muttered, almost absently.
“Shh?” he repeated, disbelief dripping from the word.
The knife slid cleanly through the joint, blood spilled, dark and sticky, I grabbed a scrap of cloth from his own shirt, wrapped the severed finger, and tucked it into my pocket.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Damir asked like he was witnessing the weirdest thing ever. “You’re cutting up bodies now?”
“Personal purposes,” I said flatly, reaching for the phone.
“Personal. Are you serious?” He stepped closer, looming over me. “You were late for this?”
“Yes,” I replied, thumbing the phone’s screen. It stayed locked. I pulled out the finger, holding it up as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Damir’s eyes widened, his jaw tightening. “Voron.”
The phone’s screen unlocked instantly when I pressed the finger to it, the glow illuminated a flood of messages and files, same as the usb key, so I dropped it off and kept the phone closer.
“You’re insane,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.
“And you’re too dramatic,” I said without looking up, scrolling quickly. “It’s just a finger.”
He crouched down beside me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him. His voice dropped, barely above a whisper. “Voron. What the hell are you doing?”
I didn’t answer, still focused on the phone.
He grabbed my wrist suddenly, pulling my hand away from the screen. The movement wasn’t rough, but it jolted me enough to make me look at him, his expression was unreadable, but his grip was firm.
“You’re maddening,” he said, his voice quieter but no less intense. “I thought you were in trouble.”
