Page 155 of Fight or Flight
But if “Betty” is here, then whose knife did I find? What are the odds that he has an extra silver one kicking around and just happened to lose it when he was searching my room?
I carefully put the knife back where I found it and peer into the drawer, using my light to search the corners and along the sides. I don’t want to risk messing up his papers, and it’s notlikely I’ll find anything that directly links him to the fire or what happened in my room in them.
The next drawer is almost empty except for a portable hard drive, a few boxes of flash drives like the one he gave me, and another knife like the one I found in his sweater drawer.
Is one of those drives the one he stole from my room? And why does he need so many of them? There have to be hundreds of terabytes of storage in here, and by the looks of them, most of the drives have been used. Is this a hacker thing? Or is this how he gathers information on people?
Being extremely careful, I pick up the knife and tip it so one of the ends is pointing down, but nothing happens. I try tipping it to the other side, and a long blade shoots out of the end as the entire casing of the handle sort of splits open to give the blade room to come out. I can’t be sure without testing it, but the knife looks razor sharp, and the lack of an opening mechanism is unnerving. How can you safely carry around a knife that just randomly opens if you tip it the wrong way?
Not wanting to risk hurting myself, I flip the knife around so the blade slides back into the handle.
“It’s called a gravity knife.”
“Jesus!” I shriek, and instead of dropping the knife like I do my flashlight, my dumb ass chucks it against the wall in front of me.
It smashes into the plaster, then tumbles to the floor, clinking musically as it skitters over the hardwood.
Forgetting all about the knife, I whirl around as my entire body clenches with fear.
Jace is leaning casually against the door to the bathroom. I can barely make out his features in the dim light, but the blank look on his face is just as terrifying as getting caught snooping through his stuff.
“Nope.” He tosses a lock of hair that’s fallen over his forehead with a flick of his head. “But you can call me that if you want,” he says in a casual way that’s a thousand times more terrifying than if he were yelling at me.
My entire body goes cold, then hot as stars dance in my vision and panic descends on me like a downpour.
One thing I’ve learned about Jace over the years, even before he told me about his diagnosis, is that he has two modes when he’s angry. The first is what people see when he gets into fights. That wild and chaotic anger that’s as terrifying as it is brutal.
The other one is what I call his Zorro mode. That’s when he seems all pleasant and chill, but he’s actually about to unleash the full power of his rage on you. And he does it all with a damn smile and never gives even an inkling of just how pissed he is until he rips your face off.
I’ve only seen his Zorro mode a few times, and the only thing that stopped him from absolutely brutalizing the moron that triggered his rage was Jax physically pulling Jace off his victim and talking him down in a quiet voice that only Jace could hear.
That’s exactly the mode he’s in right now, and there’s no Jax here to talk him down.
“Find anything interesting?” He crosses one ankle over the other and leans a bit more heavily against the door frame in a casually cool pose that makes him look as dangerous as he would if he were getting ready to attack.
I try to answer him, but my mouth just opens and closes a few times as nothing comes out. What the fuck am I supposed to say? How can I even begin to explain why I’m in his room without pissing him off even more?
Lying to him will get me beaten to a pulp, but telling the truth will probably end the same way.
“Here’s some advice since you obviously suck at breaking into people’s rooms to snoop around,” he continues, his toneconversational. “Always clear the area before you start the searching part of the plan.”
My chest is so tight it feels like I’m being squeezed in a vise. I want to run, but my entire body is glitching out, and I couldn’t move if someone lit my shoes on fire.
“Also, never touch a weapon if you don’t know how to safely handle it. That’s more of a general tip, but I’d say it applies here, no?” He tilts his head to the side like he’s studying me.
The silence between us stretches, and I swallow hard to try and wet my arid throat.
“I…” I croak.
“You?” he prompts, rolling one hand in a “go on” motion.
“I was…”
“You were?” His tone is darker now, and the warning in it is unmistakable.
I swallow hard and shake my head. There’s nothing I can say that will make this situation any better for me.
Jace’s entire demeanor changes in an instant, and it’s like he becomes a different person. All emotion is gone from his face, and his entire body is tense and taut, like a jungle cat on the prowl, as he stalks toward me.
