Page 90 of Fight or Flight
“Shouldn’t be a problem.”
We don’t talk again until we’re back in the staff kitchen. “Make a copy of the drive before you hand it over.”
“Any other stupid reminders you want to give me?” he asks as he takes my backpack from me.
“Yeah, don’t get caught scaling the nineteen-and-a-half-foot wall.” I hand him my phone. “It’s still logged into the camera network, so you can use it to get out.”
He nods and gives me a look I can’t decipher.
“What?” I ask when he doesn’t say anything.
“Nothing.” He slips my backpack over his arms so it’s sitting against his chest like a baby carrier. “Don’t get caught.”
“I never do.”
I wait for him to crawl through the doorway to the pantry, then quickly backtrack through the corridor and into the cleaning closet.
When I’ve got everything back where it’s supposed to be, I gently press on my earpiece to unmute it. “We got the files, and I’m on my way back to the party. I can’t see you right now, so use the signal to answer. Press on it to let me know you hear me.”
A soft whine fills my ear.
“Awesome. See you in a few.”
15
SHANE
The moodof the party is shifting now that it’s getting late and people’s inhibitions are being stripped away by the many offerings not just in the favor room, but also the bar.
People are high and horny, and a quick glance around makes it clear why the no-phones rule is a thing.
The dance area is packed with couples, and even a few groups, who are enjoying the relative cover of darkness to grope and grind to the music, and the sitting area is a mix between couples, and one threesome of girls that I can see, who are indulging in some exhibitionism and doing everything from dry humping and making out to full-on sex, just with less nudity than if they were alone.
Is this one of the ways the Kings gather blackmail on people? I’ve been to plenty of these parties over the years, but getting my freak on in public has never been my thing, so at least that worked in my favor.
“Shane!”
The enthusiastic voice at my side comes a second before someone grabs my arm hard enough that my drink sloshes around in my glass and almost spills over the side.
I flick my gaze to the owner of the hand still clamped around my arm to find Courtney standing beside me.
“Hi!” She gives me a big, beaming smile. “Whatcha doing over here all by yourself?”
“Just taking a breather.” I lift my glass to show it to her, like that somehow proves what I just said.
She giggles and strokes her hand up and down my arm. “Wanna dance?”
Her eyes are red and a bit glassy, but it’s the giant pupils completely taking over her iris and the distinct stains of red painting her cheeks, neck, and chest that tell me she’s not just drunk, and whatever she took is kicking in.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as a prickle of awareness dances up my spine, and I instinctively glance at the main door just as it swings open and Jace walks in.
Jesus Christ, it’s criminal how good he looks. It isn’t just the perfectly fitted pants that hug his thick legs and full ass like a second skin, or the black shirt that shows off his incredible arms and make his tattoos pop under the lights. It isn’t even his model-perfect hair or his insane bone structure; it’s how he carries himself that sets him apart from literally every other person I’ve ever seen.
He’s confident and cocky, and his ‘I don’t give a fuck’ attitude gives him an air of danger to go along with his physical perfection.
I quickly tear my gaze from him and return it to Courtney, who’s still petting my arm like it’s a kitten.
“Dance?” she asks again.
