7. Jax
JAX
Leaning back in my chair, I watch the image on my screen as Myles pops the tab of a soda and takes a long guzzle while typing away on his keyboard with his other hand.
He’s been at his computer for almost five hours now, and considering he’s slurping down that drink like someone might snatch it from his hand if he doesn’t rush, he won’t be going to bed any time soon.
“Is he doing anything interesting yet?” Jace asks from across the room.
“Define interesting?” I say as a hollow thunk , followed by three others, rings out.
“Something other than staring at his computer like a zombie,” Jace says.
“Then no.” I look over my shoulder at him.
“Your boy needs to get a life,” Jace informs me as he pulls four blades free of the target he set up while I was distracted.
“It’s probably hard to have one of those when you’re worried about multiple people trying to take you out at any given moment.”
Jace waves the blades at me. “Never stopped us.”
“He’s not like us.” I give my screen another quick look, then put my headphones on my desk.
“Nope, he isn’t,” Jace says as I stand. “But then again, not a lot of people are.” The corner of his mouth curls up in a smirk as I take the knives from him. “Too bad for them.”
“You really want to do this after I kicked your ass at the cliffs yesterday?” I ask with a smirk of my own.
“Fuck off. You didn’t kick my ass, you barely beat me,” he grumbles.
“Is that what you call annihilating your previous record?”
“One and a half seconds isn’t annihilating anything.” He shoots me a pointed look. “But if you need to be hyperbolic to feel better about sucking, then who am I to argue?”
“It was one point eight seconds,” I correct and flip one of the knives around in my hand. “And considering you didn’t shut up for months after you set that record and beat my old one by less than half a second, I’d say my gloating is more than warranted.”
“I still maintain you cheated.”
“How did I cheat?” I don’t bother hiding my grin at Jace’s frustration.
“You used the same route I did. You never would have beaten my time if you didn’t copy me.”
“That’s never been a rule.”
“So you admit you couldn’t beat me without cheating.” He grins triumphantly.
“Nope.” I give him my best imitation of an innocent smile. “I just pointed out that I didn’t break any rules. You can’t say I cheated just because you’re all bent out of shape and pissed you got dogwalked.”
“Are you going to keep yapping, or are you going to start throwing?”
Instead of answering, I flash my brother a smirk and throw all four blades at the target in rapid succession, not bothering to look as each blade sinks into the padded surface with a satisfying thunk .
When the last one has hit its mark, I glance at the target. All four knives are clustered around the bullseye.
“Show off,” Jace grumbles as he walks over to the target.
I grin and wait for him to tug the knives free.
Jace has always been better at close combat with blades, and his ability to spin them and do tricks with them is unmatched, but I’ve always been able to outthrow him.
“Want me to call them out?” I ask when he’s standing next to me again.
The targets we use have the usual silhouette of a person with a numbered bullseye printed on the figure’s chest and another over its face. There are also small colored circles on the target over vital hit zones, and those are what we focus on when we’re practicing.
He nods, his eyes on the target.
“Red, green, blue, yellow.”
He’s already throwing them before I’ve finished, and the knives embed in the center of each of the colored targets I named one after the other.
“Not bad,” I tell him as I go to the target to pull the knives free.
“Gotta give you some competition so your head doesn’t get so big it won’t fit through doorways anymore.” He flashes me a cheeky smile.
“Where would I be if I didn’t have you to humble me,” I say dryly and hand him the knives.
“Stuck outside because your head would be too big to get through the door?”
I shoot him a flat look. “Green, yellow, purple, pink.”
His form is a bit sloppy as he throws since he didn’t have time to get into the proper stance, but all four knives find their mark.
“We need to talk about you playing hero,” he says seriously as he goes to the target to pull the knives free.
“What do you mean?” I ask casually.
I’ve been waiting for this conversation since I told him what happened.
“What are the rules of watching someone?” he asks as he tugs the blades free.
“To observe from a distance.”
“And…” he prompts, giving me a pointed look as he walks toward me.
“And to not reveal myself.”
“And?” He hands me the knives.
“And to stay out of whatever is going on if it doesn’t involve me or put any of us in danger.” I take the knives from him.
“And how many of those have you broken?”
I don’t answer.
“Yellow, blue, pink, red,” he says.
I throw the knives with way more force than is needed, and the last one bounces right off the target and clatters to the floor.
“Uh-huh,” he says knowingly and heads back over to the target. “Tell me again how you’re not at all invested or involved and this is just a job to you?”
“So I was supposed to let those assholes kill him?”
“I didn’t say that.” He pulls the knives free. “I just said that you broke your own rule when you stepped in and stopped them.”
“Maybe I am a little involved,” I admit. “But it’s not a big deal.”
He smirks and crosses the room to scoop up the one that missed.
“Sure it isn’t. That’s why you broke all the rules you’ve always gone by, because it’s no biggie and you’re only a little involved.
” He holds his hand up so his index finger and his thumb are about a quarter inch apart.
“What do you think? Are you this involved?” He spreads his arms out so they’re as far apart as they can go. “Or is it more like this?”
“What’s your point?” I ask, not bothering to refute anything he just said. He isn’t wrong, but that doesn’t mean I have to give him the satisfaction of telling him that.
“My point is that you either need to take several steps back and reevaluate things, or you need to admit that this job is different and stop pretending it isn’t,” he says as he hands me the knives. “Blue, yellow, pink, green.”
This time all four blades hit their target.
“It’s only different because he’s different,” I tell my brother as I go to retrieve the knives from the target. “But that’ll change once I figure him out and we know for sure if he’s a threat or not. You know me, once I solve a puzzle, I get bored and move on.”
Jace’s expression says he isn’t convinced, but he doesn’t argue with me as I bring the knives back and hand them to him.
“Best out of three?” he asks.
“Are we going for speed or accuracy?”
“Both, obviously.”
I nod. “Game on.”
He grins and flips one of the knives in his hand. “Draw, or no draw?”
“Both, obviously,” I say with a smirk.
“Then why don’t you be a dear and get the holsters?” He rolls the handle of one of the knives over his knuckles. “I don’t think we want a repeat of when Xave was showing off and tried holstering his blade in his sweatpants pocket.”
I snicker and head over to Jace’s wardrobe. “I mean, I wouldn’t say no to watching you slice the side of your pants open and completely miss your shot like he did.”
Jace laughs. “The pants thing was hilarious, but he really shoulda just called it a fail instead of pretending like nothing happened and trying to make the shot anyway.”
“At least his miss was as epic as slicing his pants.” I flip open a box at the bottom of his wardrobe that holds various holsters and our practice blades.
“Imagine not only missing a throw at ten feet but also completely missing the target.” I grab the ones I’m looking for and snap the box closed.
“That’s so much worse than having to spend the rest of the day with your pants flapping in the wind. ”
“I’m never going to let him live that down,” Jace says after I’ve closed the door to his wardrobe. “I’ll retell that story with my dying breath just to be that bitch.”
I toss him one of the holsters. “It’s what he deserves.”
Jace catches it with his free hand. “Ready to get your ass handed to you?”
“Yup.” I wrap the belt of the holster around my hips and snap it closed. “Just like I was ready to get my ass handed to me at the cliffs yesterday. Question is, can you actually deliver, or are you the one who’s going to be handed your ass?”
“Keep sassing me, and I might miss on purpose.” He waves the knives at me. “Pull a Xave but without the pants slicing and more twin stabbing.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” I make a “hurry up” motion with my hand. “Are you conceding already?”
“Fuck no.” He tosses the belt so the end snakes around his waist and catches it with his free hand. “Now get your phone out so you can time my magic,” he orders and snaps the clip closed.
“So bossy.” I pull my phone out. The way he put the holster on was impressive as fuck, but I’m not about to tell him that.
“Not my fault you need micromanaging.” He slips the blades into the holster and faces the target. “Are you ready? Or do I need to time myself too?”
“All good?” I ask.
“Obviously.” He shoots me a flat look.
I lift my phone. “Best of three? Killshots, the four corners, then colors?”
“Sounds good.” He shakes his hands out. “On your count.”
“Killshots first.” I let my thumb hover over the button to start the timer. “Go,” I say and hit the button.
The knives fly out of Jace’s hand, and I stop the timer as soon as the last one is in the air.
“Four point seven,” I tell him.
He makes a face. “I can do better.”
“Yeah, you can,” I agree.
Jace mumbles something, but I’m only half listening as I retrieve the knives.
He’s wrong about Myles. I’m not getting invested; I’m just interested. And the only reason I’m interested is because Myles is the most confusing person I’ve ever met.