17. Jax
JAX
“I’m meeting up with Xave,” Jace says as he grabs a hoodie from the foot of his bed. “And I’m guessing there’s nothing I can say or do to entice you away from this room for the night?”
I shake my head.
“Figured as much.” He blows a bubble with his gum and pops it.
“Are you going into town?” I ask as he shakes out his hoodie and slips his arms through the sleeves.
He nods and pulls it on.
“Have fun fucking with the locals.”
He smirks and adjusts his hair, smoothing it back from his face. “Always do. Have fun staring at blank screens all night.”
I flip him off, but he just blows me a kiss and sweeps out of the room.
I stretch my arms over my head, then stand and walk across the space a few times to get the blood flowing in my legs.
I’ve spent the past few hours poring over the files Jace sent me, but there’s nothing new or useful in them, not that I’ve found so far.
It’s starting to feel like I’m going around in circles, and every time we find what we think is a lead, it’s either a dead end or another twist that leads us to a new pile of leads.
Letting out a weary sigh, I scrub my hand through my hair to push the strands back from where they’ve fallen into my face. I’m feeling restless again, but it’s not from boredom or being cooped up in my room.
I didn’t tell my brother this, but today in the woods was different.
It started the same as every other game of hide and seek, where Myles flipped the statue around and let me watch him get ready.
Then he gave the camera the same sassy smirk I’ve seen every day since we started this routine, and he went just as hard when he was running from me, but things changed when I finally caught him.
He seemed to retreat into himself when I pulled my rope free of my belt, and all the fight went out of him the moment I uncoiled it.
The change in him was stark, and instead of the feisty and desperate guy I’m used to, he was withdrawn and compliant.
I could have just kept going since he didn’t give any real indication that he didn’t want it anymore, but it wasn’t the same.
So, instead of tying him to the tree, I put him on his hands and knees. That seemed to revitalize him, and I fucked him on the forest floor until he finally came.
The other thing I hid from Jace, and I’m still not even sure why I did, was that I’ve broken into his room every day since we started this to continue our chess game.
And I definitely didn’t tell him how Myles immediately looks toward the chess set every time he comes back to his room or how he smiles when he sees I’ve been there.
I stop pacing the room as my phone pings, and I’m way too eager when I open the app that controls the cameras in his room and see he’s turned the statue around so it’s facing his bed.
He's not in the frame, but that doesn’t stop me from hurrying over to my computer so I can see the feed on the larger screen.
I’m just settling in my chair when he walks into the frame and sits on his bed. He’s wearing a t-shirt that says Not Today, Satan and a pair of worn sweatpants. His neatly combed hair looks damp, like he just got out of the shower, and his cheeks are flushed.
“Are you watching?” he asks nervously and pulls his feet up so he’s sitting cross-legged on the bed. “I mean, are you watching right now?”
I click the panic button.
The corners of his lips twitch up in a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“So, this is really fucked up.” He pauses and blows out a breath, his shoulders sagging as he seems to shrink into himself.
“But I really need to talk to someone, and I don’t have anyone I can talk to about this.
” He drops his eyes as more color floods his cheeks.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done this.”
I’m already clicking on the outgoing microphone when he reaches toward the statue, like he’s going to flip it around again.
“What happened?” I ask.
He freezes, then slowly drops his arm as a look of cautious hope replaces the utterly broken expression that spurred me to answer him so quickly.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I know this is fucked up, and I shouldn’t be doing this, but?—”
“Take a deep breath.”
He immediately obeys, and my stomach and chest tighten at how he didn’t even hesitate to do as I said.
“Now tell me what’s going on,” I say when he blows his breath out.
“I’m…scared.” He swallows, his throat working and his Adam’s apple bobbing in a way that’s strangely enticing.
“Why are you scared?” I prompt when he doesn’t continue.
“I don’t know how much you know about my life and what’s been going on, and I have no idea how you’re involved in any of it, but my gut is telling me you’re not someone I need to worry about.” He peers at the camera through his lashes.
On anyone else, the move would look coy or flirtatious, but I can see the fear and doubt in his gaze.
“Your gut is right,” I tell him. “I’m not someone you need to worry about.”
He blows out a breath and lifts his eyes to the ceiling as his entire body sags in what looks like relief.
“Do you want to tell me why you’re scared?” I ask.
“Yes and no.” He lets out a little snort that could be laughter but is devoid of any humor.
“Yes, because I need to talk to someone before I go completely insane, but no, because then you’ll know how fucked up I am.
” He furrows his brow in a way that’s far too endearing.
“But then again, you already know how fucked up I am, considering what we’ve been doing.
” He shakes his head like he’s physically shaking himself free of his thoughts and focuses on the camera.
“But if I tell you what else is going on, then you’ll know what I did. ”
“Would it help if I told you that no matter what you tell me, I won’t judge you?”
This time he’s smiling faintly when he lets out a huff of laughter. “Yeah, you say that now, but I highly doubt that’ll be true if I tell you this.”
“You’d think, but remember when I told you I’m the villain between us?”
He nods, his expression curious.
“That’s because I am. I’m incapable of judging you, so if you tell me whatever it is that’s scaring you, I’ll listen, and help if you want me to, but I won’t judge.”
“How is that possible?” He tilts his head to the side. “How can you be incapable of judging me?”
I lean back in my chair. I shouldn’t tell him this, and I’m crossing a line I won’t be able to come back from if I do, but that still isn’t enough to stop me.
“Because that’s not how I’m wired.”
He furrows his brow and tilts his head to the side. “Huh?”
“Have you ever heard of antisocial personality disorder?”
He nods slowly, then his eyes widen realization seems to dawn on him.
“Do you understand how it works?”
He nods again, but there’s something under his initial surprise that looks suspiciously like interest. “I’m not an expert or anything, but I’m pretty sure I know the basics.” He lifts his hand but quickly drops it again.
“Go ahead,” I tell him. “Look it up.”
“How did you know I was about to do that?” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and unlocks it.
“Your hand,” I tell him. “You reached for your phone and stopped yourself.”
“You caught that, huh?” He grins and looks down at his phone as he types something on the screen.
“I’m pretty observant.”
He snort-laughs. “Said the stalker.”
I stay quiet as he focuses on whatever is on his screen, his eyes moving as he reads.
When he looks up, his expression is curious, not frightened or wary like I expected. “So you were diagnosed with this, and it’s not one of those self-diagnosis things that people do?”
“I was diagnosed,” I tell him. “But it’s not on any of my records or medical files.”
“I’m guessing that was by design?”
“My family felt it was best to keep that off record.”
“Makes sense,” he muses. “So, would you be considered a psychopath or a sociopath?”
“A psychopath,” I say. “But I’ve never really fit into either one of those.”
“Really?” He glances at his phone again. “Were you born like this, or is it because of trauma or something like that?”
“I was born like this. My upbringing was anything but traumatic, which is one of the reasons I don’t really fit into either definition. And I’m not the only one in my family who’s like this, so it’s most likely genetic with us.”
“Huh,” he says, his expression thoughtful. “If I ask who else in your family is like you, would you tell me?”
“My brother.”
He puts his phone on the bed and leans back on his hands. “That’s interesting.”
“Interesting?” I can’t keep the amusement out of my voice. “Most people would be freaking out in your position.”
“I mean, you’re not wrong.” He shoots the camera a lopsided grin. “But considering you’re stalking me, and I’m talking to you through the camera you planted in my room after I watched you take down three thugs like it was a game, I’m really not that shocked.”
“You’re not afraid of me?”
“No.” He uncrosses his legs and lets them hang over the side of the bed. “I was, but not anymore.”
“Why not?”
One thing that has always fascinated me about Myles is his lack of fear response toward me or anything I’ve done to him. He always seems more interested than afraid, even back before he knew for sure I was watching him. And the way he so easily accepted what I just told him proves he’s different.
Which makes him even more interesting.
I could have lied and told him a fake story to gain his trust, and I would have if I were talking to anyone else. I have no issues telling people whatever they need to hear to get what I want out of them, but I don’t want to do that with him.
Only a handful of people know about Jace and me, and all of them, except Myles, are family.
He could use this against me if he figures out who I am, but he already has enough dirt on me with beating up his muggers and breaking into his room multiple times that he could cause trouble for me if he wanted to.
My gut is telling me he won’t, so I’m going with it.