Jace is standing in the middle of the kitchen, head tilted as he stares into the pantry. For a split second, my stomach drops, wondering if Roo stashed something bloody in there… But she wouldn’t be that sloppy. She knows there are cameras here.
“Why do you have a paint can in here?” Jace asks me slowly, like he’s testing the words as they leave his mouth.
“I don’t,” I reply, mirroring his expression.
I’m just as confused as he is. Despite that, I move into the kitchen and peek into the pantry. The paint can is behind my unused waffle iron, metal rim smeared. I tilt it to read the label on the lid.
“It’s half empty,” I note. “And it’s not the color?—”
I stop myself, glancing over my shoulder at the living room walls. Jace’s gaze slides around the apartment, brow furrowing as he gets to the fridge. There’s a rough line where two different colors meet, but I wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t seen the paint can.
“I thought that color was different,” Jace mumbles.
I walk to the hallway wall, hand lifting on instinct. My palm presses to the paint.
Tacky.
Not wet. Just barely dry enough not to leave fingerprints.
I step back fast, licking my lips as I glance up at the camera in the corner. I haven’t been here in two days. No one should’ve been here. And yet?—
Someone painted.
“I’m guessing you guys didn’t do this…”
Jace doesn’t comment. He just moves, as quick and lethal as a wolf through the forest, checking the rest of the apartment like he already knows the ending to this story.
It doesn’t take him long.
No one is here.
He’s just looking for whatever Daniel left behind…
“Eris, he left a—” From my bedroom, Jace curses under his breath. “Jesus, he’s fucking nuts.”
I snort, hoping Jace doesn’t hear me… Because how the fuck can I explain Daniel isn’t as bad as his friend was, and needing to kill that guy is the entire reason I dated Daniel to begin with. Kinda makes me sound like a long-term prostitute.
And I guess that’s not entirely incorrect.
Ididsleep with him for work, and Ididget paid.
I suppose the difference is that I got paid for killing the guy I wasn’t sleeping with.
Now, I still need to kill the guy Iwassleeping with.
Life is messy.
Jace is standing beside my bed, eyes fixed on the center of my gray quilt. His shoulders tremble, as if he’s struggling to suppress the rage building inside him.
There’s a piece of folded paper waiting for me.
I don’t touch it.
I don’t need to.
“I’m not staying here,” I tell him calmly, glaring at the imprint in my pillow. “In fact, I think I’ll pack a few more things. I can’t come back here until…”
I let my words trail off, not sure if I should say what I’m thinking. Jace turns to me and nods once. No argument or false reassurance. I think he knows what I’m not saying and agrees with me.
