“A few things happened,” I say, not beating around the bush.
I spent most of the plane ride getting pep talks from Xave and his cousins, and Felix sat with me for almost half an hour before we landed and let me practice what I was going to say with him so I’d be ready for this conversation.
“Someone is trying to kill me,” I say bluntly.
Her eyes widen with shock, and she lets out a gasp as she raises her hands to her mouth.
I know Kait, and she may have been a good model when she was working, but she’s never been a good actress. I can usually clock when she’s lying or pretending, and her reaction seems genuine.
“What?” she asks, her expression melting into one of concern. “Are you sure?”
I nod. “Someone kidnapped me and Xave from a rave we were at after Christmas. Then a few weeks later, someone jumped me at school and would have killed me if my friend didn’t step in and stop him. And less than two weeks ago, someone almost shot me in the quad at school, and the only reason I’m still alive is because they stopped him.” I motion to the couch where Xave’s cousins are sitting.
She’s so pale her face is almost white as she gapes at me.
“My friends were able to figure out who’s behind it,” I continue.
“Who is it?” she asks, and the urgency in her voice makes me pause for a few beats.
She’s not acting like someone who’s guilty. Is it possible she has no idea what’s going on?
“Michael,” I tell her.
Her eyes go as round as saucers, and her jaw drops. “What?” she croaks.
“Michael is the one behind the attempts on my life,” I tell her, not mincing words. “He hired those guys and arranged everything.”
“That can’t be.” She shakes her head. “He wouldn’t do something like that.”
“He did,” I tell her. “We have proof.”
“Are you sure?”
I nod.
She shakes her head again. “I can’t believe it.”
I don’t miss the way her eyes dart to the other side of the room, and I look over just as the door to the next room opens and Michael steps through it, a gun in his hand.
“Don’t move or I’m going to start shooting,” he says, swinging the gun around as he tries to point it at all of us at once.
“Fuck yeah,” Jace says with all the enthusiasm of someone who’s just realized they have a winning lottery ticket. “Now this is what I’m talking about.”
“Shut up,” Michael yells and swings to point the gun at Jace, and I don’t miss how his hand is shaking slightly.
Jace just smiles serenely, and before I can fully register what’s happening, he reaches under his jacket and throws something metallic and shiny at Michael with a quick flick of his wrist.
“Ahhhh!” Michael screams as Jace’s knife embeds in his shoulder, and he drops the gun as his arm falls uselessly to his side.
Jax is up and out of his seat before Michael finishes screaming, and he kicks the gun away as he throws Michael onto the nearest couch.
He lands with another scream, but Jax just yanks the knife out of him with a careless tug. While Michael is still spluttering, he wipes the blade off on Michael’s pant leg and tosses it to Jace. “Here, bro.”
Jace catches it by the handle and slips it under his jacket and presumably back into its holster. With his other hand, he pulls a set of butterfly knives out from the holster I saw him clip onto the back of his jeans in the car, and Jax pulls a large folded knife out of his jacket pocket and flips out a long, curved blade.
“Don’t even think of moving,” Jax says, angling his knife so the blade catches the light, showing off the mirror-sharp edge. “Not unless you want to find out how it feels to get scalped.”
“And don’t even think about lying to us,” Jace adds and spins his butterfly knives around his hands in a complicated pattern that would make a serial killer piss himself. “We don’t like liars, and our friends here hate them.”
