Page 68 of In the Dark

“You did?” Interesting. “Callahan and Jameson trust you, then?”

“Callahan trusts everyone here. He wouldn’t have a man he didn’t trust watching his future wife, Jasmina.”

“Is that the only reason someone’s outside my door always?” I asked, leaning against the headboard of the bed.

“Well, I hear you can throw a weapon better than a few of the guys here, so …” He shrugged like he was the one who could deal with that. “I’m sure when they post someone here, it’s me, Zander, or someone who can handle you. Better me against you than others.”

“Oh, really?”

He chuckled, his fingers working methodically through a tangled ball of yarn. It was such a strange, domestic contrast to the conversation, but then again, I knew me crocheting was just as strange too. “I’ve been throwing knives since infancy. I’m sure Cal figures it takes a weapon to know one.”

I tried sizing him up before I asked, “How’d you get that cut on your cheek?”

He glanced at me, and I saw how his eyes didn’t really darken—they went almost hollow, like he was emptying his soul from the memories he was having. Then, he shrugged, blinked, and smiled. “Not your concern.”

I shrugged back. “Okay, how about you tell me how good of a shot you are?”

He smirked without looking up from the yarn. “I do fine.”

“Show me,” I said, shoving my comforter down and hopping out of bed in my white PJs. I moved not with anger, but with excitement; I loved a bit of good competition. It beat the suffocating jealousy I kept feeling thinking of Callahan with Demi.

He kept unknotting the yarn. “Callahan wouldn’t like that.”

“Callahan doesn’t like anything,” I scoffed. I didn’t have to go far for my gear. I reached between the mattress and the frame, pulling out two slim, balanced throwing spikes, then grabbed the folding blade from my nightstand.

Archer was quiet as I came to stand beside him. For a second, I thought he’d shut it down. But then I saw his mouth lift just a little on one side. The yarn was set aside.

Victory was mine.

“Yeah, fuck it. Let’s have some fun. We need a target that won’t cause permanent damage.” He scanned the area. “The drywall in here is shit.”

“My suitcase?” I ran to my walk-in closet and rolled it out. He set it up on my vanity, and I found some Post-its in a drawer that I could stick on it. “Perfect.” I glanced at him. “Ready?”

For the next half hour, the room was filled with the rhythmic thwack-slide-thwack of steel meeting fabric, and I had to admit, Archer didn’t throw like it was only a hobby of his. He didn’t wind up or use theatrics. He even pulled a blade from a low-profile rig hidden inside his sleeve. It was a slider that put the hilt right in his palm with a flick of his wrist.

“You’re gripping the handle too tight,” I told him when he missed once. “You’ll fight the rotation when really you should be letting the weight of the steel do the work.”

He narrowed his eyes at me, and I saw something behind them, something he held back from most. Archer was easygoing but I think he hid a coiled darkness inside him. I knew because I held back a lot too. He sucked his teeth and then glanced back at the target like he was considering if I’d been going easy on him.

Well, at least he was catching on to that.

He adjusted his grip, feeling the balance point of the blade. Then we both watched as he threw and the knife buried itself right into the Post-it.

Damn, that feeling was cathartic. My turn felt just as good. Every throw felt like I was releasing a bit of the emotion that had pent up inside me from throughout the day.

And Archer was easy to talk to when he wasn’t being a stone wall.

He even listened to me bitch about Demi, his own throws never straying more than a centimeter from the center. He didn’t judge; he just handed me back my knives after each round.

I retrieved my blades, my chest huffing slightly from the adrenaline. I pointed to right above the zipper.

“See that spot?” I looked at him, my eyes narrowed. “It’s Demi tonight.”

I didn’t even hesitate. My hand blurred, and a silver flash crossed the room. The knife hit exactly where I wanted, dead center.

Archer smiled. “Demi’s not so bad, Ms. Ruiz.”

“Look, we can be on first-name terms. It’s Jasmina. Just don’t ruin it by telling me how great she is.”