Razing Grace: Razing Grace Part 1 by Amo Jones Page A

dark hair is hanging casually around his collar and his face is clean shaven. His head cocks while his green eyes linger on me. “Inside, boys,” he says, grinning at me slyly before waving us through the door.
    Weird.
    I watch the tattooed man closely as I pass him on our way inside the house, noting that his cocky grin doesn’t falter. There’s a psychotic glint in his eye that ticks from beneath that smooth exterior. It throws me back a little.
    The Japanese suited man tugs at my cuffs again because I had stopped, and I continue to follow him through the dimly lit hallway. To the right there are spiral stairs that lead to the second level and to the left there’s a modernized kitchen. He continues to pull me forward until I’m walking into a large living room where a gas fire flickers against the wall, lighting up the dim atmosphere.
    The Japanese man pulls out the keys and unlocks my cuffs, breaking my wrists free. “Walk.” He pushes me forward towards the fireplace.
    I follow his order, knowing good and well that the grip the Japanese man had on me is now gone. I stop in the middle of the sitting room directly in front of the fire place, closing my eyes and soaking up the heat which licks over my arms.
    “Millie,” a growl sounds from behind me. My eyes snap open, the warm flecks that were comforting me now ripped away. “Turn around.” I close my eyes, slowly turning my body towards the voice that’s behind me. Once I’ve turned with my eyes still closed, he growls again. “Open your eyes.”
    I slowly but surely open my eyes, falling on who could quite possibly be the most beautiful man—I’m not sure you can use the word “beautiful” to describe a man like him—I have ever seen. I tilt my head, my arms dropping to the side. There is a familiarity about him that I can’t put my finger on.
    He matches my movement, his head tilting to the side with his drink dangling between his fingers casually. His ankle rests on his knee, his dress shirt unbuttoned, his tie loose and hanging effortlessly off his broad shoulders. He’s sitting in the dim darkness so I can only see the profile of his face.
    A smirk kicks up the side of his mouth, hinting to straight white teeth and a smile that could quite possibly scare the devil himself. “Come closer, Millie.”
    With confusion coursing through my veins, I take a tentative step forward. His smirk deepens and his eyes darken. His eyes. Why does he have a familiarity about him that I can’t put my finger on? My walking stops. My body freezes and his smirk turns into a full smile that’s anything but beautiful. It’s the kind of smile that would haunt little girls in their sleep.
    “Ahhhh…” he begins. “And she gets it.” He turns his head to place his drink on the table that sits beside him and that’s when it’s confirmed. The familiar tattoos that line around the scalp of his head. The sides shaved with the top long and slicked back. Shit.
    Tripp.
     

MILLIE
    He stands from the chair, all six foot five inches of him, and I swallow, retreating backwards. “Tripp?”
    He laughs, rolling the sleeves of his shirt up even further, displaying his ink covered arms. The tattoos I had become so familiar with.
    “Raze,” he corrects me. Noticing the confusion in my expression, he clarifies. “My name’s Raze, Millie.”
    Raze? Why all the secret names? Why not just have one?
    He continues, “Tripp is my name on the Base. The name the crew call me, the name that is nonexistent. My name, by birth, is Raze.”
    “Why am I here? Whose Hachiro? Why are there so many Japanese here? And who are you?” The words fall straight out of my mouth, bypassing any filter.
    “You ask an awful lot of questions for a girl who is in a very vulnerable position.” His face is serious yet his eyes dance with menace.
    “Well I don’t seem to get an awful lot of answers.”
    He pauses, the same smirk clinging to his lips.
    My eyes follow his.