by Lauren Rowe
I close my eyes and begin touching myself, trying to duplicate the precise way Josh touched me when we “danced” at Reed’s club. God, that was hot. So fucking hot.
Oh, I’m already pulsing like crazy.
My fingers massage and rub, working round and round.
I imagine the ridges and ripples of Josh’s abs, the incredible muscles on his arms, that tight “V” on either side of his lower pelvis, his tattoos, and, the crowning glory, that incredible hard-on I saw hiding beneath his wet briefs.
Oh, I’m especially sensitive to touch right now. Getting myself off today is gonna be as easy as falling off a greasy log.
I begin moaning softly.
Oh, I’m right on the cusp.
I imagine the outline of Josh’s hard dick in his wet briefs, and then I fantasize about it sliding inside me, thrusting in and out of me, over and over.
His lips are on mine, devouring me. His hands are touching my naked body. He’s whispering in my ear, calling me his Party Girl with a Hyphen.
Oh yeah. My skin is beginning to prickle like I’ve got a chill, always a deliciously disorienting sensation under hot steaming water.
I imagine the cocky expression on Josh’s face when he accused me of dripping down my thigh with desire for him—which I was. Oh, God, yes, I was.
I’m rocked with a massive orgasm that makes my insides twist and shudder.
“Fuck,” I blurt. “Oh my God.”
Pleasure is vibrating between my legs and throughout my abdomen.
Oh boy. That was a nice one.
I return the showerhead to its holder and lean into the shower wall for a moment.
I’ve never wanted a man this much in all my life.
Damn.
What have I done? How the hell am I gonna get myself out of this pickle I’ve created? Never in a million years did I think it would take this long to wear Josh down. I figured he’d throw me some nominal, flirtatious resistance and then give me what I want, the way all other men do, to be perfectly honest. Goddammit. I feel like stomping my foot in frustration.
I get out of the shower and dry off with one of the thick, white towels on the nearby shelf and quickly check my texts again—I stayed in the shower longer than I intended to—and, oopsies, there’s a group text from Jonas, telling Henn, Josh and me to meet him and Sarah up in his suite in ten minutes. Oh, crap. I better get a move on.
I quickly dial Josh. He picks right up.
“Did you see Jonas’ text?” I ask.
“Yeah, I just got it a minute ago. Henn and I are on our way to your room to get you. We don’t want you walking up to their suite alone. See you in five.”
Twenty-Three
Josh
It’s official. Sarah Fucking Cruz is the biggest badass I’ve ever met. She took a naked selfie in the bad guys’ bathroom and emailed it to them right then and there? She must have ice in her veins. Ha! Well, I guess Kat’s not the only terrorist in our group. Holy shit.
“And then,” Sarah continues, beaming, “both of them opened my email right on the spot.”
“Now that’s the way to do it, Sarah Cruz! Who’s the fucking genius now?” Henn shouts, scrambling to his laptop.
I glance over at Jonas in the far corner, intending to share a look of celebration with him, but his jaw is clenched and his eyes are blue chips of granite.
“Bingo,” Henn says after a brief moment of studying his screen. “You did it, Sarah. We’re in. I’ve got Oksana’s computer and that guy’s phone. Holy shit. Jackpot.”
“She’s a fucking assassin,” I whisper to Kat.
“Birds of a feather flock together.” She winks.
I chuckle.
“Oh my God,” Henn says, staring intently at his computer screen. “The bastard forwarded your email to another computer and opened your photo there, too.” He makes a sound of extreme joy. “Brilliant, Sarah.” He clicks a button on his keyboard and, all of a sudden, his cheeks suddenly turn bright red.
“So, Henn?” Sarah asks, her cheeks flushing every bit as much as Henn’s.
Henn jerks his head up from his screen, his cheeks blazing. “Yes?”
“So now what?” Sarah asks.
“Well, um,” Henn says. He swallows hard. Oh yeah, my boy’s definitely been thrown for a loop by something on his screen. Henn clears his throat. “I’ll snoop around both computers and this Max guy’s phone and see what I can find. And then we wait for them to hopefully access their mainframe and bank accounts. I imagine we won’t have to wait too long.”
“Can you delete that photo?” Jonas asks, his voice tight. “Can you find it and erase it everywhere?”
“Um, sure, no problem,” Henn says quickly, his face turning an even darker shade of red. “I can delete it right now, if you want me to. I’ve got total access.”
Oh, well, that answers that question: Henn’s looking at the selfie Sarah sent to Oksana and Max. Ha! Poor Henn never did know how to keep a poker face.
“Yeah, but if you delete that photo off their computers now, won’t that tip them off?” Kat asks.
“Yeah,” Henn says. “If that photo magically disappears, this Max dude is gonna know something’s up for sure—and if he designed their tech like he says, then he’s a badass motherfucker of epic proportions and we don’t want to do anything to tip him off.”
“Well, then, don’t delete it. I don’t want to give them any reason whatsoever to be suspicious,” Sarah says. She juts her chin at Jonas.
“I agree,” Henn says. He winces at Jonas like he’s expecting to get punched.
Jonas exhales and crosses his arms over his chest, his brand new engraved bracelet gleaming on his wrist. Oh man, he’s in full serial-killer mode right now, though I don’t understand why. What did he expect Sarah to do? It was do or die time and she did. If she were my girl, I’d be kissing her from head to toe right now, telling her she’s a fucking genius. Seriously, my brother is the dumbest (smartest) guy I know.
“God, Sarah,” Kat says, laughing. “First the solo-boob shot and now this. You’re quite the exhibitionist, aren’t you?”
“A ‘boob shot?” I ask. “Oh my goodness, tell us more, Sarah Cruz.”
Sarah blushes. “Just a little sexting with this really hot guy I met online.” She looks at Jonas, but he remains stone-faced. “A hot guy who used to have a sense of humor,” she continues. “It’s no big deal—all the kids are doing it these days.”
Jesus. My brother’s being a total prick. I gotta help this poor girl out. “And all the politicians,” I add.
“And athletes,” Henn says.
“And housewives,” Kat adds.
“And grandmas,” I say.
“And some priests, too,” Henn adds, and everyone (except Jonas) laughs.
Kat beams a smile at me and I wink back at her.
“Sarah, you picked the perfect bait for your email,” Kat says, swigging from a water bottle. “No matter how smart or powerful or rich a guy might be, he’s got the same Kryptonite as every other man throughout history.” She raises one eyebrow at me. “Naked boobs.”
I return the eyebrow-raise. “Are we really that simple?” I ask.
“Yes,” Kat says. “You really are.”
I laugh.
“Never underestimate the power of porn,” Henn says.
“That’s catchy,” Kat says. “The porn industry should adopt that for a billboard campaign.”
“I don’t think the porn industry needs help with their marketing,” Henn says.
I look over at Jonas again, hoping he’s eased up on the psycho-killer bullshit, but he’s still channeling Ted Bundy over there. Shit. Poor Sarah. A woman’s got to be superhuman to put up with my fucking brother, I swear to God—or maybe just a masochist.
“That was really quick thinking on your feet, Sarah,” I say. “You went in there hoping to harpoon a baby whale, and you wound up landing Moby Dick. Great job.” I raise my eyebrows pointedly at Jonas. “Right, bro? Aren’t you pr
oud of her?” I say.
Jonas scowls at me, the bastard.
“I was scared; I’m not gonna lie,” Sarah says. “My hands were shaking like crazy the whole time I was in there. But there was no way I was gonna leave that building without implanting that virus, no matter what. There was too much at stake.”
“You’re such a badass, Sarah,” Kat says.
Jonas exhales and uncrosses his arms and Sarah shoots him a look that says, “Screw you, motherfucker.” Ah, well, maybe little Miss Sarah Cruz is gonna be able to handle my brother, after all.
“Hey, guys,” Henn says, engrossed with something on his screen. “Holy shit. Oksana’s going into her bank account right now—that Henderson Bank we were scouting out before?” He stares at the screen for another ten seconds. “Sha-zam. She just typed in her password. Ha! I got it.” He shakes his head. “Oh man, I love technology.”
“So what do we do?” Sarah asks.
“We wait a few minutes for her to log off, and then we go in and snoop around.”
“Sounds like the perfect time for me to fill drink orders,” I say, heading to the bar. “Party Girl with a Hyphen?”
“Club soda, please.”
“You sure you don’t want a little hair of the dog?”
She shakes her head, grimacing. “I’m sure.”
Damn, she’s cute. “I’ll join you. My liver could probably use a little break.”
“We’re really not living up to our nicknames, you know,” she says.
“I won’t tell if you won’t.”
I get everyone else’s drink orders, and just as I’m passing a glass of champagne to Sarah, Henn calls us over to his computer screen. “She’s logged off,” he announces. “Let’s go in.”
We all gather around Henn’s computer, bursting with anticipation.
“Well, she’s already deposited your checks—one hundred eighty thousand big ones,” Henn says. “I bet that boils your blood, huh, Jonas?”
Jonas grunts.
“And she just transferred half of it into her savings account. Hmm,” Henn says, sounding perplexed.
“What?” Sarah asks, her eyes bugging out.
“Even after today’s deposit, Oksana’s got only about half a million total in these two accounts.” He furrows his brow.
“Hmm,” I say.
“Hmm, indeed,” Henn agrees. “Chump change. These must be Oksana’s personal accounts—definitely not The Club’s main accounts.”
“Damn,” Sarah says. “So how do we find the big money?”
Jonas walks away from the group to the other side of the room, apparently mulling things over.
“We just have to wait for them to log into their main bank accounts,” Henn says. “It could be five minutes, five hours, five days—who knows?”
I glance at Kat and something’s made her visibly anxious all of a sudden, though I have no idea what it was.
“But I guarantee they’ll lead us there sooner or later,” Henn continues. “And in the meantime, I’ll take a nice, long gander around their files and data, make copies of everything, see if there’s anything of interest. Oh, and I’ll listen to Max’s voicemails, too. That’s so cool you got Max’s phone, Sarah.” He sips his beer. “Dang, there’s a lot to do.”
I exhale loudly, drawing everyone’s attention, including Kat’s. “Well, it looks like poor Henn’s gonna be working through the night again, going through all this stuff.” I pull out my phone, intending to text Reed about those RCR tickets. “What do you say, Party Girl with a Hyphen—you wanna paint Sin City red with me again?”
“I’d actually like to help Henn, if that’s okay,” Kat says.
I’m blown away. She’d rather stay here and help Henn with his hacking shit than watch the RCR concert from backstage?
“I’m kind of excited about all this. I have a strong motivation to want to bury these guys,” she adds. She looks at Sarah and her facial expression bursts with protectiveness. “Would that be okay with you, Henn? Or would I be in your way?”
My heart is racing and my skin is buzzing. I wouldn’t have predicted Kat turning down backstage tickets at the Garden Arena to help Henn hack into The Club—not in a million years.
“No, that’d be awesome,” Henn says. “But only if you really want to. I mean Josh and Jonas are paying me to do this, so . . .”
“Could you use my help, too?” I ask.
Henn’s face lights up. “Yeah. That’d be great.”
“Okay, then. I’ll order us room service and the three of us will get to work.”
“Make that the four of us,” Sarah says. “I’ll stick around and help, too. I’m pretty motivated to bury these guys, too.”
We all look at Jonas. Obviously, this is his cue to say, “Me, too.” Or better yet, “No, baby, lemme take you out to celebrate how you kicked the bad guys’ asses today.” But Jonas doesn’t say either of those things. Of course not. Because he’s an imbecile—a socially inept imbecile. Instead, my stupid serial-killer-moron of a dumbshit-brother just stands in the corner, silently sipping his beer. Well, I guess I’ll just have to give the fucker a little push.
“Nah,” I say. “You two kids should go out and celebrate.” I look at Jonas pointedly. “Or stay in and celebrate, whatever floats your boat. Either way, definitely celebrate—you both kicked ass today.”
Jonas’ eyes flicker with sudden understanding of what I’m trying to tell him. He looks at Sarah, but he’s already blown it—she’s looking away, gritting her teeth. Oh shit. She looks like she’s ready to join Kat in roasting some testicle s’mores.
I grin at Sarah, trying to charm her into forgiving my stupid brother. “The three of us will move our party down to my suite and let you two crazy kids swing on the chandeliers up here.”
Jonas takes a long, slow sip of his beer, staring at Sarah—and she’s flashing him the most adorable look of defiance I’ve ever seen. Well, actually, she’s flashing him the second most adorable look of defiance I’ve ever seen—the first being the look Kat flashed me last night when she stood in that hallway in her skimpy undies, dripping wet, absolutely crazed with jealousy, banging on the call button for the elevator.
Jonas drains his beer and puts the bottle down—a good start—but then the moron doesn’t cross the room and take Sarah into his arms. Dumbshit. Does he have fucking eyes? Or half a brain? Clearly, that’s all Sarah wants him to do—take her into his arms and give her a kiss. I always say, when it comes to women, especially an angry one, just about any problem can be solved with a fucking awesome kiss.
Jonas crosses his arms over his chest and stares at Sarah.
I lean into Kat. “I feel like I’m watching Wimbledon.”
She nods. “I think it’s Jonas’ serve.”
I snicker.
“What do you say, baby?” Jonas finally says. I nod enthusiastically. Definitely a good start.
But Sarah doesn’t reply. She juts her chin at him, her eyes on fire. She’s such a cutie, I don’t know how he’s resisting her right now.
“You up for a little celebration tonight?” Jonas asks.
I hold my breath. How could she possibly resist him? He’s clearly at least trying to turn on the charm. But Sarah shrugs and looks away.
“Why doesn’t he just walk over to her and kiss her?” Kat whispers to me.
“Maybe she’s told him kissing is off limits—maybe she’s a fucking terrorist on a jihad,” I whisper back.
Kat scoffs. “Or maybe she’s just a frickin’ genius.”
“Or maybe she’s painted herself into a corner she doesn’t know how to get herself out of,” I say.
Kat grunts.
“I think we should celebrate,” Jonas says.
Sarah shrugs again. Oh man, she’s holding firm.
“She definitely learned that stonewalling thing from her best friend,” I whisper.
“Hmmph.”
“Aw, come on, baby,” Jonas says, grinning at Sarah. “You wanna have a little fun?”
“There it is,” I whisper. “Game, set, match.”
“Not so fast,” Kat whispers. “Not gonna be that easy.”
“Twenty bucks says she lays down her weapon right here.”
“You’re on. She’ll hold out for at least two more asks. Trust me.”
“Maybe,” Sarah says.
“See?” I whisper. “He’s got her.”
Kat puts up a finger, as if to say, “Wait for it.”
“And maybe not,” Sarah adds, pursing her lips.
Kat puts out her hand. “Pay up.”
Jonas mocks Sarah’s pout. “What if I said please?”
“Double or nothing?” I whisper. “Next ask.”
“You’re on, fool,” Kat replies.
Sarah’s trying to suppress a smile. “Then I’d say possibly.”
“Ha!” I whisper. “Pay up.”
Kat puts up her finger.
“But not probably,” Sarah says.
“Fuck,” I say.
Kat puts out her palm again and I lay forty bucks in it, rolling my eyes.
“What if I said pretty please?” Jonas asks, smiling broadly.
“Double or nothing again?” Kat whispers.
I shake my head and Kat giggles.
Sarah shrugs again.
“Jesus. Glad I didn’t make another bet,” I whisper. “She’s as stubborn as you.”
“What if I said pretty please and that we can do whatever you want, anything at all, you name it?” Jonas asks.
“Okay, whoa. I think he’s overdoing it,” I whisper to Kat.
She giggles. “No, he’s doing the bare minimum.”
“Anything at all?” Sarah asks.
“Don’t do it,” I whisper to Kat.
“He will,” Kat says.
“Anything at all,” Jonas confirms.
Kat giggles. “Sucker.”
“Pussy,” I say.
“But sweet,” she responds.
Sarah touches the platinum bracelet on her wrist. “You’ll be at my mercy completely?”
Jonas squints and bites his lip, considering.