by Marie James
“Hey, I need—”
Flynn’s mouth snaps shut the second he walks in and my screens go black.
I’m falling down on my game, because I moved too slow this time. No one around here actually knocks on a closed door. I mean, why would any of us need privacy?
“What’s up, man?” I spin in my desk chair, trying my best to school my face, but my acting skills are horrible at best. I know I look guilty, but unless he brings it up, I plan to just keep my trap closed.
“What were you doing?”
Damn it.
“Nothing.”
“Didn’t look like nothing.”
“It was nothing.”
Flynn frowns, his eyes darting toward the still blacked-out screens at my back.
“Are you still hung up on that purple-haired girl?”
“What girl?”
“Jesus,” he huffs, holding out a manilla folder. “Never mind. I need you to look into this for me.”
Grateful he’s giving me an out, I reach for the folder, flipping it open to see what I’m going to be doing today.
It’s a basic research job on a client. We check their backgrounds before agreeing to help them. You’d be surprised how many people think they can pull the wool over our eyes. From angry spouses trying to cheat their soon-to-be ex-significant others out of their share of marital property to gold diggers trying to research potential love matches, we get a ton of shady people asking for our help.
“Cool. I’ll get on this right away.”
His eyes narrow, and I know he isn’t doubting my skills but rather doubting I’ll put a rush on getting him the information he needs.
“No rush,” he assures me.
Famous last words, especially spoken to someone with time management and procrastination issues.
“Deacon is going to be out of town for a few days.”
“So you’re in charge?” I salute him.
He just shakes his head, but I can tell he doesn’t want to walk away without warning me about stalking Whitney Nelson. He’s well aware of what I was doing when he walked in, and I already used the excuse that I’ve been hired on the side to ensure my apartment building’s camera system is up to snuff earlier this week.
“Do you want to come to brunch this we—”
“Nope. Got plans,” he interrupts before I can complete my invite.
“Plans?” Unless the guys are working, they never have plans.
“Personal plans,” he explains, and if I weren’t anxious to get him out of my office so I can go back to watching Whitney finish her workout, I’d grill him for more information.
I’m honestly certain he’s lying because he’s been with me once to Nana’s for brunch, and she spent the day trying to set him up with a nice girl she met at Target, although she’d only met the girl once and couldn’t remember her name. Nana is crafty like that, thinking everyone who doesn’t have a significant other is missing out on all the amazingness of being in a loving, healthy relationship. I’ve tried explaining to her more than once that not everyone will meet a person like my grandfather, and not every woman is as incredible as her. Usually she follows this up with a swat on the back of the head and a demand to quit trying to change the subject by buttering her up.
“You sure?”
He backs away, slowly leaving my office.
“Yep. Got plans.” The door snaps closed behind him.
“I should’ve led with that,” I grumble as I turn my computer monitors back on.
“He’s lying,” Puff Daddy says.
I ignore him because Whitney is no longer on the treadmill. A quick look at the corner of my screen tells me she cut her workout short today.
“Damn it,” I mutter, searching feeds in other areas of the building only to come up empty.
Minimizing the image of her apartment door to the lower corner, I fight the urge to dig a little deeper. It’s probably only a few minutes of my fingers twitching near my keyboard before they start moving, but it feels like an eternity.
I don’t dig deep. I’m not going to invade her privacy much more than I already have, but I need to know what this woman does for fun.
“How would you like it if someone—”
“Finish that sentence, and you’ll stay home when I go to Nana’s.”
My crazy bird hardly ever listens, but the threat of not getting the chance to be spoiled by my grandmother works every time.
He’s the result of a teenage barter exchange I made in high school, and I can say most days I’m glad that minimal amount of information handed over to the principal in exchange for him was a move well made. I mean, should it really be illegal to help the school administration shut down a small drug ring going on around campus? The cops thought so when Mr. Woolry got arrested, but like a true gentleman he never ratted me out.
My fingers work over the keyboard, a smile tugging up the corners of my lips when I find her computer system way more protected than the average person’s. Her firewall is nothing to sneeze at, but it isn’t strong enough to keep me from backdooring her safeguards.
As I dig around, I’m tempted to leave a crumb for her to find later, but I don’t see her confronting me online as a way to introduce myself. I’m not very good at relationships and breaching personal information doesn’t seem like getting to know someone small talk.
“Bingo,” I sing when I hit pay dirt. “I fucking love this game. A little slow for my liking, but I’ve never been good at putting off instant gratification.”
I back out of her system after checking how many hours she’s logged on Orc’s Realm and set off to make a brand-new account. Playing ignorant is going to work much better for me than using my original account which has beaten the game in its entirety more than once. Plus, if she has a cat, which I suspect from the way she opens her door to visitors, then she has to have a ton of patience to help a noob on the game. Women with cats, I’ve discovered, are some of the most patient women in the world.
Puff Daddy yells at me for being a creep several more times, and it takes all of my focus not to turn my head to look at the box stashed away in the corner. Deacon told me to give it back to her, but I opened the damn thing. Just the idea of knocking on her door and handing over a box of kinky shit that she knows I’ve seen makes my heart race.
It's one thing to set up an online hookup and tell the girl you’re bringing supplies, but to show up on a doorstep uninvited, with those same things that belong to her, goes so far out of my wheelhouse, I would never even try it.
Chapter 4
Whitney
“That motherfu—”
I snap my mouth shut before the foul language slips out. I’ve been trying to get a better handle on my potty mouth, but it’s been slow going. I get even more agitated when I think back to why I even came to the conclusion I need to work on it. My mouth has never been a problem for people in the past, but one ten-year-old boy somehow sneaks his way into one of our in-game raids and his mother throws a shit fit.
Let’s just ignore the fact that the game is rated A for ADULTS ONLY, Karen, and blame my mouth for your child’s anger issues. I mean seriously, pay attention to what your kids are doing, people. The characters in Orc’s Realm celebrate very violent victories with graphic sex orgies. This isn’t Donkey Kong for heaven’s sake.
I close my eyes, breathing in deeply and blowing out slowly. It’s crazy how I can go on a tangent in my own head, but I guess it’s not very abnormal for someone who spends ninety-five percent of her time alone.
When I open my eyes again, the screen in front of me doesn’t change. Nope, the information staring back at me is just as anger-producing as it was moments ago.
Picking up my cell phone, I dial the number included in the contract for the job I’m working on.
“Ms. Nelson,” the male caller answers, and considering what I’m looking at right now, it’s no surprise he knew who was on the other end.
“Mr. Jones.” I pause, now questioning whether
this is his real name. “I feel like you’ve left some information out.”
“And I feel like I might not be paying you enough from the sound of it.”
“You didn’t disclose who you work for when we set the parameters of the contract. Technically, you’re in breach.”
“I didn’t think it was pertinent information.”
“And yet you have me hacking the FBI database.” Silence fills the line between us. “Your own agency.”
I’ve worked some shady shit in the past. I’ve worked some government stuff before, mostly state and local entities, but I’ve never been so deep that I’ve been tasked with working for a federal agency.
“Doesn’t the FBI have their own tech people?”
“You haven’t been hired by the FBI. You’ve been hired by me, hence, the private contract agreement.”
He doesn’t sound bothered at all. If anything, it seems like he was already expecting this call from me. It means he’s a fast talker, someone who can lie his way out of nearly any situation, but computers don’t lie. At least not to the point I won’t be able to uncover the truth. I don’t trust him, and truthfully, I had a weird feeling about him from the beginning. But I listened to the dollar signs, the ones that have the ability to make my life very comfortable once the job is complete, rather than that feeling in my gut telling me to run away from this job.
“Yet, I’ve just hacked the FBI mainframe.”
“Very good job.”
“Are you trying to coerce me into a prison sentence?”
“Would you feel better if I gave you a legal login? I’ll email you one now.”
“That would be great. I’ll also need a work order to file with my taxes.”
He huffs.
“Just covering my bases. I wouldn’t do well in prison.”
“Federal prisons are very lush.”
“Is that supposed to be a joke?” I should hang up right now and send an immediate refund of the deposit he already made.
“Just a little gallows humor, Ms. Nelson. I apologize.” He shifts in his seat, the rasp of expensive leather filling the line. “Are you wanting to terminate our agreement?”
I don’t respond immediately because once again, everything is telling me to cut ties and run, but the job alone will clear my student loans with plenty left over.
“You’ve been tasked with researching William Theold.”
“The director of a very well-known branch of your agency,” I add.
“So, do you see now the reasoning for my needing to outsource? My superiors know what’s going on but we don’t know how deep this goes or who he has—” He clears his throat. “You’ve been given a task. Are you capable of completing it or do I need to move on?”
I love America, I do, despite the politics and bullshit we have to go through every four years with little to nothing being done to change our great country for the better, but I’m not sure if getting tangled up with a federal agency is smart considering most of my work could send me behind bars for the rest of my natural life. Hell, digging too much could be considered treason, and I could land in Terre Haute, Indiana with a needle in my arm.
“The potential for more jobs coming your way greatly increases with the care and detail you provide to this job,” Jones taunts, and I see those dollar signs once again.
“I need some time to decide.”
“You have until midnight. Email me with your decision.”
The line goes dead, and as much as it makes sense for the FBI to hire out for some things, this guy landing on my doorstep so to speak is unnerving. I’ve been hacking for years, but just graduated college two years ago. I haven’t done illegal hacking—that wasn’t for personal reasons—for a while. My run-in with the juvenile justice system in junior high put an end to that very quickly.
I’ve gone legit, mostly.
Since I have several hours before my decision has to be made, I log on to Orc’s Realm for some minor distractions. I’ve been on a hiatus for over a week following the Karen drama, and I refuse to let that single incident alter my life any more than it already has.
Our guild is already making runs, so I keep to myself, wandering around, still listening to the chatter about a billion topics at the same time, but keeping out of their way.
A couple shoot me hellos, some on mic and some through the chat box. They welcome me back and give me shit for ghosting them. I mean, I couldn’t stay gone for long. I am the guild leader after all.
“Seriously!” Daniel screams in his mic.
“For fuck’s sake, dude. I thought you said you could play?” another player hisses.
“We won’t get anywhere if he keeps this shit up,” Callie mutters.
It isn’t unusual for us to allow under-ranked players to join us. It’s always been one of our rules. We help out where we can because we were all new at first. I scroll through the online active members until I come across a name I recognize but has no place on Orc’s Realm. W45PN357 (Wasp Nest) is very well known in the hacker community, but much like Anonymous, he’s more myth than reality. Hell, many will argue that W45PN357 and Anonymous are the same guy.
“Shouldn’t use that name if you can’t manage one single raid without getting everyone killed,” Daniel says, continuing to bitch the new guy out.
“I have an idea,” I say, opening my mic for the first time. “Why don’t I take the new guy and show him around?”
This idea works in more than one way. I’m letting my team know we’re going to help him because everyone deserves a chance, but I’m also letting them take a breather and get some work done. Many of these guys schedule their play time around their work schedules and this may be the only night this week they can grab these chests.
I instruct the guy to a different mic channel so we don’t bother the team working while I break down the game into elementary level parts.
“You there?”
Crackling fills my ear.
“Wasp?”
More crackling.
“Motherfucker. What kind of bullshit sorcery is this?”
“Wasp?”
“Uh, yeah? RachelNRoss4Eva, is that you?”
God, I’ve never hated the fact my parents were such huge Friends fanatics in my life. But hey, I’ve been playing online for a very long time, and seriously, why change a good thing?
“Call me, Rach,” I urge him. I don’t know how many times I can hear my full username before I log out and drink an entire bottle of wine. Which would be a feat because I don’t even drink wine.
“Sorry if I pissed off the group.”
“We’ll get you straightened out.” I refuse to make excuses for them. Their frustration is justified even if their reaction isn’t. But we’re playing Orc’s Realm not inserting ourselves right back into my college psychology class.
“I appreciate that. I honestly wasn’t trying to ruin anyone’s night.”
“First, we need to start by getting you suited up properly. You aren’t going to get far running around out here naked with a club.”
“I used all my money, and call me crazy, but I can’t see paying real money for fake money as a good thing. Plus, I’m wearing a loin cloth.”
I felt exactly the same way when I started playing this game years ago, and it took me forever to build up my stashes. It shows character that he isn’t readily opening his wallet to buy all the expensive gear. It says he’s willing to work for what he has, either that or he doesn’t know enough about the game to understand the process.
“Don’t worry. Strip down, I’ve got you covered.”
He doesn’t say anything through the mic when he sheds his loin cloth, and although Orc’s Realm is very graphic, both with violence and sexual situations, he doesn’t make some creepy remark about being naked. And even though we’re able to build our characters to our specification, his character isn’t walking around with a huge cock hanging between his legs like many of the men who first start playing. What they don’t realize is that
their characters can only wear specialty armor to accommodate such packages, and you have to be a level ten to get the grower not a shower package, which after experience, most guys get so they can pound their chests like psychos during the celebration orgies.
I drop item after item into his inventory and watch with a smile on my face as he navigates the items, dropping them repeatedly until he figures out how to handle them to make them work.
“Do you have prompts set up on your screen?”
“They take up nearly the entire thing. I can hardly see what I’m doing,” he answers.
“Hit ‘control m’ and it’ll drop it down to the corner. A little red dot will appear on the top right corner when there’s a new message. It keeps a running tally so if you don’t check it immediately, they’re still all there until you clear them away.”
“So much better. Thanks, Rach.”
Was his voice that husky a couple of minutes ago?
“Do you play a lot of online stuff?” I ask because keeping the conversation on the game will keep my mind out of the gutter.
“Loads of other stuff, but this game is nothing like the others. It’s like learning a new language.”
“I think that exclusivity is a lot of the appeal.” I notice he’s fully dressed in the items I donated, sword in hand. “Now let’s get to work.”
He follows me through the game, catching on much faster than I ever would’ve expected, and before I know it hours have passed.
I log off with only minutes to spare to reply to Mr. Jones about accepting the job, because let’s face it, being debt free by twenty-four wouldn’t happen any other way.
Chapter 5
Wren
“I also made tortellini,” Nana says as she shuffles toward the fridge.
“From scratch?”
She chuckles, the throaty sounds making me smile the way it always does.
“Who has the time to make pasta from scratch?” She pulls a sealed, plastic container from the fridge, showing it to me. “But I did get the name-brand kind this time.”
“The other was fine,” I remind her, speaking of the last time we had Sunday brunch two weeks ago.