The Siren Job (Stolen Hearts Crew Book 1)

by Katya Moore

  Kit squirmed, then grumbled. “Fine, fine.” He pulled a tablet out of the pile. “Use this. Then wipe it. You know how to do that?”

  I took the tablet from him. “Yeah. I’ve had to do it a couple times. Had a client accidentally send me a virus.” I felt my cheeks warm. “And, uh, I downloaded one myself. Fell for one of those ‘your app needs an update’ malware-loaders.”

  “Ah, a classic. If I had a dollar for every time I’ve…” Kit screeched to a halt when he saw my eyes narrow to slits. He cleared his throat. “I mean, go ahead. Call off the hound.”

  I rolled my eyes and opened the chat window.

  AlexUndercover: Hey girl. One last thing.

  Su3bus: Yeah, hon?

  AlexUndercover: You’re not going to like it.

  Su3bus: I haven’t liked any of this yet. What’s one more?

  AlexUndercover: SlyLykeAF0x is helping us out.

  One…two…three…

  Su3bus: ARE YOU HIGH? He’s a black hat asshole! He’s bad news! What’s he doing working with the Feds?

  I froze. “Uh, Roc, why would a ‘black hat asshole’ be working with the Feds?”

  “Hey!” Kit yelped, affronted. “I am not! I’m totally gray hat.”

  “And that time you cleared out that one guy’s Bitcoin wallet because he said that global warming was a hoax?” Feral asked with a smirk.

  “Gray. Hat.” Kit pouted.

  I ignored him, focusing my attention on Roc’s thoughtful face.

  “He got caught, and this is part of his plea bargain.”

  Kit grumbled under his breath. “…got caught…bullshit…”

  Roc shot him a look. “Do you want this hacker on your ass while we’re trying to save Luxe? Swallow your damned pride for a second.”

  Kit folded his arms and pouted harder. It was kind of adorable. There was a part of me that wanted to kiss that protruding lower lip and tell him I’d defend his honor later.

  AlexUndercover: He got busted. He’s working off his sentence with the Feds. I pondered for a moment. ‘Black hat’ is ‘bad,’ so… White hat or prison.

  Su3bus: Heehee. Revenge is sweet. Rub it in for me.

  AlexUndercover: I will not taunt the dangerous hacker. I don’t want to have my face plastered on nudes all over the Internet.

  Su3bus: He’d probably do that too. Okay, I’ll let him through. For you.

  I chewed my lip and looked at Kit. He seemed so innocent.

  AlexUndercover: Would he? Do the nude thing?

  Su3bus: Nah. He’s an ass, but not that kind of ass. He’s more the ‘wipe out your bank account if you don’t recycle’ type. Eco-warrior, preachy one.

  Su3bus: Waitaminute… you’re not… sweet on him or something?

  A string of vomiting emojis followed, interspersed with daggers and skulls.

  My eyes wandered back to Kit. Sweet, curly haired Kit, who watched me with his warm hazel eyes and a contemplative half-smile. He rubbed his beard. I wanted to rub his beard.

  I snapped myself back to reality.

  AlexUndercover: Don’t be ridiculous.

  Su3bus: That wasn’t a no.

  AlexUndercover: Because it’s ridiculous. I don’t do criminals.

  I thought back to my nights of passion with Luxe and Feral and a shiver ran through my body. Thinking about Luxe sent a dull pain into my gut. It was hard to banter with my bestie when Luxe was in who knows what kind of peril.

  Su3bus: I know. You know better. You don’t even trust normal boys.

  Su3bus: Stay frosty. I’ll leave your hacker alone, for tonight. Tomorrow, though, it’s back to kicking him in the junk at every opportunity.

  I winced slightly at the mental image.

  AlexUndercover: Why the vendetta?

  Su3bus: We had some philosophical differences a while back. Things were said. He tried to hack my SteamPoweredCat server. I sent him a couple nasty viruses. We’ve been at it ever since.

  I felt a twinge.

  AlexUndercover: Are you sure YOU’RE not into him?

  More vomiting emojis.

  Su3bus: Really, really no.

  I felt a hint of relief at that without knowing why. It’s not like I needed absolution for thinking he was cute. It’s not like I was going to do anything about it. Still, I stole another glance at him. He caught me looking this time. A small grin spread across his bearded face, lighting up his eyes.

  Aw shit, Alex. Really?

  AlexUndercover: Gotta go.

  My gut twisted, from the deception, from the fear that something would go horribly wrong and I’d lose my only real friend.

  AlexUndercover: Stay away from the concert tonight. I don’t want to have to worry about you.

  Su3bus: If I don’t show, Glory might think something’s up.

  Su3bus: If you can be a superhero, so can I. I’ll stay out of your way, though.

  Su3bus: Be strong, Lex. Love ya, chick.

  I closed my eyes tight.

  AlexUndercover: Love you too.

  I closed the chat window, pressed the button combination to bring up the reformat window, and wiped the tablet before handing it off to Kit.

  “You’re safe for tonight. She promises revenge in the morning, though, so watch your back.”

  Kit sniffed. “Whatevs. I’ll happily send her a few gigs of goat porn.”

  “Gross. I don’t even want to know why you have that.” I turned back to Roc. “So, what do I do now?”

  “Join us in the living room. We’re going to hash out the plan.”

  Chapter Thirty

  “Okay, that’s the plan.” Roc leaned back in his armchair and steepled his fingers in front of his face. “Any questions?”

  “Yeah. Can I see the list of guards?” Roc passed me the printout. I scanned the list of names and posts. “Fuck. I see a problem.”

  Roc leaned forward, letting his hands drop. “Do tell.”

  “I know the guys at the service door.” My heart fell into my stomach. It was the one door that didn’t have the facial recognition scanners. The one door that would let me come in and help. My one chance to save Luxe.

  “How well? You’ll be disguised…” Roc began.

  I shook my head. “Mario is the door guard who let me in to work every day for the past year. He knows me. And he’s good at his job. He’s not just a donut-muncher. He pays attention. He was the first to notice every change of haircut, every new tattoo…even the ones that aren’t readily visible, he noticed that I was holding myself differently and guessed it was because of fresh ink. He’d see me through a disguise.”

  Roc ran his hand over his mouth. “Suggestions?”

  “We ditch her and run the job without her?” Cory said, ignoring my glower.

  Roc shook his head. “No. We need her inside knowledge. She knows everything about that rider back and forth. If we get asked questions, we need her to answer them confidently and casually. Any hesitation will get us flagged.” He furrowed his brow and pondered. “No. We need her to meet us backstage, past the first checkpoint.” He studied the map. “There’s a vent between the VIP room’s restroom and the hallway. If we can get to that point and give you the all-clear, you can meet us there.”

  “What…no. To get her into the VIP room, we’d need to take her through the front door. Where all the facial recognition scanners are out in force.” Kit shook his head. “It’s suicide. It’s madness.”

  “It’s not a problem.” I looked at Cory, eyebrows touching my hairline. He shrugged, an apathetic expression on his face.

  “Weren’t you just advocating ditching my ass?” I asked.

  Apathy turned to distaste. “Roc thinks we need you. So we need you. I can get you past the facial recognition. If you trust me.”

  “That’s a big ask,” I said, eyes narrowing. “You’ve wanted to be rid of me since day one.”

  “Yet I still risked life and wing to save your ass from Psycho McLiftRunner. The world’s a funny place.” His black eyes pierced right through m
e. “You’re on the crew. I don’t have to like it, but I do have to make it work. If you get caught, it’s my reputation on the line. And I value my rep. I can’t count on crazy second chances like some people.” He glanced at Roc. Roc’s face was carefully neutral, but his eyes glinted murder.

  “Kit, what do you think?” I asked.

  Kit scratched at his beard, brows deeply furrowed. “He’s crazy, but he’s good. I know he’s dodged facial rec before. He’s got an amazing rep for it. I’ve never known how he does it, but he’s got a gift. If he’s willing to share that gift with you, I think it’s the only way.”

  “It’s not too late to back out,” Roc said. “You’ve given us so much already. If you give us the notes on the rider, we could still…”

  “You don’t have time to memorize it,” I said firmly. “It’s thirty pages. Single spaced. She’s obsessive about details. She has to be…she has more stalkers than any ten celebrities combined, and a mind-blowingly complex show. With a detailed rider, she can look and see that the venue is following protocol. It’s like Van Halen asking for no brown M&Ms in their green room.”

  “She’s that high-maintenance?” Cory asked with a snort.

  “No, asshole. It’s a shorthand way to make sure they’re following every single detail. Van Halen had crazy technical requirements for their show. Weight limits, amperage specifications, all sorts of things that could, no lie, cost someone their life if the venue got it wrong. They wanted to make sure that the venue was paying meticulous attention to their rider, and they wanted to make sure that they could legally bounce if they were not paying attention to that rider. So, they said no brown M&Ms. If they found those M&Ms waiting for them, they knew that something else was bound to be off, and they’d get the hell out of there before their staging sank through the floor or their speakers blew up.

  “Glory’s got the same deal going. She’s got pyrotechnics, she’s got crazy technology up on stage with her, she’s got fifteen costume changes minimum… she needs to know her show is going to go smoothly. So she’s got twenty different variants on the brown M&Ms, and they have to be followed exactly or we’ll never get the chance to get near her. If you guys are wandering around backstage carrying the wrong color flowers, or not adhering to passcodes, or even wearing the wrong pants, you’ll get bounced and Luxe will…” My throat tightened. “Luxe will die. And all of those people will be slaves to Glory’s will.” I met Roc’s gaze with steel. “You need me.”

  Roc nodded slowly. “We do.”

  Cory hopped down from his perch on the arm of the sofa and tapped me on the arm. “Come on. Less speeches, more action. We’ve got a job to do.”

  I sat down on the edge of Cory’s bed. “So what do I have to do to get past the facial recognition detectors?”

  Cory turned his back on me, snatching at various items of clothing from his closet bar. I watched him with a growing sense of annoyance.

  “Are you just going to rearrange your wardrobe, or are we…?”

  He turned and threw an armload of clothing at me. “Pick an outfit and suit up.”

  I raised a brow. “Are goths immune to facial recognition? Is apathy the kryptonite we need?”

  Cory rolled his eyes, then gestured at his elaborate eyeliner. Today, he’d drawn pixel-like squares along his cheekbones, leading up to a cubed pool of black around his eyes. “I don’t just do this for show, citizen. This aesthetic? It’s convenience.”

  “How is spending a solid hour drawing on your face ‘convenience?’”

  He huffed at me. “Because no matter where I go, no matter what I do, I don’t have to worry about facial fucking recognition software.”

  “Paranoid much?” I crossed my arms and studied his face. There wasn’t a hint of humor about it.

  “It’s not paranoia if they’re really out to get you.” A smirk crept across his face. “I’m a thief, citizen. Not a con man, not a heavy, not a hacker, not a handler. I’m a thief. A dancer and a forger, if you want to be technical, but a thief through and through.”

  “Heavy? Handler? Dancer?” I squinted at him. “I speak a lot of languages and you’re not making sense.”

  Cory ticked them off on his fingers. “Heavies punch shit. That’s Feral. Handlers plan shit. That’s Roc. Dancers… we’re security experts. Not like Kit with his clicky-clicky and his ain’t-it-cool attitude toward security. We know security systems inside and out because we bust them wide open and take the candy inside. We samba through laser grids, swing our way over pressure sensors, slither through vents, and generally do all the cool shit you see in movies, only with more dirt and cobwebs and spiders in our hair.”

  “So you’re facing off with facial recognition systems a lot more often than Kit is.” It made sense. “So how do you avoid them?”

  “I don’t.” Cory squatted in front of me and gestured at his face with a flourish. “The makeup. It breaks up the lines of my face just enough that a facial recognition system doesn’t see it as a face anymore. No face, no recognition. No recognition, no problems.”

  “Seriously? A little makeup can do that?”

  Cory snorted again. “Specialized makeup, certain types of glasses, being African American… it’s new tech, it’s not infallible, but people treat it like it’s handed down from angels on high and rely on it too much. And that’s our in. If they want to put their faith in faulty tech, then that’s their problem.”

  “Okay, then, paint me up.” I closed my eyes and leaned forward.

  “Get dressed first. I don’t want you smudging my work.” He turned his back toward me, facing the Caravaggio forgery.

  “I don’t get privacy?” I selected a black pleather top and shot him a dirty look.

  “Not in my room, you don’t. If you want to go back to yours and change, don’t let me stop you.”

  “Whatever.” I turned my back to him and slipped my t-shirt off.

  The pleather was cold and stuck to my skin as I tried to shimmy it on. I gave an annoyed grunt, then a growl as I got more and more tangled in the damned thing.

  “Stand still.” I felt thin fingers slip beneath the hem of the shirt, long nails scratching gently against my skin as he gripped the recalcitrant pleather and gave a firm pull. Between the two of us, I managed to wriggle into the shirt.

  My cheeks were ablaze. He stood behind me, inches away, his hands still holding the hem of the shirt. I could feel his eyes burning into the back of me, and a shiver ran down my spine. My breathing, already hard from the exertion, took on a slight tremor.

  “Umm, thanks,” I managed.

  “Whatever.” It could have been my imagination, but he sounded as breathless as I was.

  I turned to face him. His eyes were fixed on my face, black as the void, eyelids heavy. His hands slipped to my waist. I forgot to breathe for a fleeting moment, lost in those night-black eyes.

  “Makeup,” he whispered.

  “Yeah.”

  He released me and turned to his desk, snatching up a makeup case and studying the contents intently. I sat back down on the edge of the bed, gripping the sheets in my fists.

  What the hell was that all about?

  I didn’t have time to mull it over. A bright light shone in my face. Cory finished adjusting the desk light-turned-spotlight, then crouched before me, a liquid eyeliner in his hand.

  “Stay very still,” he commanded, tipping my chin up with his fingers.

  I closed my eyes and felt the cool wetness of the eyeliner as it traveled over my skin. His fingers slid along my jaw, tipping my head this way and that as he worked. His touch was feather-light, sensuous. I felt my body reacting to it despite my many stern objections.

  “You’ve got great cheekbones,” he murmured, half to himself. “You’d be fun to paint.”

  “Apparently I missed my calling as a model,” I said.

  A pang hit me square in the chest. ‘Those eyes. Those cheekbones. That haunting look of ennui.’ He leaned in close. I could still smell that damned co
logne, that haunting musk beneath it. ’You must be my model.’

  “Don’t you dare cry. You’ll fuck up the eyeliner.” Cory snatched his hand away and clicked off the light. I opened my eyes to glare at him. “And don’t squint at me. I could see it coming. Just chill. We’ll have your boyfriend back before the night’s out.”

  “He’s not my…” I protested reflexively.

  “Your fucktoy, then. Whatever.” Cory thrust a mirror at me. “Here.”

  Tiny black feathers drifted down my cheekbones. Long black wings fanned out to either side of my face. Raven wings.

  “Marking me as your date tonight?” I asked, chewing the inside of my cheek.

  He snatched the mirror away. “Fuck off.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “You ready for this?” Roc caught my hands between his.

  I looked up at him and nodded wordlessly.

  “You’ve got this. We’ve all got this.” He released my hands.

  We all looked up at the brightly lit Othello Theatre, lights flashing in every direction, people milling around as far as the eye could see. I felt exposed. I felt surrounded. Panic swelled in my chest.

  Feral caught me by the shoulders and planted a kiss on my lips. I let that kiss be my world for a precious moment.

  “Don’t smudge her makeup, asshat,” Cory said, snatching my hand. “And hands off my date. People are going to notice.”

  I looked around us. Within easy view, I could see no less than five couples and two trios in the throes of passionate make-outs. I angled my head toward one of them. “Yeah. We’re being scandalous.”

  “Go deliver your flowers,” Cory said tersely.

  Feral growled at him, then hefted the large bouquet of white Cala lilies and peonies to his shoulder. “I’ll deliver the damned flowers. Then I’ll punch you square in the…”

  Roc stepped between them. “Heads in the game, people. Alex, are we good to go?”

  I scrutinized the group. Everyone, myself included, wore the mandatory black Dougies pants that Glory’s rider called for. The Cala lilies and peonies were her required backstage flowers, with no hint of pink on any of the blossoms. They should get Roc and Feral through the door effortlessly. Those flowers were the first thing Glory checked, and they’d be in a hurry to get them into the green room.