by C. Hallman
“Yes. He is a hacker. A good one. He’ll find him. Then I’ll kill Eric and maybe Derik too, just for good measure.”
A deep sense of peace and calm washes over me when he says it. I can die knowing he’ll pay for what he did—because I might doubt a lot of things, but I know Ryker means it. Eric is as good as dead.
I close my eyes and heave a sigh. It’s easier to relax now. They’re going to make it easy on me. I don’t have to be afraid.
A high-pitched screech just about makes my heart stop. My eyes fly open and I realize I fell asleep at some point. I can hardly hear my voice when I shout, “What happened? What is that?”
Instead of answering, Ryker bolts up and grabs the handcuffs. “No, please—” But it’s no use. He handcuffs me to a pipe running along the wall before I can beg him not to. I doubt it would’ve made a difference.
He runs out of the room, leaving me behind confused and scared. The earsplitting screech goes on and on until it finally stops. The silence is worse, I think. Eerie.
It doesn’t last long. Ryker bursts back into the room. “The cops are on their way. That alarm means there’s been a security breach. It won’t be much longer.” I don’t have time to process this before he draws a handgun from his waistband.
“I’m sorry. I really am.” He raises the gun, aiming for my forehead.
This is it.
That last moment when everything flashes past a person. When they know they’re about to die and there’s nothing to do about it. I close my eyes, resigned, and I know I’ll never open them again. Mom, I’m coming.
Silence.
There’s no gunshot.
No anything.
Until the sensation of having my bracelet ripped from my wrist. My eyes open again. “No! You promised I could keep it!” I reach for it with my free hand, desperate, almost sobbing. “Please! Give it back!”
He holds it out of reach and has the nerve to smile. The bastard. After I told him what it means to me, too. He dangles the bracelet in front of me another second before shoving it in his pocket.
“Just so I know you’ll come and find me.”
I watch him spin around and leave the room with my mouth hanging open and my brain trying to make sense of what just happened.
For a second, I think I might be dead.
But if I were dead, why would there be this feeling spreading out in my chest?
Hope.
17
Six Months Later
My fingers fly over the laptop keys, my attention trained on the information in front of me. The sound of rapid clicking and my shallow breathing are the only two things breaking the silence of my new apartment, one of many I’ve lived in over the last six months. This dump is barely over four walls and a postage-stamp-sized bathroom—there isn’t even a full kitchen, just a hot plate and a dorm room fridge—but it’s all I need. I don’t spend a lot of time here.
I spend most of my time driving around, following leads, and asking questions. I haven’t been exactly secretive about it, either. I’ve taken every precaution I can think of, using my training plus my instincts to get around the law, to hide my tracks.
First, I paid cash for the late model two-door I spend more time in than I spend in my shithole of an apartment. The guy whose lot I visited looked happy to do business and wasn’t the sort of guy who asks a lot of questions. Like why I was in such a hurry and didn’t want to give him too much information about my identity. It was an excellent match all the way around.
Second, I left my old apartment, taking only what I needed—my clothes and computer—and hit the road in said untraceable vehicle. This is maybe the worst I’ve rented, honestly. I have to hold my breath whenever I use the stairs, which is always since the elevator never works. The stairwell smells like piss and mouse droppings, and I can almost always hear either a baby crying somewhere down the hall or people shouting at each other. I’ve learned to block that out.
Third, I cut my hair and dyed it from brown to black, and always dress in plain, baggy clothes, with a ball cap and sunglasses close at hand, when I’m chasing a lead.
I touch my wrist and still, after all this time, expect to feel my bracelet there. They say people who’ve lost limbs feel phantom itching where their leg or arm used to be, right? I never knew the same thing could be true of missing jewelry. That bracelet was part of me, and it’s still gone.
What’s left of my cash is safe in the footlocker I bought just after renting my first room using cash and a false name. Another perk of choosing some place where the staff isn’t exactly working their hardest to make sure they play by the rules. Most people here rent by the month, even by the week. That’s how I’m paying for my current home, playing the part of a girl who’s had a run of bad luck.
People around here can get pretty desperate when it comes to getting their hands on money.
So that means taking extra precautions. I get up from the sofa that also serves as a bed and push it aside, revealing the footlocker and the cage it sits in bolted to the floor. The pair of locks holding it closed require a four-digit code to open. It’s too easy to lose a key. The locker itself is shut tight with another pair of code locks.
There’s only around half of what I started out with left in the metal box, enough to get me through maybe another six months if I keep sticking to instant ramen and cereal. Even twenty-five thousand dollars goes fast when you’re doing the sort of work I’m doing. When you’re tracking people down.
It’s not like anybody will miss it. I mean, I’m sure the police department does. I wonder how long it took them to discover the missing bags of cash from the evidence locker? Maybe they still haven’t—I wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of stealing it if I didn’t know for sure how lax security could be and how lazy the paper pushers in the department are. For all I know, they think I fell off the face of the earth after what happened to me. Maybe they even think I killed myself.
Let them. Honestly, it would be easier.
God knows I laid it on thick when they questioned me for all those hours. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t have to make anything up because I was sure as hell shaken by everything that went down. I made sure the detectives understood how close I had come to dying, how Ryker had caused the crash, and how they’d prepared to ambush us. There was nothing we could’ve done to avoid that.
By the time they finished with me, they knew I had nothing to do with the escape or with Jeff’s death. They knew they assaulted me, that Hunter and Ryker left me chained to a pipe where I might’ve died if the bunker hadn’t been raided not a half-hour after the guys left. I was a victim to them. A heroine who managed to stay alive when two cold-blooded killers took her hostage.
Exactly what I wanted them to think. Not that it was far from the truth, but still. They needed to think I feared Hunter and Ryker more than anything else. That the thought of them finding me somehow and finishing the job terrified me.
Anything, so long as they never suspected what I had in mind all along.
Ryker wants me to find him so I can have my bracelet back. Then that’s exactly what I plan to do.
I go back to the laptop after taking a little cash from my stash. My last set of leads led to a dead-end, when a pair of men close to Hunter’s and Ryker’s descriptions were spotted near a racetrack outside Phoenix. That’s just one of the dozen or so areas my search has led me.
I always wanted to see new places. I never imagined this would be the reason.
There’s nothing matching their descriptions in the Phoenix PD database. No, I don’t technically have any right to know this, just like I didn’t have the right to know what was going on in the departments of the other cities I’ve stopped in. Just like it was sort of illegal to hunt down dirty cops and blackmail them with the info I found in their records, all hoping to learn more about the underworld in their cities. Who to talk to. Who to trust. Who to stay away from.
All I want is my bracelet, and I know how insane that sounds. It�
��s the truth. I want what Ryker took from me. I only wish he didn’t insist on sending me on this wild goose chase. I’m sure this is fun for him, for both of them. Twisted fucks.
They’re smart, but I’m smarter. And I have inside knowledge of how stupid most big-city police departments are with their online security. It took me next to no time to get into their systems, all of them. They probably keep their passwords on post-its stuck to their monitors, too. Idiots.
The buzzing of the burner phone sitting next to me pulls my attention from the computer. It’s one of the hotels I reached out to when I first got to town. I never expected to hear anything back after giving my usual sob story about a missing sister who skipped out on rehab and might be on a bender some place.
“Hello?” It’s difficult to keep the anticipation out of my voice.
“Miss Lewis?”
“Speaking.” I mean, not technically, but still. I’m who they’re looking to talk to.
“This is Greg at the Rising Sun Inn. We had a check-in earlier this morning under the name Delilah Lewis.” The way he whispers it, I can tell he’s fully immersed in the idea of being a super spy or something.
Blood hums through my veins as my pulse quickens. That was a gamble, using Delilah’s name, hoping to track Hunter. I have to keep from dropping the phone, my hand is shaking so hard. “Can you describe who checked in? She might be with a shady character who’s supplying her.”
“I only just started my shift and saw the name in our system. I can go to the room—”
“No, no, please. I don’t want to raise a red flag and scare her off. Let her think everything’s normal for now. Thank you so much for giving me the heads up on this.”
Moments later, I’ve shoved my laptop and phone into a messenger bag, which I sling across my chest. After checking the locks on the cage one last time, I move the sofa back into place and leave the building. It’s a fifteen-minute drive to the hotel, and I can only hope I make it there in time to see my two captors again.
If only so I can get what’s mine.
18
The best word to describe the hotel is decent. One of those middle-of-the-road type places that isn’t seedy, but it isn’t exactly luxurious, either. It makes sense that they would choose a place like this, where most people checking in and out are more interested in minding their own business than they are in the business of the other customers.
Still, I’m having a hard time imagining my luck being this good. I mean, it’s not like I haven’t worked my ass off the past six months. But I never imagined finding them would be this simple. That Hunter would use Delilah’s name to throw law enforcement off track, since they have no knowledge she exists.
He might end up regretting telling me about her—then again, probably not, since it’s not like I have any plans to hurt him. I don’t want to hurt Ryker, either, though he left me chained up and all alone.
He knew law enforcement would be there any minute. He knew they would find me. And honestly, it would’ve been so easy to shoot me before running. Tying up loose ends.
No, that wasn’t enough for him. He had to take the only thing he knew meant anything to me, because in his twisted mind, this is nothing more than a game.
Soon, the game will be over and I’ll be able to move on. I’ll use what’s left of my money and make a new life someplace else. I’ve proven in the past half year I can live frugally. I don’t need much. Maybe I can get a job in a restaurant or a bar and use the stolen money to go to school. Even an Associate degree from a community college would be better than nothing. It would be a start in the right direction.
I might finally be able to live a life. I don’t have to worry about Eric anymore—I’m sure Ryker will take care of him if he hasn’t already. I can leave that up to him and Hunter and stop living for vengeance.
It’s only when I think that, sitting behind the wheel of my car across from the hotel, that I realize how tired I am. Weary down to my bones. I should be enjoying my life, shouldn’t I? A typical twenty-one-year-old finally able to go to bars and clubs, hooking up with guys, living through a hell of a hangover in the morning but laughing about it later.
Here I am, living under an assumed identity, always looking over my shoulder, fantasizing at least once a day about making Eric pay. I’m so tired.
After six hours of sitting in the car, I’m also sleepy. It’s difficult getting any sleep in my building since the overnight hours are when people stagger home in all sorts of bad shape. That’s when they decide to start fights, to break things, to yell at nobody as they stagger down the hall. At least three or four times a week, there’s the added joy of somebody—some man—accidentally trying to get into my room.
In six hours, there hasn’t been a sign of either Ryker or Hunter. They would have to go out at some point to get something to eat, wouldn’t they? Unless they’ve taken up the habit of carrying snacks wherever they go, the way I have. Already I’ve been through a protein bar and a large bag of mixed nuts from a gas station I stopped at on the way here. They’ll need to come out eventually to get food, right?
I might be completely off base, and this was yet another waste of a lead. The name might be a coincidence—I mean, there must be over one Delilah Lewis in the world. I’m sure it’s not as common a name as, like, Mary Smith, but it’s not completely unusual, either.
A yawn so big, I’m afraid it might split my head open, interrupts my thoughts. I’m so exhausted my eyes itch and my vision is blurring. I’m not ready to cross this lead off my list just yet, but it’s obvious if the guys are in the hotel, they’re not coming out anytime soon. Probably lying low for now, watching, waiting for a safe time to poke their heads out.
I should just go back and sleep for a while. Besides, I wouldn’t be any use if they came out right this very minute. I’m too tired, and I doubt my reflexes would be sharp. They could easily overpower me, and I’d be right back where I was months ago.
Then again… law enforcement training and experience have me remembering car accidents caused by sleepy driving. And it’s not like I haven’t already been through a crash of my own. I won’t have Hunter holding me against the seat this time if I fall asleep on the road. It would be painfully ironic if I ended up dying now, for such a stupid reason.
For this reason, I get out of the car and cross the street. I’ll try using another alias and see if it works. If they ask me for ID, I can always say I lost it and all I want is a room for a few hours so I can sleep before continuing toward my destination. I might even remind them of what could happen if I fall asleep behind the wheel. Let them fight with their conscience for a minute.
As it turns out, I don’t have to work half that hard. There’s something to be said for being a young woman, traveling alone. All I have to do is flash the cash and the kid behind the desk hands me a key card. Easy as that. For once, something was easy.
The room is nice enough. Clean, which honestly is all I care about as I drag my feet over to the bed. I only manage to kick off my shoes before collapsing on top of the bedspread. There isn’t even time to turn off the lights—my arm is so heavy; it would be too much effort to reach up and flip the switch on the lamp attached to the wall above the bed.
I don’t know how long sleep lasts. A minute? Four hours? It’s impossible to tell.
All I know is, one second I was alone, in bed, asleep.
The next? There’s something on top of me, making it hard to breathe.
The lights are out. Somebody turned them out. The somebody who is now on top of me on the bed. A man, big and heavy, a man who smells like musky cologne.
Instinct takes over and I fight for all I’m worth, thrashing and punching. A hand covers my mouth and I try to bite down, but he’s too quick for me, whoever he is. Much too strong. That doesn’t mean I can’t do everything in my power to drive a knee into his balls. Anything, so long as he gets off me and gives me a shot at getting out of here. Why the hell didn’t I bring my gun?
A
voice works its way into my consciousness, finally audible over my muffled screams and the blood pounding in my ears. “Sugar, Sugar! Relax, would you? It’s only us…”
Sugar.
I soak Ryker’s voice in like sunshine after a cold winter. I go still all at once, falling against the bed. The light flips on, revealing Ryker on top of me and a grinning Hunter on my left.
“Hey there,” he says with a smirk. “Took you long enough.”
When Ryker lifts his hand from my mouth, I can only think of one thing to say, “How?”
“We were down in the lobby when you came in. Didn’t you see us?” Hunter’s wearing a Cheshire Cat grin.
“Waiting for you,” Ryker clarifies.
“I knew using Delilah’s name would draw you in.” Hunter pulls his shirt over his head. “It was only a matter of time before you started looking for her name. Typical cop.”
There’s laughter in his voice, and I know he doesn’t mean it in a bad way. I wouldn’t care if he did. I’m too relieved to be with them again. Now that we’re together, the three of us, everything feels right again. Like, I’ve been holding my breath for six months and only now can exhale.
“Missed you, Sugar.” Ryker’s hand slides up my thigh. “Missed that tight pussy, too.”
Before I can say anything, he covers my mouth again, only this time he uses his lips to do it. I part mine willingly, hungrily, and our tongues tangle while he works a hand under my shirt.
Hunter stretches out beside me and I run a hand over his chest, then up to his shoulder before he leans in to nuzzle my neck. “You smell so good.” His tongue traces my earlobe before it trails down, lapping at my skin, his teeth nipping every so often. His hand glides over my inner thigh before his fingers dig in and he growls. “Feel so good.”
I’m waking up again. The part of me they woke up months ago is coming out of a deep slumber. The deep, aching need they stirred to life is alive now, roaring in my head and my body, taking control of my hands as they tugged at Hunter’s and Ryker’s clothes.