by Siobhan Muir
“When I fuckin’ want anything from you, Scooter, I’ll be sure to call with my dog whistle. In the meantime, if you fuckin’ touch me again, I’ll cut off your dick and feed it to you with ketchup.” I pressed my knee to into his back. “Are we clear?”
He coughed but didn’t answer.
I pulled his arm up at an acute angle. “Are we clear, Scooter?”
“Fuck yeah, we’re clear. Fuckin’ A.”
I climbed off him and released his arm before stepping away. Dollhouse stood beside me as the young punk scrambled to his feet and slunk away, nursing his hand. I scowled and shook my head. Stupid boys. They all had to be taught again and again that women weren’t their playthings. But some jackass kept pulling out the old sexist playbook and made our jobs that much harder.
“Nice moves, Numbers. Where’d you learn to fight like that?” Dollhouse sounded suitably impressed.
I didn’t think they’d appreciate knowing a former FBI agent walked among them so I shrugged and winked. “CIA.”
She laughed as I hoped and punched my shoulder. “Right. Come on. You deserve a drink after that stunt.”
I nodded, though I wouldn’t be drinking here. That seemed like a recipe for disaster given the angry little boy I’d pissed off. I sighed. I probably should’ve been more diplomatic, but I hadn’t been feeling very charitable. And boys had to be held accountable for their shit.
We made it into the clubhouse without further incident and Dollhouse led me over to the bar. A woman with a cloud of soft-looking curls tied atop her head with scarf deftly held court behind the bar. Her dark eyes scanned me before she turned them on Dollhouse.
“What’s up, Doll? Did I hear a rumor you kicked the shit outta one of the Scooters just now?”
Dollhouse shook her head. “Nope. Wasn’t me. One of them got handsy with Numbers here and she put him down like a sick dog. It was beautiful.”
The bartender smirked. “Nice.” She held out her hand. “Karma.”
“Hunter.” I took her hand and shook it.
“Numbers Hunter, good handle. Fits you pretty well, too. What can I get you ladies to drink?” Karma settled her hands on the bar with a satisfied smile.
“Fat Tire for me.” Dollhouse leaned against the bar counter as Karma popped the cap off a beer bottle. “What about you, Numbers?”
“Got anything non-alcoholic, but not too sugary?” I wasn’t about to let my guard down around the wolves.
Karma raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, we got milk and lemonade. Want a straw with it?”
“You always this judgmental to someone who doesn’t want to get tipsy at lunchtime?” I countered with my own raised eyebrow.
Karma snorted. “Touché. Sure you don’t want to drink like the big boys?”
“I don’t drink with boys. I’d rather drink with women who know their shit. Lemonade please.”
For all her snarky remarks, Karma pulled out a bottle of hoity-toity expensive lemonade only found at places like Whole Foods. Someone has high end tastes.
“Thanks.”
“Please say you aren’t one of those teetotalers.” Dollhouse shot me a flat look.
“Nope, I just live by an old family motto. Don’t drink if you have to think.” I sipped the bottle. “Loki hired me to think, not to drink.”
“But five o’clock arrives eventually, right?” Karma dipped her chin and raised both eyebrows.
I snorted. “Like y’all keep regular business hours.”
“She’s got a point, Karma.” Dollhouse laughed as she raised her beer in tribute. “Hey, have you seen Neo around? We gotta get her set up on the internet.”
“Yeah, I think he’s in the Black Room.” Karma nodded and pointed toward back of the clubhouse.
“Great. Thanks.” Dollhouse took her beer and nodded at me to follow her.
“Black Room?” I caught up to her and raised my eyebrows. “What the hell is that?”
She shrugged. “It’s our security and IT room. It’s dark in there like a cave so he can see all the monitors, so we call it the Black Room.”
I shuddered. “You’d have to be insane to stay in there all the time.”
Dollhouse nodded as she paused at a wood door with old fashioned hinges spanning half the width. “You aren’t insane, but I think Neo might be.” And she knocked.
The bolt clicked from inside and she pushed the door open with a nod. I followed with a shiver. I didn’t really want to get stuck in the cave with an insane, stoic computer wiz. I stopped beside the door and left my foot between it and the doorjamb. There was no way I’d let it close.
“Hey, Neo. You got a special login for Numbers? She needs to get onto the network asap.” Dollhouse sidled up beside him and ran her hands over his shoulders.
“I’ve asked you before, Doll. Please don’t touch me while I’m typing.” Neo’s voice came out calm and smooth.
“Oh, you know you love it.” She leaned down and kissed his head above the ear. “But I’ll do as you ask this time because Numbers needs her stuff. But next time…” She wiggled her ass and winked at me.
“Did you bring your laptop or phone with you?” Neo’s enigmatic gaze bored into mine.
“No, I was doing laundry.” I shook my head. “Write down the network key and I’ll get my laptop and phone hooked up.”
He shot me a flat look. “Nice try, Numbers. Loki might trust you as far as the contract is concerned, but I don’t. I’ll make sure your laptop is connected. But no internet connection. Can’t have you leaking our docs to the FBI.”
I clenched my jaw and swallowed hard, hoping he couldn’t see my face clearly enough in the darkness of the room. Holy shit, does he know I’m former FBI? I shrugged as he rose, staring at me with those enigmatic eyes.
“Whatever. You can come to my cabin and set me up there if you want. But the sooner you set up my connection to your servers and files, the sooner I can get this job done and leave all y’all alone.” I hoped I sounded disinterested enough to keep him from looking too deeply into my background.
Though if Loki had required Mel to convince me to come to the compound, he had to know I’d been with the FBI until just over two years ago doing forensic accounting on corporations with too many offshore accounts. The current POTUS’s accounts had been a definite concern and I’d found things I still couldn’t talk about.
But I had to get out of that room. That darkness combined with the blue light of the monitors made my skin crawl and brought up too many memories of being alone in the Denver offices of the FBI at night. I’d felt so invincible as a seasoned agent. Someone who had the training and the skills to take care of herself.
But, as the saying goes, there’s always someone better at what you do, and there’s always someone worse. That night, I’d been the ‘worse.’
I shoved the memories away and hoped the sweat on my forehead would be mistaken for the heat resting on the world outside. Fuck, why won’t those damn memories leave me alone? I’d gone to therapy. I’d made my statements and presented my evidence. I even left the FBI so I wouldn’t have to see my attacker again. But it didn’t matter to the memories. They still kept sneaking up on me when I least expected it.
I swallowed hard as the smells of his breath and his cologne filled my nose, and suddenly I was back in that broom closet, nowhere to run, my training useless. I tried to scream, to make as much noise as possible so the friendly rent-a-cop who made his rounds would find me and stop this. But my throat closed over the sound as solidly as the rag he stuffed into my mouth and I could only wheeze.
Panic rose with the voices, but none of them made any sense. The heat and weight of his body against me smothered everything until I was left in the wailing darkness of hot threats and painful intrusion. Held down, beaten, and…and…
“Numbers! Hey, come on. Look at me. Numbers. Oriana.”
Numbers. Oriana. Those were names I once possessed. No, Oriana was my name. Numbers was new, a handle given to me by a cocky biker with seafoa
m-green eyes and broad shoulders.
“Come on, Oriana. Come back to me. You’re safe.”
The gravelly voice sounded full of reassurance and concern. No one had ever spoken to me with the same quality of voice. No one had ever cared enough since I’d left home. Most hadn’t thought I’d make it through the FBI’s training, including my instructors. I was too tall, too willowy, to blonde. But this voice was different. Stronger, encouraging without being patronizing, masculine without being assholian.
“Open those eyes for me, now. Come on, swe—Numbers.”
I opened my eyes to stare up at Scott crouched over me. The ceiling rose above him and I realized it had very elegant baroque cornices. Movement had me taking in the other faces around us: Dollhouse, Karma, Neo, Michael, and another man who reminded me of the crazy goalkeeper in a British prison soccer movie I’d once seen. None of these people had been in Denver when I worked at the FBI, which meant I was no longer in the broom closet with…with him.
“Let me up.” I struggled to get to my feet, shame burning through me. Nothing like showing my weakness to the only people who’d take advantage of it.
All I wanted to do was crawl into a hole and never come out again. I thought my therapy had worked, that I could function as a normal human being now. But I was dead wrong. I shook my head to hold back my tears. Can’t cry in front of them. I gritted my teeth and swallowed hard as I straightened my shoulders.
Never let them see you sweat. I strode out of the clubhouse and straight to my cabin without another look behind me. I had to get somewhere safe where I could regroup. Maybe only Neo would come to set up the computer into the network and I’d never have to leave my cabin again. I’d get the work done, safe within the pathways and puzzles of numbers, show Loki and the rest of the Concrete Angels where their money had gone, and leave them in the dust. They’d become another event in my past like my time at the FBI. And I’d remain broken but safe.
I fumbled with the key to my cabin but managed to get the door open on the third try. Perfumed cool air hit me in the face and the annoyance broke some of my control. I sobbed at the unfairness of it all—Mel’s lies and abduction, the blood contract, the Scooter’s sexual harassment, public panic attack, and the stench of Mel’s perfume—but the tears didn’t start until I’d shut the door behind me.
I hurried to the bedroom and closed that door as well. Then I slid down the wall and wrapped my arms around my upraised knees, sobbing my heart out.
Chapter Three
Scott
“What the hell happened?” I didn’t mean to roar, but watching Oriana turn into a blanked-out zombie who slithered into a dead drop scared the living shit out of me.
“I don’t know, Scott.” Dollhouse wore concern and bewilderment like a matched set of earrings. “One minute we were talking to Neo about getting her hooked up to the network and the next she backed out of the room and crumpled to the floor with that blank look on her face. We didn’t do or say anything to her. Right, Neo?”
The computer geek nodded, wearing a look of confusion for the first time since I’d known him. “Seriously, Scott. We didn’t do anything to her.”
“Then what the hell happened? Why was she like that? Something must have triggered it.”
I’d seen reactions like Oriana’s before in people who’d seen combat or some sort of trauma. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder they called it now. I’d served my mandatory four years in the military (my father’s requirement) and I’d seen it in the soldiers coming back from places like Afghanistan and Iraq. I’d done my time and gotten the hell out, but some experiences weren’t easily forgotten, and many of my buddies hadn’t been the same.
“She was in the Black Room?” I didn’t know her background beyond being a forensic accountant, but maybe something had happened to her.
“Yeah.”
“Was it locked or latched?”
Dollhouse shook her head. “Nope. Something propped it open while we were there.”
Fuck. What had happened to set her off? “I’m gonna go talk to her.”
“Scott.”
Aw shit, I knew that tone of voice from Schnoz. I stopped and looked back at Michael. “What?”
“Let me go talk to her.” He shrugged out of his leather cut and draped it over a chair. “She doesn’t trust any of us and if we go in there hot, she might lock us out for good. All right?”
I wanted to argue I was the best man for the job, but Michael had this weird way of making everyone feel comfortable, safe, and heard even if they’d just met him. It’s gotta be the British accent. What was it with American women and accents originating in the UK?
“Yeah, fine. But keep your hands to yourself.” I tried to hold back my urge to kill him.
“Scout’s Honor. Am I right thinking she’s suffering some form of PTSD?” Michael turned to Karma and waved toward the coffee maker. “Got any chamomile tea back there?”
“Yeah, comin’ up.” Karma ducked away.
Michael turned back to me. “I’ll get her to open up, Scott. We’ll find out what’s wrong, okay? It’ll be fine, mate.”
I wished I could take his word for it. To be honest, he was usually right. But I’d seen the look of hopelessness on Oriana’s face. It was the same look I’d seen on abused children and battered women. Defeat and resignation. A woman that strong and smart should never have those emotions stamped into her.
Karma brought the tea on an honest-to-glory silver tray, with cream and sugar in silver servers and matching silver spoons. I raised my eyebrows at her and she shrugged.
“It’s for special occasions. Sometimes you have to break out the big guns and show a little class.”
“Where did you find a silver tea service?” They were even polished to a high gleam.
She winked. “Estate sale.”
Michael picked up the tray and headed for the door. “I’ll find out what’s wrong and get it sorted. Don’t worry.”
“Yeah, right.” I shook my head, trying to figure out what to do while Michael worked his magic. “Hey, Neo. You can look up people’s backgrounds, right?”
He snorted. “Is that a trick question?”
“Yeah, yeah, smartass. What about Oriana Hunter’s background?” I followed him back toward his lair in the Black Room.
“Already done.”
“What?” I gaped at him. “When?”
“When Melrose first told Loki about her. He insisted we knew who we were letting look at our records.” Neo stepped into the darkness and I followed.
“So what did you find out?” Maybe it would give me a leg-up on hooking up with Oriana without breaching her contract.
“Not much beyond her being former FBI.”
“What? Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.” He held up a manila folder full of papers but didn’t let it go. “Are you sure you want to look at that?
I frowned. “Yeah, why?”
“Most women don’t like you checking up on them. They’re prefer to tell you their stuff themselves. If Ms. Hunter finds out you’ve been digging through her records, it might blow your one shot with her.” He still held the folder.
“What the fuck do you know about it?” I narrowed my eyes. What was in her file?
Neo shrugged. “Call it speaking from bitter experience.” He pulled the folder back. “Listen, I had to look this stuff up for Loki to make sure she wasn’t a competitor’s moneyman, but that means I know things she might not want the general population knowing.”
Unease squeezed my gut. “Like what?”
Neo shook his head. “Tell you what. I’ll keep this folder with me. Let’s see if Schnoz can get her to open up and talk about it. If she does, you’ll have an idea of how to approach her. If she doesn’t, I’ll let you take a look and you can decide what to do then. Okay?”
I hated being in the dark. I’d worked too damn hard to get where I was in Loki’s organization, but Neo was right about Oriana. She struck me as a woman who ha
d her secrets and they might be uglier than we all guessed. Neo knew and he wasn’t talking for now. Hopefully Michael would get Oriana to trust him and he’d pave the way to my getting in there.
But if not, there was always plan B. Once I figured out what that was.
In the meantime, I needed to check on our distributors and distribution routes up north into Canada to be sure the money Numbers would be checking kept flowing. Between the import of prescription drugs and the export of designer accessories like shoes, purses, and electronics, we made a killing and then some. I didn’t really want to focus on business and commerce, but it would force me to give Schnoz some time to get Oriana to open up.
And to figure out Plan B if it doesn’t work.
Yeah, it had better work.
****
Oriana
I’m not sure how long I sat there crying my eyes out, but eventually the tears slowed and I was able to catch my breath from the sobbing. The compound had grown quiet after my retreat and no one seemed interested in checking out the emotional female. Thank goodness. I didn’t want company and I certainly didn’t want to see them with my face a blotchy mess.
Rubbing my eyes to wipe away the last of the tears, I steadied my breathing and squared my shoulders. I needed to make this cabin my own. It would’ve been nice to hose down the inside, but I’d have to rely on the breeze coming through the windows to air out the perfumed stench.
One step at a time.
That had been my mantra after the assault. I couldn’t handle the whole day, but the time could be broken up into little manageable chunks. I could do increments, like an integral in mathematics. Little units of measurement added up to create a whole. I could do that.
Taking a deep breath, I pushed to my feet and opened the bedroom door. The living room of the cabin remained as I’d left it with my laptop on the table. I shot a look at the kitchenette and wondered if there might be some tea in the cupboards. There was a kettle on the stove at least.