Slick as Ides

by Chanse Lowell

  A trace of bile reaches the back of my throat, and against all my instincts, I swallow it down and keep a straight face.

  His reflexes make him collapse to the floor in a panic.

  “That’s my car,” I snarl.

  “What the fuck?” Westin, or Fat Fingers as I now call him, mutters, as he drops what he’s doing.

  He was a second away from painting the bumper.

  I aim the gun at him next. “What color did you choose?” I ask, baiting him. My hand is steady, while inside I’m shaking.

  I’m a computer hacker, an inventor—not this. Not the monster Dad turned into. I want peace—a place where guns are unnecessary.

  I’m against criminal activity, though. Well, unless it involves doing something a little shady for an invention, sitting in the backseat of my car, worth a million.

  “Metallic purple,” Westin answers, his voice cracking.

  “I don’t mind purple, actually, so the choice isn’t bad, but black is better. So if you don’t mind stepping away from my car.” My voice is calm. My eye twitches, but I’m far away enough I doubt they can see it.

  My gun is still level when I let another bullet rip past his head into the hanging pegboard covered in tools behind him.

  Tools to change my car!

  My face scrunches, and my gut clenches over what they were about to take away—one of the few things I enjoy in my drab life.

  “You might want to move a little faster. I had an ocular procedure last week so my aim might be a little off.” I smile.

  He skulks away, and I spot Nick, trying to be oh so vapor-like, placing something under the carriage.

  “Get that tracer off my car!” I jerk my head toward the spot he was just touching.

  Nick stands up and glares at me.

  When I glance at the shelf next to me, there’s some hand sanitizer there. I take a squirt and pass the gun from hand-to-hand as I freshen up my skin.

  “Look, lady . . .” he huffs and narrows his eyes “. . . I don’t know who you think you are, but you’re not a superhero here.” He’s even more spectacular to look at when he’s seething at me. My heart flutters, and my lips part as my mouth goes wet. “We have a job to do, and you’re only slowing us down.”

  I laugh. “This is a job? Oh, forgive me . . . I thought it was a hobby, since you’re never going to be as slick as Ides,” I repeat what they said in the car, smirking.

  His eyes go wide, followed by his whole body slouching forward.

  “How the hell did you know what we said?” His mouth makes an O shape when I grin hard at him, and it’s almost as impressive as the saucer shape of his wide eyes.

  “Oh, I know a lot of things . . .” I smile wider, and then the humiliation really begins when my eidetic memory kicks in. “Nick Reid, who lives at 2259 Madison Rd, Los Angeles, California.” I quirk a brow, mocking him. “That’s a pretty expensive neighborhood you live in. I love gated communities, but they’re so nineties, wouldn’t you agree?”

  They gape at me silently.

  “Must be a hefty mortgage, but then you’re not solely responsible, now are you, Nick?” I spit his name as harshly as the bullets I’d let loose from my weapon moments ago.

  “How can you know all of this?” Nick asks.

  I smile broadly, enough he can probably count most of my white teeth. Not as white as his, but still . . . They’re in good shape.

  “This is impossible,” Westin adds.

  I move toward my car.

  “Even now, as I stand here, your fingerprints are downloaded on my phone. Thanks for making sure to touch my car stereo—so brilliant of you.” I snicker. “My database I have at home is searching for a police file on you both. When it’s done, it’ll shoot it back to me, and I’ll know even more.” I look at Nick. “By the way, you probably shouldn’t be pulling up your bank account on your cell when you’ve stolen my car and have your phone hooked into my wiring. You don’t mess with this bitch.” I take one hand off the gun handle, glance down at my phone for a second, and it comes up empty. “Oh, too bad, you’ve never served jail time before. I’ll have to remedy that for you, but it appears your roommate, sharing the title of the home with you, a Mr. Jason Michaels, has served two years for petty theft.”

  Westin gasps.

  “Well, helllllllloooooo, Jason,” I say, as a picture of Vapor’s roommate pops up on my phone. I make a face like he’s pretty decent to look at.

  He’s got brown hair, looks like he’s kind of short with a thin build and beady, dark eyes.

  A moment later, and I’ll know more about who he is, too.

  “You know, for a crook with two-point-nine-million dollars in your bank account—that I’d diversify if I was you—I would think you could train your accomplice here to hone his skills. He needs a better poker face, but then you’re the one with the ‘thespian’ skills, aren’t you, Nick?”

  I circle around the car, and they give a wide berth, moving away from me in the opposite direction, looking nervous like I’ll shoot them if they don’t orbit around my vehicle, keeping the appropriate distance from me.

  “Move all of this plastic off my car—all of the tape, too.” I motion with the gun for them to move closer to my car before I take my vehicle back.

  “Who the hell are you, lady?” Westin asks, sounding in awe.

  “Just call me Shadow, because you never saw me. You never touched my car—I’ll need to sanitize and detail now, thanks to you bozos—it’s gonna take a good week to complete.” I growl low in my belly. “And you never talked to me.”

  “Who. The. Hell. Are. You?” Nick’s face turns red, and his hands set on his hips.

  “Man, she’s gotta be . . .” Westin trails off.

  I smirk. Well, well, well . . . Westin’s smarter than I originally thought, and definitely more so than Nick believes him to be. He knows Ide’s work when he sees it.

  “You can quit pretending you don’t know who I am,” I tell Nick.

  “Knock it off,” Nick tells Westin. “Ides is not her. This woman has no clue what she’s doing.” He rolls his eyes.

  I shrug.

  “Nobody knows what Ides looks like—no one’s ever seen the person. You’re the only one I know who even thinks it’s a woman and not some dude,” Westin says, ripping the plastic off.

  It sounds like they’ve had this argument before.

  “Careful!” I say, worried he’s going to mess up my pristine paint job. I’ve only driven this car a little more than two dozen times. The mileage is low, along with the normal damage from use.

  “Think about it . . .” Westin goes back to his line of thinking, continuing to clear off my car. “Only Ides could do all this. No one else has this kind of technology. What she’s done is unreal. It has Ide’s signature all over it.”

  A grin spreads across my face.

  “Stop it!” Nick yells. “This bitch is lying! She’s making shit up as she goes!” He grips his head like he’s trying to keep it from spinning off. “She’s not Ides!”

  Does he honestly not know who I am? Is this all a coincidence?

  Well fuck. He’s still an asshole, but I back up to create some distance.

  He’s got me all turned-on when I know I shouldn’t be.

  How was I to know he’d be this hot when I was talking to him online a week ago?

  I prepare to leave but stop myself.

  What the hell . . . I can spare a few minutes to watch the show.

  Chapter 4

  Vapor continues to throw a fit and insist I’m not Ides.

  I chuckle inside over his insecurities. The man’s got a temper. He really is cute.

  The last of the plastic drops to the floor, along with the ball of tape Westin wadded up. When he’s finished he backs away.

  “Step away from my car, Son,” I tell Nick. “I don’t want to run you over—blood is the worst to clean up.” I lean over and pump another glob of sanitizer into my hand and liberally spread it back and forth between my
hands again. Just the thought of blood.

  Fuck . . . So yucky!

  He groans and remains stuck in his spot.

  “Son?” He glares. “I’m sure I’m older than you. You barely look twenty.”

  “I’m twenty-four, actually,” I correct him with a wink, reminding him he did that to me earlier, and it was equally annoying then.

  “You have to admit though, she’s one of us,” Westin tells him.

  “I don’t know what she is . . .” Nick shakes his head “. . . other than psychotic. She’s some kind of a freak, that’s what she is.”

  “Better a freak than a petty criminal, a panhandler straight from the school of William Shatner’s over-acting one-oh-one.” My hands visibly shake.

  Westin laughs.

  And Nick . . . well, his jaw flexes. His teeth look like they’re grinding, and it’s such a shame since he has such straight, nice white teeth. A heartbeat later, and a vein throbs at his right temple.

  He groans even louder with a frustrated, strangled sound, and I circle them again.

  “Get over in front of the hanging tool board, and place both palms flat on it. Don’t look back,” I say.

  They both drag their feet, with aggravation detailed all over their body language.

  It’s pretty obvious, they’re not really afraid anymore, but they clearly know they’ve been beaten.

  I laugh, watching them get into position.

  Nick of course disobeys me with his eyes. His hands are in place, but his head is craning around to see me.

  Oh God. Does he like the way I look? An electric charge hums through me and takes over my pussy, making it difficult to walk with a steady movement. All the flirty things he’d said to me online drift through my mind, making me breathe a little harder.

  I wrench the tracker off my car he placed on the underside, pretending to be completely unaffected by his presence, though I can barely take my eyes off him. Nick growls like a dog when I lob it at his head.

  His hand snatches it out of the air before it hits him, and he slips it into his pocket.

  I try to inhale deeply, but he’s too far away to get a whiff of him.

  Damn. I was hoping for one last sniff.

  My insides clench deliciously, and another wave of heat passes through my thighs when I think about those hands on me, and his scent in my nostrils.

  Absentmindedly, I rub a smudge off my door handle from one of their fingerprints.

  He chokes on a cough. When I look over at him, his eyes are wide.

  “Yeah, I’ve just erased some evidence of you having my car in your possession. So what? I’m not gonna file a police report. I was joking earlier. You’re too stupid to be in jail. You’d be gagged and butt-fucked before lights-out during your first twenty-four hours staying there.” I rub the spot once more to make sure I erased it completely. “Paco, the weed-prince of cell block Z, likes pretty, and you’d fit the bill for him a little too nicely. With a derriere like that? Pffft! No way he’d let your ass get away.”

  Once I have this car back home, they won’t be able to do anything—Vapor and Fingers won’t be able to find me again. I’ll make sure of it.

  A moment later, a vision of his extra fine-looking hand on my arm, invades my mind, and instead of my usual reaction of revulsion, my heart flutters.

  I mask my sudden panting with a fake cough.

  He glowers at me.

  What? Does he think I’m making fun of his cough from earlier?

  Who cares what he thinks or that he touched me? It doesn’t make a difference. I can’t be with this man. Dating criminals is what Dad does, not me.

  I look away, preparing to leave and never see him again.

  Right before I step into my car, he calls out, “Ides!”

  It sounds remarkably close—like he’s only a step or two behind me.

  And foolish me—I reflexively respond to my name, turning to look at him.

  His lips are latched to mine in the blink of an eye. He kisses me with a fierceness that takes my breath away.

  A liquid fire courses through my throat and lands straight in my pussy.

  I groan—my body screaming at me to grip onto him and never let go.

  Never!

  I gasp.

  Shove him off! Germs! Germs! Horrid, fucking germs!

  But I . . . I hesitate, and his hands clamp onto my upper arms.

  My eyes grow large.

  Touch! Not again . . .

  I jump back. He does the same in response.

  “Dena . . . is that you?” he asks, his brows scrunched together.

  How the hell did he figure that out? How can he know who I really am? Was this all fake, and he really knew who I was all along?

  Fuck—I can’t be here!

  My cheeks flame in utter mortification—I’m smarter than this.

  I fire off a few rounds close to his right foot as additional warning to stay away. Then I quickly drop into my car and race out of there, breathless and a sweating mess.

  “Good going, you idiot, you might as well have told the guy you live two blocks away from him, and you’d love to spend some more time with your lips on his!” I shout at myself, slamming my palms into the steering wheel.

  Goddammit. I actually liked Vapor. A lot.

  Fucking moron. How could I have fallen for his act?

  I press down harder on the gas. My lips throb from that fiery kiss.

  I can’t get home fast enough.

  He kisses even better than I could’ve imagined.

  And was that . . . ?

  No, he can’t be. I don’t know that tool back there other than online. I’m imagining things—it’s not the same guy.

  I make the mistake of looking in my rear-view mirror. Nick’s outside. He’s staring at me in amazement as I flee.

  And the vision of him watching me leave makes me feel . . . off.

  I grip the wheel tighter and breathe in and out with deep, calming breaths.

  I really don’t like that guy. Not anymore.

  Fucking stupid, freaking-out body!

  I clamp my thighs closed. They’re leaking in the middle for him.

  Great. Now I’m going to have to wash these same jeans and panties the moment I get home—the ones he got me wet in a week ago when I decided he had no place in my head anymore.

  Bastard. Kissing me? Who does that after stealing someone’s car and getting caught?

  “Aaaahhhhh!” I scream and stretch my neck, continuing to drive as fast as I can.

  At a stop light, I rip my hoodie off and chuck it in the backseat. I had to get his germs off me—couldn’t wait until I was back in my garage.

  Within moments, I’m back home, tucked up safe in my car, hidden away in my own, personal, bat cave.

  I almost roll off the seat once I have the door open.

  What now?

  I’m too exhausted to scrub my car down.

  I head inside and find a way to get a few more drops out of the last of my homemade sanitizer.

  My feet shuffle around, heavy and uncooperative as I head to my office.

  I plunk down in my seat and stare at my newest ideas I’m working on, but my eyes shift away, and I’m anything but interested in working.

  How? How did I wind up caring about what he thought about me?

  He thinks I’m repellent.

  But he kissed you . . .

  I fight off a shiver, and look for my sweater, but for some asinine reason, it’s not resting on the back of my chair as usual.

  When I pause and think about it . . . I’m not cold. And my sweater’s in the dryer. I had to wash it after I sneezed.

  And I’ve still gotta get out of these dampened undies and pants.

  I get up, preparing to strip down—feeling grimy and obnoxiously dirty.

  I kick off my Doc Martens and yank off my socks. My black jeans fall to the floor, and I have my black tee shirt off a moment later. My panties follow. I fling it all on top of my pants.

&
nbsp; My bra is the only thing remaining. Well, it’s the only thing still clean, even if he did make me sweat a little. I don’t have boob sweat, and I’m sensible about not wasting detergent and water, so it stays on.

  I lean over and reach into the bottom drawer of my desk. After Vapor kept making me ooze for him, I started keeping a backup pair of panties in my desk.

  I slip them on, then stare at my pile of laundry that somehow all landed under the desk, and I realize that for the first time in my life I’m being messy, and I don’t give a fuck.

  I stand there, staring and blinking for several minutes, trying to take in everything that happened tonight.

  “I don’t care,” I tell myself. “He’s a douche. I really don’t care about him or this fucking mess.”

  I kick the pile of clothes I’ve made.

  Why should I care about any of it? I was almost violated.

  Somehow, I still can’t move though. I’m caught up, staring and simply breathing. I’m numb and stuck in place.

  I finally walk back to my bedroom with my head tipped down.

  My body wants to crash on me, and when I’m within falling distance of my mattress, I allow myself to land face-first into the fluffy comforter I secretly love with all its purple ruffles and flowery patterns.

  “Well, fuck, you don’t waste time getting naked for me,” a familiar voice lilts.

  “Ahhhhhh!” I scream, and before I can jump off the bed, strong arms grip mine behind me, and I’m cuffed to the top of my black, iron headboard.

  “Oh, yeah, I’m gonna have fun with you,” Nick says with a shifty smile.

  “Let me go, you nasty fucker, and I won’t send you straight to prison for this,” I howl. “I wasn’t kidding. They’ll rape you first thing because you’re so damn pretty. Doesn’t hurt you have a tight ass, too. Makes it easier on their thrusting muscles, and makes their dicks happy, too. You’re an inmate’s wet dream . . .” And mine . . .

  He nudges my leg with his wrist. “Let’s talk some more about my ass and how much you like it.” He rubs his jaw. “Or maybe . . . Just maybe, we should talk about how I outsmarted you, breaking into your impenetrable fortress. Rumor is, not only are you invincible, and no one knows who you are, but you’re also supposed to have the most secure home in the US. Not very secure from where I’m standing.” He chuckles and paces at my side, brushing up against the side of the bed as he goes. “Wasn’t too hard to find you.”