Mr. Match (Mister #5)

by JA Huss

  “Got it.” Say what you want about Mr. Perfect. He’s a big-picture guy and I appreciate that sometimes.

  “Are you going to tell us what’s going on?” West asks.

  “Look,” I say, “I didn’t lie back there at Ariel’s house, OK?” I look at Paxton. “I just didn’t—couldn’t—tell the truth in front of Cindy.”

  “Explain,” Pax says.

  “I did see my sister Rory that day. It completely fucked with my head since, ya know, she’s supposed to be dead. But that’s not why I covered for Allen that night.”

  “Then what is it?” Mac asks. “Because I know Allen was home that night.”

  “He was standing outside with me,” West says. “Tori saw him too. He definitely had contact with that girl.”

  “He didn’t do it though,” I say.

  “Of course he didn’t. But neither did you,” Pax says. “Because you weren’t even there.”

  “Like I said, he had something on me. But it wasn’t Rory. It was…” I laugh a little. “This.” My arms go wide as if this room explains everything.

  “What is this?” Nolan asks.

  “This is what he really does,” Pax answers. “Black ops.”

  “It’s not black ops, you dick. It’s just… dark web. We—Ariel and I—we run a marketplace for illegal data.”

  “What’s that got to do with Allen?” Nolan asks.

  And I have to give him props for not asking for more details. I guess he’s done with the details too. “I was away from the house that night because Allen hired me. Somehow he fucking knew I was running this thing from a storage facility one block off-campus. He followed me there that afternoon, kinda backed me into a corner with a few choice threats, and then said he needed an invitation to our… marketplace.”

  “What was he looking to buy?” Pax asks.

  “That’s the thing,” I say. “He didn’t want data. He just wanted in.” This isn’t a lie, either. He did want in. And boy, did he ever get in.

  “In?” West says, pulling out a chair in front of a computer and taking a seat. “In what?”

  “Into our operation.”

  “Why the fuck would he want that?” Mac asks.

  “Well,” Pax says with a small laugh. “Obviously we know now. He was Silver Society. He wanted a place to do business.”

  “That’s what I think too,” I say. “But he never had a had a chance to tell me because he got a phone call and left. I’m just figuring this out, you guys. So I don’t really understand it yet.”

  Because I’m making it up as I go, I don’t add.

  “So why did you cover for him that night?” Nolan asks.

  I walk over to the computer and ask West to move. He gets up and I sit down, then power the laptop up. I type in my password, the software pops open, and I navigate my way through the forum I set up earlier today until I get to the thread and open it.

  “See for yourself,” I say, standing back up.

  Pax pushes Weston out of his way and takes a seat. “What the fuck is this?”

  “What does it look like?” I ask, hoping he won’t ask too many questions.

  “It looks like…” He hesitates as he tries to make sense of it. Then starts clicking the back button to the main forum. “It looks like you’ve a whole bunch of people here looking to hire hitmen.”

  “It looks that way because that’s what it is.”

  “You run hitmen?” Nolan asks.

  “No, you dick. They run hitmen. They got into our servers and started this forum. You see?” I say, opening up a command prompt so they can see the code. I scroll my way through lines and lines of it and finally come to the hidden message about Allen. Cover for him or we turn you in for setting up contract killers.

  Everyone just sits there in silence for a while and stares at the screen. It’s a decent excuse for one afternoon’s worth of work. At least I tell myself that until Pax takes control of the mousepad and scrolls back up to some code at the top. “It’s dated the night that shit went down back in college,” Pax says. “Why the fuck didn’t you delete this shit from your site?”

  “I can’t,” I say. “I can’t delete it. It’s malware, you guys. We have it contained in this quarantine area so it’s inert. This is not the real code, it’s the one we use to run tests. We cannot delete it without deleting the whole fucking site. We’ve tried. They have a built-in cascade that will wipe everything if we try to shut it down or disconnect it from the server bank. We don’t even maintain that server anymore. Someone took it over about eight years ago. We have full access, but no control.”

  “What the fuck?” Mac says.

  “And he’s been holding this over your head the whole time?” Nolan asks.

  “Yeah. We’ve tried everything. Five has been working on it for years. We can’t migrate the servers without wiping all our databases. We can’t delete it. All we can do is live with it.”

  “It’s pretty risky,” West says.

  “Ya think?” I roll my eyes at him.

  “I’m just saying,” West continues. “If it were me, I’d nuke the whole thing and be done with it.”

  “My whole family is in danger,” I say. “I have gotten enough threats over the past decade to have no desire to start fucking with them.”

  “Your parents don’t seem the type to roll over. They certainly aren’t helpless.”

  “Feel free to risk your parents, West. Oh, I forgot. You don’t have any.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Well,” Mac says with a slight laugh. “I guess you’re part of them too now, Shrike. Because like it or not, you’ve been doing their dirty work for a decade. Your fingerprints are all over this bullshit. And how much do you want to bet that they’re setting you up for a real big fall right now?”

  I don’t take that bet. Just nod my head and agree. “So tell me what to do about it. Because if I go down, you go down too.”

  They all look at me like I just threatened them. Even Pax, which kinda hurts since he is my best fucking friend.

  “You can’t possibly believe this is about me,” I say. “It’s about us. So you guys had better come up with a plan real fast, or we’re all going to prison. Because they’ve had ten years to set us up. Ten years to plan their end game. And Five isn’t coming to save us this time. This time… we’re on our own.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four - KATYA

  “Well,” Ariel says in the ground-floor office of Hook-Me-Up. She’s holding her winter coat, just about to hang it on a hook off to the left of the lobby. “I thought you were in the shower.”

  I look around, trying to determine if anyone is close enough to hear our conversation, and then decide I’m safe. “I had to get permission.”

  I expect a ton of questions about that statement, but Ariel’s nod and acceptance reminds me that she is a professional. “Follow me.”

  She slips the coat back on and pushes her way through the front door. I do follow—I don’t have much choice—and catch up with her at the curb.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  Ariel says nothing. Just looks left, then right, and steps off the curb to cross the street.

  Again, I follow.

  Thirty seconds later I realize where we’re headed. Sick Boyz tattoo shop. As soon as Ariel pushes the door open the buzzing of tattoo machines fills my ears. I follow Ariel down a hallway. One side is nothing but floor-to-ceiling examples of tattoos, the other side is a line of private tattoo rooms, four of which are filled with customers and artists.

  The last room is empty and once we enter, Ariel starts talking. “No one can hear anything in this place. Lucky, huh.”

  She’s right. If I were wearing a wire—and I’m not—the audio would be useless with all the buzzing.

  “OK, tell me what we’re up against tomorrow.”

  I screw up my face as I consider her question. “You’re not going to question my loyalties or accuse me of being a spy?”

  “Are you loyal?”


  I just blink at her for a second. “No. If I’m not fucking someone over I’m the one getting fucked over.”

  “OK,” Ariel says, considering my answer. “But you are honest. So this meeting tomorrow. They set it up? These Silver people?”

  “How much do you know?”

  “Look, you’re back in town after four years and you’re trying to hook up with my brother. You’re his ghost. Can we at least agree on that?”

  “I’m not here for him. I mean, I want to be here for him. But I’m here for Weston Conrad. The people—one of the people I work for. He wants something from Weston. Something to do with gold. And before you ask anything else, I don’t know any more. I work by direct order only. When you rang, I texted them, and their answer was to meet you. I’m assuming they thought they’d get some kind of intel out of it.”

  “They won’t,” Ariel says. But then she says, “Is this about Weston Conrad’s secret treasure?”

  “So much for not giving me intel, Ariel.”

  “I’m pretty sure everyone involved already knows something about the treasure. And we’re not giving up shit. Clearly they don’t understand how many resources we control in Fort Collins. Believe me, we cover our bases.”

  “You don’t cover your bases well enough to fool them, Ariel. I’m telling you—”

  “Regardless,” she says, waving a hand. “What do you think will happen tomorrow? Do I need snipers?” She says this casually. Like she’s asking if I’d like fries with that.

  “You have snipers?”

  “Not on me, obviously. But I can get them. Do I need them?”

  I consider her question for a moment. “I don’t think they’re going to make a move tomorrow. I think when I get back from that meeting they’re going to ask me what I know. And I’m going to tell them something and they will give me another order. That’s how it usually works.”

  “Is this how you make money?” Ariel asks. “Oliver wasn’t too keen on telling me what you do for a living.”

  “No.” I almost laugh. “I don’t take their money, for fuck’s sake. I’m their prisoner. Whatever they pay me stays in the bank account they set up. I’m not stupid enough to actually use it. I make money as an erotic artist.”

  “Uh-huh,” Ariel says.

  “Don’t call the kettle black, pot.”

  She smiles. A small laugh comes out. “I’m not judging. I’m just curious what an erotic artist actually is.”

  “Ask your father.”

  Her face. Jesus Christ, her face goes from friendly to I-will-kick-your-ass in two seconds flat.

  “It wasn’t a derogatory remark. I’m just saying your father used to paint naked women, OK? He’s what I’d call an erotic artist.”

  “So you paint naked women?”

  “I paint myself,” I say. “Naked.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “Is that enough small talk for you?”

  “What’s your end game here? Get Oliver? Me? My parents? Who?”

  “You’re asking the wrong person, Ariel. I’m not driving this car. I have no clue what they’re doing. I just want to save my little sister from being indebted to these people and I’ve worked my ass off for the past four and a half years to get her to this point. I don’t even know your secrets, OK? I have no clue why they’re interested in you.”

  “But you’re here to find out secrets about Weston Conrad? Who hired you for that?”

  “You don’t need to know that,” I say. “And I’m certainly not going to tell you.”

  She looks away, focusing on something over my shoulder. “OK, then. Good talk.”

  “That’s it?” I ask.

  “You have something more to say?”

  “I don’t know. Some support would be nice.”

  “Support?” Ariel looks at me like she’s truly confused. “Oh.” She smiles. “I get it. Team-building. Well, Kat, I wish I could say welcome to the family, but I’m afraid I’m going to take your advice and not trust you. I’m going to assume you’ll be wired tomorrow, or you’ve told them the location—”

  “I won’t be. And I didn’t.”

  “—or you’re going to take our plan and find a way to fuck it up once you know about it.”

  “I don’t think this is about your plan. There was never any mention of a plan. I think this is about gaining your trust. Getting you to let your guard down so I can—”

  “Fuck me over. Well, I’m the fucker, Kat. Me. Not you. But we’ll go through with this and see what happens because Tori insists on it. I’ll walk you out.”

  I wonder if I should try to keep the conversation going. Or ask if maybe Ariel might bring Tori over here right now so we could have a chat.

  But a tall guy, with even more tattoos than Oliver, appears in the open doorway. “Excuse me,” he says. “You’re in my room. Is there something I can help you with?”

  I look around for Ariel, realize she left me standing there, and then shake my head and make a run for the front door. When I push through, Ariel is just disappearing into her building down the block.

  Good talk, Ariel. I hope we can do it again some time.

  But in the meantime… I need to figure out a way to get Oliver’s attention tonight.

  If my life is going to fall to pieces, then I want to spend every minute I can with the only man who can put me back together.

  Chapter Twenty-Five - OLIVER

  “I’m outta here,” I say, calling to Ariel as I make my way down the stairs to go home. “Longest two fucking days of my life.”

  “OK,” she calls back. “See you tomorrow.”

  I wish I could take tomorrow off. I wish I could take the rest of the week off, to be honest.

  Ever since the guys left I’ve been checking my window for signs of Katya. Relentlessly.

  Not even a light on in that place. In fact, I don’t even know if that’s her apartment, so spending an entire afternoon pining for her is stupid.

  When I get outside I remember I drove the Camaro instead of the bike and a wave of disappointment rolls over me. I love the car and all, but the bike always makes things better.

  I get in, start it up, and make my way down the alley. My house is less than two minutes away, so I turn right and start rumbling down Jefferson. I’m just about to get in the left lane so I can turn into my driveway when I catch a glimpse of a girl sitting at the bus stop bench across the street.

  “Katya?” I ask out loud. I swerve the wheel and pull up next to her, tabbing the window down. “Kat?” I call.

  She smiles.

  And then I realize what she’s wearing and I smile too. Her makeshift Parson School for Girls uniform—complete with unauthorized tartan skirt, white knee socks, and blue blazer.

  “Do you need a ride?” I ask. It’s almost dark but there’s an orange-red sunset off in the west that makes her whole face glow.

  “I’m waiting for my brother to pick me up from school. And if he sees you talking to me, he’ll kick your ass.” She twists her hair and bites her lip as she says this.

  “Is that right?” I say, trying not to laugh. “What if I said your brother told me to come get you and take you home and keep you safe?”

  “He did?” Kat says, standing up and straightening out her skirt.

  “He did. Get in,” I say, leaning over the passenger side to open the door for her.

  She grabs her purse and slips into the seat. I rev the engine as I drive off and then go around the block so I can enter my place from the back.

  Maybe I do get lucky every once in a while. I could’ve picked her up on the bike, but it’s not nearly as sexy as the Camaro.

  “So you were waiting for me, huh?” I ask.

  “I was hoping for dinner. Did you already eat?”

  “No. I just left work. What did you do today?” I cut the engine and look at her in the approaching darkness.

  “Painted. Took some photos. Sold one online. Packaged it up to mail tomorrow. What about you?”

  I smile at h
er. “Same old shit. Sister meeting. Mister meeting. Paperwork. Stalked your building from my office window hoping for a shadow in the curtains. Assuming that’s your apartment.”

  “Peeper,” she says, sliding her hand onto my leg. It’s hot. Or maybe it’s not. But it feels hot through the denim of my jeans. I look at her hand for a second and then find her eyes. “Can I stay here tonight?”

  “You bet,” I say, placing my hand over hers.

  “Not afraid of me?”

  I shake my head. “Never.”

  “Did you talk to Ariel this afternoon? About me?”

  “No,” I say. “Why?”

  “If you do,” she says, ignoring my question, “don’t make any rash judgments before talking to me first.”

  I pat her hand. “Deal. Wanna eat out or in?”

  “In,” she says. And even though she usually has an air of strength and control about her… tonight Kat just looks… vulnerable.

  “Is something wrong?” I ask.

  “Not yet,” she says.

  “But you’ll let me know if something does go wrong?”

  “You’ll be the first, I swear.” She crosses her heart with a finger.

  “OK,” I say, giving her hand a final squeeze and then getting out of the car. Kat gets out too, and follows me towards the back door of the building. We stop so I can disarm the alarm, and then I wave her inside and flip on the lights.

  “Don’t you feel exposed in here?” Kat says. “With all these massive garage-door windows?”

  “They’re mirrors at night,” I say, taking off my jacket and throwing it over the seat of a barstool lined up next to the kitchen island. “You can’t really see in. Unless you put your face right up to it. So what do you want to eat?”

  Kat looks at me with a sly grin. She walks forward slowly, her little skirt swishing against her long legs. “You first,” she says. “Food later.”

  When she gets directly in front of me her hands are on my belt buckle, making it jingle as she flips it open and goes for the button on my jeans.

  I let out a long breath and lean back against the counter as she drops to her knees. “What if your brother finds out?”