Kat chuckles and gives me a sexy look, her eyes... I'm being seduced, and I can't resist it, even though I'm pissed. “Liked that, did ya? Little trick I picked up from one of the best escorts in the city. She says she picked up the Touch from living in China as a little girl, but I don't care if she got it in Detroit. The woman makes half a million a year, most of her clients never even get her dress off, and she's more in demand than ever even though she's over forty.”
“And what you hit me with under the pec? That shit bruised like a motherfucker for about three days,” I ask, rubbing at the spot unconsciously.
“I bet it did. Probably connected to the other ones too, but I got that from aikijujutsu. I have some more... ones I'm planning on using on your father if he gives me a chance.”
At the mention of Pops, I'm finally able to tear my eyes away from Kat again and regain some semblance of my anger. “Taking him down... I get that. You're right. From what I can figure out, he ordered the car bomb that killed your parents. Why, I still don't know. Doesn't really matter, but Kat... we were friends. You were my best friend even, for fuck's sake!”
“I was,” Kat admits. “But the person I was best friends with was a sweet, maybe slightly spoiled, but overall good kid. Not a douchebag with a set of steroid muscles and a black mirror full of K-X, handing out party favors in the back of a limo.”
I'm on my feet in an instant, staring at Kat and pointing at her. “You're not the only one who's been trying to cope! And for your information, this body has never seen a steroid. Lots of hours in the gym, probably just as many as you put in from what you're looking like, but I've never put a single pill in my mouth or needle in my butt.”
“And the K-X?”
I shake my head, knowing we're not going to get any further right now. “We all have ways of coping, Katrina. You know, next time you decide to do something against me, or Andrea or the rest of my family... think about that. We've all had to cope in some way or another. And not all of us are deserving of being destroyed.”
I walk to the front door and pull the handle on the lock. Turning around, I see Kat still sitting on the floor, looking sexy and untouchable at the same time. “I hope that you can understand why I'm doing what I'm doing.”
I open the door, temporarily blinded by the bright sunlight outside. “I do,” I say. “But I'd still prefer if you didn't get yourself killed because of it. Or me either. Watch yourself, Katrina.”
The afternoon sunlight is hot and bright, and I'm finally able to adjust my cock in my pants as I head down the stairs on the side of the old warehouse. I get into my car, the first time I've been allowed in it since the incident, and once inside, I throw my head back, sighing. She's dedicated, she's deadly, she's a fanatic that's on a level that makes those jihadist assholes look like a bunch of pushovers... but she's also beautiful and sexy, and part of me wants to go up there and tell her right now that whatever she needs, she has my help.
But I can't. Not yet. I'm too pissed off, and I don't want to fight with her. Instead, I turn the key on my engine. I'm about to drive back to the plantation, and try and do some serious thinking, when the door to Kat's loft bangs open, and she comes running down the stairs.
What is it now?
Chapter 9
Kat
I really don't know why I'm running down the stairs. The question that I have in mind isn't all that important. Besides, I can't trust Jackson to answer me truthfully anyway, if he even knows the answer. Still, for some reason I'm pounding down the stairway, my Glock tucked into the back of my pants.
“Jackson! Jackson!” I yell, hitting the blacktop. The parking lot of the gym is cracked and worn, and alternates between dusty and soaked depending on the recent weather, so my feet raise little puffs of dirt as I cross the few yards still separating us.
I'm glad when he shuts off his engine and rolls down the window, although he's visibly annoyed. “What, Kat? Wanna arm lock me again? Tell me I'm a piece of shit?”
I stop, frozen more by the pain in his voice than by his words themselves. “I... I need to know if Nathan Black is coming for me,” I finally say. “Are you going to send him to see me?”
Jackson looks out the front windshield for a moment, then slams his hand against the steering wheel of his Audi. “You really think I'd do that? You think I'd just come by, ask a few questions, then send Nathan after you? I'm not my father, Kat. I'm not like him at all.”
“You might want to reconsider that,” I tell him. “From what I saw in the limo, you're going down the same path he has.”
Jackson's eyes are blazing in fury when he looks back at me, and his teeth are bared. “Goddammit Kat, I told you, we all have ways...”
“Yeah, yeah, ways to cope. I'm just saying, you might want to check yours, ask yourself if they're making you the person you want to be... or not,” I say, gentler than before. “But fine. What about your father? Will Nathan tell him about me?”
“I don't know... I don't think so. But Kat, I do know this about my father... this isn't over with Pops. He's not going to let it drop.”
I smirk and tilt my head. “I hadn't planned on that at all. Hell, Jackson, what I did to you is just round one. I've got all sorts of shit planned.”
“Then it certainly won't be over,” Jackson says, calming. He looks at me for a moment, his eyes uncertain. There's something in them, and I kinda understand, I think. It's the same uncertainty that's haunted my dreams for the past week. It's the same feeling that I have right now, looking at Jackson. Douchebag, yes. Spoiled rich kid, yes. But he's still Jackson, and we were friends.
“I know it won't. But, 'even if it seems certain that you will lose, retaliate',” I tell him, knowing he won't get the reference. It doesn't matter, I understand it.
I'm surprised, however, when Jackson chuckles and shakes his head. “'But in the end, the details of a matter are important. The right and wrong of one's way of doing things are found in trivial matters.'”
I blink, absolutely shocked. Jackson shrugs. “You're not the only one who's read that book. I went through a phase of trying to find a philosophical backing to my bodybuilding. Katrina, my father probably deserves every bit of retaliation, hatred, and punishment that's in your heart. Just... make sure you're doing the small things right. As for Nathan... I won't send him. If he's coming, I'll try and warn you at least.”
He starts his engine again and I watch as he drives away, and I'm still speechless. Finally, I shake my head, smirking. “Who the hell would have thought that?”
I walk up my stairs and lock my door behind me, going over to my computer. The processors are still pounding away at Darcy's system, although I think they're developing a crack that I can exploit. I pull my chair over and sit down, looking at the readouts. Okay, so there's a hole. Maybe.
“Yes!” I hiss quietly, seeing the target system open to me. I browse around quickly, knowing it's just a fake mainframe until Darcy gets her reports back, but I still poke around a little, seeing if she left any Easter eggs for me to find. Nothing all that interesting really, so I go into the home directory, create a file folder called CDG and drop in a JPEG of a misericorde dagger. I back out, and shut down both my connection to Darcy's target system and my Internet connection. It's a precaution, but since Andrea already found me, I don't want to make it easier to trace my online footprint.
That done, I type up a quick report for Darcy telling her exactly what hole I found, the crack I used to exploit it, and what recommendations I'd use to shore up the hole. The biggest problem, as Darcy knows, is that no system, no matter how strongly put together, is ever secure forever. Darcy uses a lot of the best tools to reduce the chances of a hacker getting in, but nobody can protect against everything.
Just as I'm finishing my report, my personal phone rings, and I see that it's Darcy. “Hey Darce, guess you found my little present?”
There's disappointment in her voice, but at the same time, pride. She really wanted to stump me, but she's proud tha
t I've actually grown beyond her teaching and become, as she put it, a great hacker. “I did. Where'd you get in?”
“You used some old code, I found a loophole. I might have cracked it a bit faster, but I had a visitor.”
“You? A visitor? You becoming a social butterfly on me?” Darcy asks, laughing. “Next thing you know, you're going to be asking for my earring collection.”
I lean back in my chair, chuckling. “Hey, I'm not the one with seventy-two pairs of earrings I can't wear anymore because my son got too grabby. Besides, you look better without all that junk stretching out those earlobes anyway. And I bet Jeff appreciates being able to nibble on your ears without possibly getting something caught in his teeth.”
Darcy purrs, and I can't help but feel a little jealous. A husband, a child, a dog even... she's got a pretty ideal situation. “He does like doing that, that man and his... well, never mind me. Who was your visitor?”
“Jackson actually,” I say, clicking save on my file and putting it on the same thumb drive she gave me the initial information on. “Seems your prediction was right, Peter sent Nathan Black after me. But Jackson sort of deflected Nathan, somehow.”
“Wanna talk in person about it? I can come by this evening.”
I think about it, then nod. “Yeah. You sure Jeff and Henry won't be upset?”
“Nah girl, tonight's Daddy Night before Jeff goes on night shift for the next month. The two of them are going to stay up and watch the game, so they won't mind, and Jeff and I will have our time after Henry goes down. When you want me to stop by?”
“How about seven? I've got class downstairs from five thirty to six thirty.”
“Cool. So do those parents know just how badass you are?”
I chuckle and think about my class. “They have no clue at all.”
“Front kick series three... ready, go!”
I'm actually wearing a karate gi right now, even though nothing I've ever studied was called karate at the time, but after I kicked the ass of the third person who came in trying to call my teaching skills into question, nobody says a thing.
The fifteen little kids, ranging from ages six to ten in the class, from white belt up to what I'm calling a purple belt, all strike the right pose as they bear down, throwing their rear leg thrusting kicks before following with a straight jab, a strong side elbow smash, and finally pretending to grab their opponent and kneeing their 'head' with a loud shout. One of the boys, a new kid named Dylan who's only been in class a few months, shouts louder than normal, and I notice that he's sporting a black eye. He's a thin kid, the sort that just puts off an effeminate air, mostly because of the fineness of his features. He's a cute kid, and I know that in about seven or eight years he's going to have a look that's going to turn teenage girls weak in the knees, but for now he's probably getting picked on.
“Okay, grab shields, I want you to pair off and practice that sequence and the reverse. Dylan. Up front with me.”
The other fourteen pair off pretty quickly, but Dylan's dragging a bit as he comes up. Still, he assumes the proper posture that I taught the kids for using when speaking to me, and his eyes are clear, even though it's more obvious than ever he's sporting a shiner, and what looks like the remains of a fat lip. “Yes, Teacher?”
I don't use foreign languages in my classes, even though some parents expect it. “You put a little extra into your combination today. Nice. But what's with the eye?”
Dylan shifts side to side, and I kneel, looking the seven-year-old in the eye. “Who did it, Dylan?”
“Bradley,” Dylan says quietly. “He's in my class.”
I nod, even though I have no idea who Bradley is. “What happened?”
“He made fun of me,” Dylan says heatedly. “He made the other kids laugh at me.”
I nod, then lower my voice. “And did you start it?”
He goes red, but nods. Dylan's a good kid. He doesn't lie to me. “Yes, Teacher. I know you said not to, but I tried to kick him.”
“Tried? Then I take it you lost the fight?”
Dylan nods, and he's turning redder now. “Yes. I'm sorry.”
“Losing a fight is part of life. I've gotten my a... my butt kicked plenty of times,” I tell him gently. “But I have a more important question. What was your goal, to hurt Bradley?”
“No. I wanted the other kids to stop laughing at me.”
I figured as much. Dylan's a good kid, not a bully, and doesn't have a natural killer instinct. He hasn't had enough pain in his life yet to develop one either. “And did you accomplish your goal?”
“No. They laughed at me more after Bradley beat me up.”
I nod and lean in. “Then perhaps you need to change tactics. Focus on your goal, and not on the immediate target in front of you. Now go join Patience and Callie on the end, work as a three-person group.”
My own words to Dylan keep coming back to trouble me as I finish up class and go upstairs, and I'm still troubled when Darcy comes by. “Hey, Darce.”
“Hey... got your cash for you,” she says, handing over a paper bag while I pass her the thumb drive with my report. That's how we work, cash and carry only. It's one of the ways I've ghosted the system for so long. “So how was Jackson?”
“Arm locked,” I say with a laugh before becoming more serious. “And pissed about what I did to him.”
“I figured as much. Still, says something about him that he called off his daddy's dog in order to come talk to you. He must not be as much of a bastard as his old man.”
“Maybe.” I lock the door and Darcy and I walk over to my relaxation area, where she takes one of my chairs while I sit on the floor. “I'll be honest with you, Darcy... maybe I shouldn't have started my campaign this way.”
“Maybe you shouldn't have,” Darcy agrees. “Actually, I remember telling you as much when you first told me your plan. Hey, I just gotta know. Some of the photos aren’t very flattering, but the others…”
I laugh and shake my head. “Jackson's just fine downstairs. Actually, he's pretty fine just about everywhere. He definitely takes care of himself. Did you know he's read the Hagakure, too?”
“Sounds like you see more to him than just the party boy you thought he was.” Darcy has always been one to have great insight, and it's one of the reasons she's one of my mentors. “You going sweet on him?”
“Jackson? No way, he's still a douchebag,” I protest immediately. “But still... he said some things that are making me reconsider my original plan. I need to focus on my real target, Darcy. Slash and burn tactics that damage the family as a whole can alienate potential allies.”
“I thought you said you don't see any allies within the DeLaCoeurs,” Darcy comments. “In fact, I think your last analysis on them was 'a total nest of vipers and poison that would kill a bayou gator if it ever ate one’. Or was that someone else I remember?”
“No, that was me. But... well, maybe I was a bit off on that. Peter... he's still a dead man. But Jackson, maybe Andrea... maybe I need to rethink things.”
Darcy sits quietly for a moment, then hums. “Does that mean you're going to ask Domino to hold off on tomorrow's bomb?”
I shake my head. “No chance in hell. First off, I know Domino well enough to know that once he's got information, he's going to run with it no matter what. But also, the info I gave him is aimed solely at Peter, I didn't want to blow open Andrea's past just yet. I was gonna save that one for a bigger move. This one... it's just to irk him some, get him a bit more uncomfortable.”
“And if Peter decides that he's a lot more interested in Nathan Black finding you because of it?”
“Then I guess Nathan and I will have to have a meeting of the warriors. I know his training, Darcy. The advantage I have is... he doesn't know mine. 'If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles.'”
“Hagakure again?” Darcy asks, and I shake my head.
“Sun Tzu. The Art of War.”
“You h
ave such wonderful reading tastes,” Darcy quips, then chuckles. “What else is on your reading list?”
“Computer Hacking for Dummies.”
Darcy blows me a raspberry before laughing. “So you do have a sense of humor still. Even if it is total wiseass.”
Chapter 10
Jackson
I wake up early today, filled with a sense of purpose and drive that I haven't had in a really long time. The sun isn't even up yet, and I'm already dressed and heading through the mansion to the converted garage where the gym is set up. I switch on the lights and look over the one area of my life where I'm the undisputed master... or at least I thought I was, until Katrina put me on my ass in about two seconds yesterday.
I'm no pushover. I've had more than my fair share of throw downs, and my forty-eight-inch chest isn't just bodybuilding muscle. I've trained too, mostly in BJJ and MMA, getting into scraps and knuckling up with some bad fuckers. It was one of my adrenaline rushes for a while, going down to some of the worse neighborhoods, or under the bridges near the Pontchartrain Expressway where they do the bum fights, and throwing down.
But while I took some licks in those underground fights, I never had my ass handed to me as quickly or as effectively as what Kat did to me. Sure, she caught me off guard, but that won't happen again. I promise myself that as I grab my workout notebook from the shelf and look at the page in my journal, seeing that today's a chest and triceps day. Good, I can use the heavy work to get myself calmed down again.
I start with an empty bar on the fifteen-degree incline press, just getting the blood flowing into my chest and shoulders and grooving the movement again.
I haven't done these in a month, and my first set with 275 feels a little heavier than normal, probably since I'm not used to lifting this early in the day, but I get through it okay, and note that on my upper set I might need to drop a rep.
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