“You want to be a programmer?” she asked, leaning forward with interest.
“IT security. That’s where the money is. And the knowledge and power.”
“And the secrets,” she mused. “Once you achieve your goal. Then what?”
“Are you asking if I have a dream?” he prompted, cocking an eyebrow at her. “That’s a very serious question. I can only answer that if you answer it too.”
She sipped her coffee and considered him, her eyes gleaming with a strange light. Something about this woman filled him with dread. She’d been a helpless victim in the apartment, but now she was the embodiment of… pure energy. Pure in the sense that it radiated from every pore. It was something he’d never seen or felt before. He thought he could feel the heat of it warm his skin.
“I will answer it,” she agreed.
“My dream is to open an MMA gym. Maybe back here in the Ukraine, but probably wherever I feel most at home in the world. I don’t feel at home here, even though it’s my birthplace.”
She nodded slowly, her eyes intense over her coffee cup. She analyzed him, peeling back every word he said to see what was at his core. At least, that’s how it felt.
“Do you have a pen?” she asked. He shook his head. “Ask for one,” she instructed and pulled a napkin out of the table’s dispenser.
He did as she asked and handed it to her.
“I trust no instinct but my own,” she started as she wrote an email address down on the napkin. “And my instincts say I can trust you. I’m in a position to make your dream come true. I want to do that to thank you for today.”
“Did your instincts let you down earlier?” he asked.
“I’ll just say my instinct was lulled. I won’t make that mistake again.” She handed him the napkin, and he tucked it into his jeans without looking at it. “Forget you ever met Makkeido’s daughter. Today you met Yuki.”
He held out a hand and she put hers in his. “Nice to meet you, Yuki.”
“Now it’s your turn,” he said. “What’s your dream?”
She leaned back and stared at him, her dark irises growing darker and spreading as if the color seeped into the white.
A demon came over him, whispered a dark voice in his mind, and goosebumps flooded his arms.
“Revenge.”
1
Anya closed the door to the apartment she’d moved out of two weeks ago and looked around in disbelief. She didn’t know which feeling was stronger, amazement or disgust. Once the smell got to her, disgust won.
The mingled odor of cigarettes, sweat, and vomit made her cover her face and breathe through her mouth. Pizza boxes, plates of half-eaten food, beer bottles, and red plastic cups covered every surface.
But underneath the mess was brand new furniture. And a gorgeous—from what she could see—area rug, the vibrant blue corner peeking out from the trash.
Gone were the simple furnishings she scored from thrift stores and left behind for Trevor. In their place were what looked like a white leather couch and chair, glass and steel tables, and on the wide wall hung what had to be an eighty-inch TV. Of course, a T-shirt and pair of purple panties hung from it, and a large greasy smear of who-knows-what splattered the top.
Even the floor was covered from wall to wall, and she thought it was safer to stay where she was and wait for Trevor to get back. If he was on his regular shift, he’d be back in a few minutes.
The smell of sweat was overpowering.
Just as she wondered if a partier was passed out behind the couch, Jenn’s ringtone sounded.
“Are you coming over?”
“No, Travis should be here any second,” Anya said and then tapped her screen to activate her camera. “Look at this. He’s somehow bought brand-new furniture and become an even bigger slob than when I lived here.”
“I told you,” Jenn said, glancing from what Anya was showing her to the mirror off-screen as she applied mascara. “He’s dealing. How else would he be getting all this money? It sure isn’t from making espresso.”
“No,” she argued, her mind ticking over everything she knew about Trevor, “I don’t buy it. He’s way too middle-class suburban with a generous helping of lazy. And he only smoked pot if someone else got it.”
“You wouldn’t know, because you don’t drink or smoke or party, but I always thought Trevor had a dark side.”
“I would have known,” she insisted, her eye caught by a colorful splash of metal in the kitchen. Oh my God, is that a Jura espresso maker? Those are six grand!
“You guys were just… I’d say fuck buddies, but I think you’d need to do the deed more than twice to qualify. Anyway, just drop the keys and get your ass over here. We’re undergrad grads, darling! We’re obligated to hit the town tonight.”
“Yeah, about that. I’m going to pass.” She disconnected the camera and prepared for her roommate’s outrage. Jenn didn’t disappoint her.
“No way, you pent-up, straight-laced, pre-med recluse! We just finished our last exam. That means we get fucked up this weekend, and screw the hottest guy at McGrady’s. It’s a graduation tradition.” Jenn’s voice hit such a high note that her ears rang.
“I think you’re confusing a graduation tradition with your weekend tradition. Besides, I need to talk to Trevor, not just drop off his keys. I’m… worried about him,” she lied. She didn’t think Trevor was dealing, but he was doing something that wasn’t on the straight and narrow. And if it was mostly legal, she wanted in on it.
“New furniture isn’t something to be worried about. That’s small potatoes. Lear jets and shit? That’s when you worry. Now, if you’re not here in an hour, I’ll hit you where it hurts.”
“Where’s that?” she asked, Jenn finally saying something that piqued her interest.
“I’ll get Jared to hack your grades, Miss Honor Roll,” Jenn replied smugly.
“That’s evil,” she said. “But you would never do it. First of all, the school’s grading software is monitored—”
“Stop taking everything so literally! It was a joke. Besides, life isn’t analytical book learning, you know. It’s messy and fun and sometimes out of control. You’re going to become a genius doctor with the shittiest bedside manner.”
“I think my patients will choose my skill over my ability to hold twelve shots of liquor,” Anya murmured. She shuddered at Jenn’s idea of the ideal life. I’ll take orderly any day of the week.
“Oh, please. Twelve shots? If I saw you do one, I’d fall on my ass. Now hurry up and get here!” Jenn hung up before Anya could argue further.
She put her phone away then jumped back against the door when she thought something moved under a pile of used paper plates. A loud engine roared outside, getting louder, and curiosity got the better of her. She grabbed a fairly clean pizza box lid and swept a path to the window.
Outside, she watched a sexy black sports car finish parking beside the curb below the apartment window. The engine revved loudly a few more times then cut off.
“Oh my God,” she murmured as Trevor stepped out of the car and walked to the front to admire it. He turned and glanced up, reacting when he saw her.
“Pretty dope, right?” he yelled, a huge smile on his face, and jogged to the front door and out of sight.
Moments later, she heard his key in the door.
“Anya, my sexy former roommate, what are you doing here?” He waded through the garbage to her and gave her a big hug. He smelled of cologne, perfume, and wine.
“Did I miss the party or have you started hoarding garbage?” she asked.
“Man, it’s been one long party around here since you moved out. No offense,” he said, making a face. “But now that I don’t have to worry about grades, I’m enjoying cutting loose.”
“You worried about grades?” she teased and then smiled. She didn’t want to poke at him so much that he clammed up. “You smell like wine,” she said, watching him kick some newspaper and takeout boxes around.
“Don’
t get all prissy. I just got off work.” He turned and shuffled to the kitchen, tossing his wallet and keys on the counter. She followed, stepping on the clear spots he made, declining the beer he offered her.
“I came to return your keys and to check up on you,” she said, holding up his keys and laying them beside his other belongings. His wallet had fallen open, and she glimpsed two tiers of shiny credit cards along with a wad of bills poking out.
“Thanks,” he said, unbuttoning his shirt as he drank. “But I don’t need checking up on.”
“You’re partying like it’s the end of days and spending money like it’s water. I’m not being critical; I’m just… super curious,” she finished honestly.
He stopped mid-drink to look at her, and she could tell he was weighing something.
“I’m not supposed to say anything,” he replied, his expression saying he really wanted to tell her.
“Trevor, how long have we known each other?” she asked and gave him her best stern look, which had always worked in prying information out of him in the past.
“Since our first year in pre-med. Back when we used to have amazing sex,” he said, leering. She barely controlled her eye roll at the word “amazing.” What he didn’t know about female anatomy was a lot. And he’d taken a fucking class on it!
“And how many times have I ratted you out about anything?” she continued.
“Never,” he allowed.
“And before you dropped out, who helped you pass organic chemistry?”
“You. Hey, passing that actually helped me hook up with the TA, so bonus points,” he said with a nod.
“Exactly!” she exclaimed, folding her arms. “You owe me.”
He took another swallow of beer. She could read it on his face; he wanted to tell her. He was bursting with it, and she wanted to shake him. But it also wasn’t like him not to brag. Her curiosity heightened.
“I signed an NDA,” he said reluctantly. “If they find out I said anything, I could be in some really big shit.”
“I won’t tell. I promise.” She even crossed her heart.
“Well,” he began slowly, breathing out as he analyzed the ceiling, his brow gathering as he thought something over. “It’s possible you could describe me as… kind of an escort.”
“An escort,” she repeated, shocked. She realized she really had expected him to say he was selling pot. “For real?”
“Yeah,” he responded, frowning at her. “You make it sound impossible.”
“I guess I’m glad you’re not selling pot like I thought.”
“God, no. That’s way too much work.” He leaned against the counter with a satisfied sigh. He finished his beer and then grabbed another from the fridge.
She realized for the first time, as she studied him from head to toe, that he looked amazing. She didn’t know a lot about suits, but he’d never owned one and the one he wore fit him like a glove. The white shirt cuff that poked out from his jacket had a studded cufflink. She didn’t know gems, but it looked like a fat emerald twinkled from its setting.
But the biggest surprise were his hands. His fingernails, actually. They were clean and trimmed and buffed to a high gloss. She bit her lip as she looked back at his smirking face, squinting her eyes at him.
“You’ve got that look,” he said, pointing at her with his beer.
“What look?”
“The one where you’re trying to figure out what it will take to get me to do the dishes. Don’t ever play poker.”
She laughed and sat on a stool by the counter, flattening her hands on it beside his wallet. From this angle, she could see the wad of bills that peeked out were all hundreds. Fuck. Me.
“I’m not going to hook up with you now that I’m all posh, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he murmured, although his eyes said hooking up could easily be arranged. “I’m supposed to be exclusive. At least for now. And don’t ask me anything else. I told you; I’m not allowed to say anything about it.”
She thought of the loan notices back at her apartment. And the registration package for med school underneath them. And her two minimum wage jobs for the summer.
“Obviously, I couldn’t afford you now,” she joked, trying out a grin. She wasn’t one for smiling very often. “How much are you making anyway?”
“Two grand a date.”
“Two… what?” She’d never fainted in her life, but the way the world shifted had her leaning heavily on the counter. “Two grand?”
“Yup,” he said, finishing off his second beer and tugging at his sleeves as he stood away from the counter. “Plus bonuses.”
“Like the car?” she wondered out loud, half-turning to the window.
“Awesome, isn’t it? And I got this watch.” He tugged back on a sleeve to show her a chunky platinum-looking watch. “Tag Heuer. Worth about five grand.”
Now she was speechless, her mind computing.
She looked back at his stuffed wallet and the black key fob that had the Ferrari logo on it. Five grand for someone who’s terrible in bed, she thought.
He emptied his pants pockets, putting some mints, some change, and his phone on the counter.
“Look, I gotta shower. If you’re staying, can you order a pizza or something? I’m starving. My treat, now that I have a zillion credit cards.” He laughed and left the kitchen humming.
Curious, she picked up his wallet to see how many cards he had. Eight. He had eight fucking credit cards, and one she’d never heard of. It felt like metal and had no numbers, just raised lettering that said CC in between iridescent diamonds in the shape of wings. There wasn’t a stripe or any other information on the back.
She moved it into the light for a better look and heard his phone make a strange chiming sound. She moved the card away to look at the screen. It read Consultation completed. Click to access log. She didn’t even hesitate, tapping the burgundy button under the words.
A form popped open, and it looked like Trevor had started filling it in. At the top, it said Consultant: Insley followed by a client field that said Sunshine. Next was a day and time field, which he hadn’t completed, and then a description field that advised Please be detailed. He’d filled it out with Lunch, sex, blowjob, sex, champagne.
“Sorry, Sunshine,” she murmured. “I hope you think you’re getting your money’s worth.”
At the bottom was the word Location underlined and in blue. She tapped it, and a 3D map opened, presumably in its own app, because it was detailed in a way her own map app wasn’t. She tapped the green marker and an address appeared, with the description Cavendish Club Entertainment Services Inc.
In the bathroom, the shower came on, and Trevor’s humming turned into singing.
Two grand. Her mind did the math, figuring out how many “dates” she’d need to pay off her loans. Then how many for med school. A lot. But comparing minimum wage to what, a grand an hour or so? The practical thing would be to at least check it out, right?
She clasped the card tightly in her hand until the edges hurt her skin. Without giving it her usual thought, she grabbed the Ferrari fob and left.
2
Dimi sliced a lime wedge, squeezed it into his tonic water, and then dropped the wedge in as well. He stirred it slowly with the glass rod. He rinsed the rod in the sink and then took his drink over to the window, stepping down the polished concrete steps into the sitting area. He shrugged out of his suit jacket and walked to the window.
The floor-to-ceiling window panels of his office, which was built into the side of a low mountain, weren’t made of typical glass. It was one of two things he loved about his bunker in the sky.
When he’d had this office designed, it had started out as just that—an office of three hundred square feet. Then he added this seating area, a small kitchen, and living quarters. Now, it was his lair in the mountain.
But the glass for the windows was special. According to his architect, it could withstand a nuclear blast if needed. And the filament that covered
it acted as a heads-up display of his computer screen on the inside, with a cloaking feature on the outside that reflected the surrounding mountains. This room was impossible to detect from outside.
The second thing he loved was that it was a ghost lair. Nobody knew about it. Not even Yuki, who signed off on all the invoices. He’d had a momentary worry about getting the cost of the glass past her, but then he’d thought fuck the money, and forwarded her a generalized receipt for the whole project that didn’t show all the details. Some would call it shifty. But since his motives didn’t hurt anyone, he considered it smart.
“Your boss is going to shit at the cost,” his architect had told him. He’d met Hiroshi when he was a client at Cavendish’s Hong Kong club. He’d helped Hiroshi out of a situation, and this lair in the mountain had been his payback.
“That’s none of your concern,” he’d told Hiroshi. “And if you don’t want me to come looking for you, you and your team are going to forget everything about this place.”
Other than Hiroshi and his handpicked team, nobody had seen his lair. And nobody ever would.
He tapped the glass a few times to pull up his calendar. Nothing for today. He tapped to clear the glass and looked out over Cavendish Estates.
Fifty acres, nine mansions, a medical facility, and a small accommodation compound. It all lay within view of his window. Of the inner circle who ran Cavendish, he was the only one who’d inspected every square foot, walked every perimeter and sidewalk, and hiked every inch of the mountain behind him.
He had security offices in all eight countries Cavendish operated in, but something about these surroundings spoke to him. Maybe because it was so different from his upbringing in Ukraine.
He turned back to the leather couch and table, eager to look over his pet project, when his walkie blipped.
“St-Pierre, St-Pierre, this is Jones, over,” crackled a deep voice, using his codename.
Grabbing the walkie from his belt, he hit the talk button.
Disciplined Page 2