by Sarah Cole
“Why am I here, Braxton?” I ask, rolling my sore neck, hearing it pop.
“How’d you know it was me?” His voice asks from the darkened corner.
“I’d know that annoying, nasally voice anywhere, I say with an edge of boredom to my voice. I am bored. Truly, I’m not just saying that for show. This abandoned warehouse thing is just a bit overdone and dramatic, and personally I’m not sure why he’s going through the theatrics here. Just get to the point already.
He steps closer, and the dim light reflects in his perfectly styled dirty blonde hair. His jeans and dress shirt fit his muscular frame in all the right places. He’s preppy and attractive, there’s no denying that. It’s one of the things that drew me to him initially, but there’s absolutely nothing underneath the good looks and the expensive vibe he puts off.
He studies my face for a moment in the dim light. “Jesus! What did you guys do to her? I didn’t tell you to beat the shit out of her.” He turns and looks over his shoulder at the group of men standing in the shadows. They don’t say anything, clearly not giving a shit. That tells me one thing – he’s not really in charge here. That alone gives me a reason to worry, but I don’t let him see it. I’ve gotten pretty good at hiding my emotions over the years. They don’t serve any purpose – not in my world at least, and they definitely don’t do you any favors.
“That’s my fault. I didn’t exactly come willingly.” I shrug, my hands still tied tightly behind the chair.
“That little scene could have been avoided had you just answered my phone calls.” He smirks.
“What can I say? I thought you were wanting a booty call, and I wasn’t into it.”
“That does hold a certain amount of appeal.” He smiles a full smile and drops to a squat in front of me.
“Are you going to flirt with me a little while longer, or are you going to tell me why I’m here?”
“We’ve got a business proposition for you.”
“Who’s we?” I question, quirking an eyebrow and wondering what he could possibly offer me that I’d want.
“That doesn’t matter,” he says, running his hand up my leather clad thigh. The idiots didn’t think to tie my feet and I swiftly extend my leg and kick him right in his nuts. Granted my legs are fairly short, so I couldn’t hit him with full impact but I’m sure it hurt well enough by the way he’s grabbing himself and breathing heavily. I smirk at my handy work.
“Stop fucking with me Fortner, and tell me what you want.”
“Your hacking skills,” he grunts out through a clenched jaw.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie easily.
He recovers from my assault quickly and stands, walking over to the corner and coming back with a file folder. “Oh, but I’m sure you do, Anika. And I assume that despite your connections, the CIA, FBI, the Washington State Department of Corrections, and a few other well-known governmental branches would love to know too.” He’s got my interest piqued, and he knows it.
“What do you need?”
“My half-brother, Carter Linwood, is owner and CEO of Lintech. It’s rumored that his company is on the brink of successfully launching a quantum computer and computing program. I believe they’re calling it Q-Compute. We need you to hack into the system and steal those plans and erase all of their research so they can’t launch,” he says as if that’s all in a day’s work.
“For starters, I can’t believe you hail from the same gene pool as someone who’s capable of developing such advanced technology.” He seems somewhat annoyed by my comment. Good.
“Also, I hope you realize that acquiring that information isn’t going to do shit for you considering it is probably in pieces, and you’re too dumb to put them together. And if what you’re telling me is true, part of what you’re asking me to get is hardware, not software or coding which I can’t gain access to remotely. I’m not a fucking ninja super spy,” I say. I know I could get that information easily, but I’m not going to do it for this asshole willingly.
“Well then, I suppose you’re just going to have to figure out a way to get us everything we need.”
“And what’s in this for me? You can’t prove I hacked into those government systems, so you can’t exactly use that against me,” I say confidently. I’m not stupid… I know blackmail is his angle. You don’t kidnap someone if you intend on paying them.
“You’re right. That was really more of a hunch, but we can prove this,” he says tossing the folder in my lap that’s thick with papers.
“How do you expect me to open this? With my teeth?” I sneer at the folder laying closed in my lap.
“Of course not, let me help you with that, sweetheart,” he says in a condescendingly sweet tone, as he flips the folder open to reveal what’s hidden inside. My eyes scan the images and reports, and I look away exhaling heavily. My blood feels like it’s turning to ice in my veins. If Braxton knows this, he’s mixed up with the worst kind of people, and I’m one step closer to my end game. I don’t know how he got involved and became another pawn in this dirty game, but I do know one thing. The other person behind the ‘we’ has to be Lance Jennings. That motherfucker has his dirty Russian hands in everything. Lance Jennings isn’t even his real name. I know what it is, but you can’t really use a name like Vladislav Statnik when you’re a United States senator running for President. If the world only knew. Well, they will, because I’ll be the one to tell them one way or another.
I think quickly and decide I’m going to keep the fact I know who he’s working with to myself. I’ve learned information is everything, and the less people know what’s inside your head, the more powerful you are.
“So, what do you say, Anika? Life in prison being someone else’s bitch, or being mine and getting to walk free?”
“I’ll do it,” I say without hesitation, because honestly, I don’t care. Freedom is the only thing I have anymore, even if I live in my own kind of prison every single day. What’s it to me if one rich asshole doesn’t get his ten minutes in the spotlight and a pat on the back? Another thing is for certain. If I do this, it will grant me the access to Lance Jennings that I’ve been desperately searching for, for almost ten years.
I will end him.
“Well, I must say, I didn’t expect you to be so compliant. I’m glad we could come to an understanding, though,” Braxton says, placing another folder on top of the one in my lap.
“Everything you need to know is in there. We’ll be in touch,” he says, walking around to untie my hands. My still spinning head is the only thing keeping me from breaking his jaw. I wish I was kidding.
“How am I supposed to get home from here?” I ask as I stand.
“Not to worry. Your bike and bag are waiting for you outside. Next time I call, answer it.” I take the folders and flip him off over my shoulder as I stride towards the heavy doors.
Once outside I see the faint tinge of daylight as the sun begins to rise over the sound. Pissed off and hungry as hell, I shove the folders into my bag and hop on my bike cursing at the dented and scratched body.
“I’m going to need one giant cup of coffee today,” I say to myself as I peel out in the loose gravel, and head back into the city.
CHAPTER TWO
Carter:
I haven’t been to bed. I wouldn’t have been able to sleep anyways. My life is full of to do’s and my head is full of dissatisfaction and demons. I don’t know how to reconcile the difference between what I want and what I need. Despite my success I can’t shake the feeling that everything I’ve built isn’t good enough. I can’t help but feel like there’s a bigger picture that I can’t quite bring into focus. There’s only this nagging feeling like I’m missing something.
The company I built and the work I do is meaningful- revolutionary even, but at the end of the day I don’t want that to define me because my work is not who I am. My father was a good man like that. He had his vices and his flaws like any man of wealth and power, but first and foremost
he was a father. Albeit a shitty husband and a philanderer, but a great dad that always made sure he was involved and present for everything. He sacrificed everything more than once to save me…to protect me. He was successful, but he never let his title or bank account define him. In the end – it wasn’t what he was known for. I want to find something good in life that defines me, and until I find it, I don’t think I’ll feel satisfied.
Trying to focus on the tasks of the day instead of the meaning of life seems like an insurmountable task at the moment due to my lack of sleep and my caffeine tank on zero. Sluggishly, I walk towards my favorite coffee shop, all the while just fucking hoping they aren’t still out of the exotic dark roast. The line is surprisingly long for this early in the morning, but that isn’t what catches my attention as I step through the doors, the smell of fresh coffee grounds and cinnamon filling the air. No, it’s the tight perky ass in black leather pants and over the knee boots that hold every ounce of my attention. She pulls her long, nearly black hair over her shoulder and bends over to pick up the twenty dollar bill the man in front of her dropped, and I see the single line of tattoos that decorate her spine as her thin white tank top rides up. I let my eyes fixate on it and find myself stepping closer to see what it is. I only realize that it’s a single line of binary coding when she turns after handing the man his money.
“May I help you with something?” she asks stiffly over her shoulder.
I step back unaware that I had moved in so close. “Sorry, interesting tattoo,” I offer.
“Thanks,” she mumbles moving up in line.
“Why binary coding?” I ask casually, hoping that she’ll finally turn around so I can get a good look at her face, but she doesn’t. Instead she ignores me altogether. That typically doesn’t happen- at least not to me.
When she steps up to order, I signal to the barista at the register that I’ll be paying for her order as well.
“What? Why?” The woman asks, and the barista nods to me explaining I am taking care of her order, as well.
She finally turns around to face me, and I’m rendered speechless. Unexpectedly, the woman standing before me is not just hot, but beautiful. There’s something completely mesmerizing about her appearance. She’s got a petite, but sharp nose with a slight slope to it, high cheekbones and full lips, but it’s her eyes that catch me off guard more than anything. They’re a piercing unnatural blue, edged in dark smudged makeup. I’d almost assume they were contacts if they weren’t so clear. There’s no way that color could be created in a lab.
Unnerved by how intently she’s studying me, I quickly drop my gaze. Only after breaking eye contact do I begin noticing everything else about this woman. I see her slender but muscular arms, her full yet proportionate breasts exposing just a hint of cleavage at the top of her nearly sheer cotton tank top that’s filthy, and her smooth creamy, almost porcelain skin.
She’s what perfection looks like.
It’s almost as if someone created her for the sole purpose of destruction. You can feel it in the air around her, in the way she carries herself, but I find myself drawn to her toxicity like a moth to a flame. I have no idea what it is about her. When I finally look back up at her face I see the scrapes and bruises, and the dried blood under her nose. Normally, I’d feel concerned, but something tells me this girl gives just as good as she gets. It causes my mind to wander and think about all of the things I could do with her and to her if she’d only let me. I shut down my perverted thoughts, feeling only slightly guilty.
“Thank you for the coffee,” she says in a noticeably husky voice, and I find myself wondering if it’s from yelling, or if she comes by it naturally.
“Rough night?” I joke, but her eyes snap back to mine, studying me once more almost as if she’s a predator analyzing a kill. And again, I find myself entranced by her unnaturally blue gaze.
“Something like that.” She takes her coffee from the counter and begins to walk towards the door.
That’s it?
“Wait!” I call after her, throwing down a twenty and swiping my cup off the counter.
She stops, huffing out a breath in annoyance and turns, “You just don’t stop, do you?” she questions, but I see just a flash of humor on her face before it is quickly replaced with an emotionless mask.
“Not at all. Especially when I see something I want,” I fire back, flashing her my best smile. She’s still unamused, and I’m at a complete loss with her.
“What makes you think you can have me?”
“I can be very persuasive,” I say stepping closer, but she counters my advance by taking a step away, keeping the distance between us.
“I’m sure,” she deadpans.
“I think that you should let me take you out.”
Her eyebrows raise in a practiced way at my offer and she mashes her plump, red stained lips together. “Yeah, I don’t think so. I’m not really the dating kind of girl.” She once again turns towards the door.
“At least tell me your name…” I plead to her back, not liking my desperation laced tone one bit. I don’t want for anything in life I try to tell myself, even knowing it’s a bold-faced lie.
She turns only slightly this time, and only offers a small shake of her head before strolling out the door and into the early morning light. I watch as she sets her coffee in some sort of hidden cup holder and slides on a slim fitting red leather jacket, and throws her leg over a sleek black bike. She casts one more look through the glass door before revving her engine and pulling away from the curb. In a flash, she’s gone and I’m left alone wondering if she was ever really here, or if she was only an illusion. If it weren’t for her warm seductive perfume still lingering in the air, and the image of her electric blue eyes burned into my mind, I might think she was just a figment of my imagination.
Anika:
I flip on the lights inside my dark living room, happy to see everything is exactly as I left it. I toss my bag on the floor beside the couch and head straight for my master bathroom, my boot heels echoing on the black stained wood floors. The steam begins to fill my bathroom after I turn the knobs to the hottest setting, and I peel off my clothes, carefully examining my bruises and scrapes as I go. Thankfully there’s nothing too serious here, and I’ll be perfectly healed within a few days. I step into the scalding hot water of the shower, enjoying the burn that reminds me that I’m alive.
I scrub my skin until it’s raw and red, but it isn’t enough. It will never be enough to wash away the memories of my life and all of the sins I’ve committed. As I’m running a conditioning mask through my long, dark windswept tangles, I let my mind drift. It’s something that I rarely let myself do considering I see their faces every time I close my eyes. Sometimes they’re the happy memories that I’ve forgotten purposefully, because remembering them is only a reminder of the life I lost – the one that was stolen.
Though, most of the time, the faces I see are the ones painted with fear and blood splatter as lives are being extinguished in front of me, while I kneel in the closet frozen in fear. I wish I could dismiss it, feed myself a few more lies to placate the demons inside me and tell myself they are just nightmares. But for me, those nightmares are drenched in reality. They weave together the dark fabric of my existence. They cloak daylight, snuffing the life out of everything around me and plunging me into an eternal darkness. It’s become such a part of me that I’m not sure I could shake it if I tried, and if I’m to be honest… I’m not sure that I want to.
This time though, I’m not plagued with the sick and twisted thoughts. I’m instead met with the memory of the guy in the coffee shop this morning. I remember his lean form and how he filled out that designer suit in a way that told me it was made to fit him. The messy but perfectly styled light brown hair and five o’clock shadow he sported so effortlessly says he cares about his appearance, but at the same time has more important things than his looks to worry himself with. And those piercing green eyes framed by serious, angular featur
es that were so masculine yet uniquely beautiful. While his looks are something books are written about, it was his eyes that unsettled me the most. Usually when an attractive man approaches, I at least entertain the idea of a date followed by a casual fucking no matter how unfulfilling. Those men rarely satisfy my needs, but this man…if the way his eyes were devouring my body is any indication of the way he handles a woman behind closed doors, I have no doubt that I’d leave satiated in the morning.
It wasn’t his blatant lust that had me bolting for the door though. That had quite the opposite effect on me. It was the electric way in which we seemed to connect when our eyes met. I felt as if he was trying to put all the pieces of me together-like sooner or later he’d crack the code and uncover every dark and dirty part of me.
That can’t happen.
Not now…or ever. Not with him, or anyone for that matter. There’s a reason I don’t do people or lasting relationships of any kind that aren’t business related.
***
I sit down at my desk in my home office staring at the unopened folder before me. I’m not sure what is in there, but apparently it holds everything that I need to know about Carter Linwood. I swore to myself that I wouldn’t do this shit again, especially if it wasn’t for fun, but alas, here I am. If I had more self-restraint, I would just disappear, but now my curiosity is piqued and the thought of getting close enough to Lance Jennings to put a bullet between his eyes gives me the warm fucking fuzzies.
I take a sip of my water and flip open the Manila folder only to slam it closed immediately.
“Motherfucker!” I yell, pulling at the ponytail in my hair as the blood pounds violently in my ears.
I open the folder once again to take in the attractive photograph of Carter Linwood. The familiar face of the guy from this morning stares back at me. Although, this picture has him looking more like an owner and CEO than he did this morning, with his clean shaven face, short perfectly styled hair, and easygoing smile.