Power: Power Series #1

by Victoria Woods

  With one quick move, I was slammed up against the wall. His hand squeezed my neck, holding me in place and making it difficult to breathe. My head buzzed from the force of the impact and lack of oxygen.

  As my vision refocused, I saw the dark shadow of a person looming over me. His eyes were difficult to see under his baseball cap, but his mouth was fixed into a cocky grin, like a hyena about to pounce.

  “Looks like I got lucky this time. You’re a pretty one, aren’t ya?” he hissed in my face.

  His head tipped down slowly, until he was looking directly at my chest. I winced as his rough, clumsy hand squeeze one of my breasts.

  “Too bad these tits are natural. I’m usually into something bigger,” he sneered. “They will have to do.”

  Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes. His body was so close to mine that I could feel his disgusting dick press into my belly. My stomach churned. I was going to vomit.

  In a flash, the pressure on my throat was gone. I slid to the floor, coughing and gasping for breath. I saw my assailant on the ground.

  Standing over him was my new boss. His body was stiff with rage as he aimed a gun at the fallen man. The veins in his forearms protruded with tension as he gripped the weapon in his hand. He handled it with such familiarity, it was more like a natural extension of his arm.

  “If I ever see you in my club again, I won’t hesitate to put a bullet in your head.” He kept his voice low, but it terrified me more than my attacker’s had.

  The man on the floor started to crawl to get away. As if it were not fast enough for his liking, my boss smacked him in the back of the head with the barrel of his gun. The man bolted out of the hallway as fast as he could.

  I was left alone with a new figure towering over me. A true predator. I didn’t speak for fear of his wrath. His eyes bore into mine as I crouched on the floor, peering up at him.

  “Get up,” he barked at me.

  I was frozen to the ground. Impatience radiated from him. He grabbed me firmly by my arms and righted me against the wall. I was probably over five-foot-seven with my stilettos, but he was still taller than me. His fingers dug into my skin, keeping me from moving away.

  The fire in his eyes from earlier had not dimmed. It seemed even stronger now as they studied my face. I held my breath as his gaze roamed down to my lips. I parted them, but no air escaped.

  Suddenly, his gaze flicked to my neck. His jaw clenched in rage—my attacker must have left marks on me. His fingertips touched my skin softly, tracing what he saw.

  Unintentionally, I sighed out the breath I had been holding in all this time, and it came out as a soft moan. Those eyes flashed back to mine with a wild and hungry expression.

  He shifted his body closer. He was so near that I could smell his essence—leather and tobacco. His fingers slid down my body to my waist, where they held me in place. I couldn’t run away if I wanted to, even though I knew I should. This man was dangerous. I could feel it in the way he looked at me, like he could ruin me.

  His hard cock pressed into my lower belly. Without thinking, I tilted my pelvis to meet him. I needed friction to ease the ache between my legs. He ground his dick further into me, as if reading my mind. God, it felt good.

  My back arched off the wall as my head fell back in pleasure. I needed more.

  I lifted my knee to his hip so I could wrap my leg around his ass, giving him more access to my most sensitive area.

  Suddenly, he pushed my leg down and released his grip on me. I blinked up at him in confusion. He stepped backward, away from me. His eyes grew cold, the fire extinguished. Why is he upset with me?

  My cheeks heated with the shame of rejection. I crossed my arms over my chest to keep from feeling exposed.

  “Go home.” His voice was low and steady, as if nothing had happened.

  I stood there, doe-eyed, unable to move or speak. He took one more glance at me before walking away.

  Just like that, I was alone—wet and rejected.

  VI. Amelia

  The next morning was brutal. I had tossed and turned in bed all night, despite needing sleep to cure my hangover.

  My eyes were puffy, and bruises had formed on my neck from the assault the night before. I had them covered up with a scarf to avoid any probing questions from my coworkers. Thank God it was Friday, and I could catch up on sleep this weekend.

  I was miserable. I had the biggest migraine from drinking too much. I felt nauseous about almost being raped by some ogre and embarrassed with how I threw myself at my new boss. The last part disturbed me the most because I was not that girl. I didn’t grind on random guys, let alone alleged drug dealers, in dark hallways of clubs.

  Ugh. It sounded even worse the more I thought about it.

  Thankfully, I was able to keep my mind busy by writing and polishing code all morning. Nat must have been feeling like crap too because she barely spoke to me when she trudged into the office. Most of her responses to coworkers came out as incoherent mumbles.

  Jason called for our attention just before lunchtime. I glanced up from my monitor at the sound of his voice. Shit!

  He was standing right next to Jason. Dressed in a navy suit and black tie, he looked fresh and polished, as if he hadn’t had me pressed up against a wall just last night. Meanwhile, I had stumbled into the office with ripped jeans and a Pink Floyd concert t-shirt. I tucked my scarf closer to my neck for comfort.

  “I’d like to introduce you all to one-half of Sethi Tech, Mr. Shyam Sethi.” Jason gestured to Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Sexy enthusiastically.

  Shyam. I hadn’t known which brother he was up until now. And now that I’d heard his name, it made sense. It suited him. Strong and mysterious.

  “Mr. Sethi is here to see the progress we’ve made,” Jason continued. “Shyam, would you like to say a few words?”

  It was difficult to read Shyam’s expression. He didn’t seem angry, but perhaps he was irritated to be here.

  “Thank you, Jason,” he began. “I would like to commend all of you on your hard work.”

  This was the first time I had heard him speak more than two words. His tone was business-like, yet deep and dangerous. And he didn’t have an American accent, but it wasn’t quite Indian either. It was more British, I supposed. Whatever it was, it made me feel that familiar tingle between my legs when I heard it. Why did he have this effect on me?

  “Asking you to complete this project in a limited amount of time is not ideal,” he continued, “but it is necessary. For this reason, I will be meeting with each of you individually today to discuss your progress.” His gaze settled on me when he said that last part.

  I panicked and diverted my gaze down to my shoes to avoid his penetrating stare.

  “Please be prepared to present your features in a concise manner,” Jason interrupted. Shyam tightened his jaw, most likely because he didn’t appreciate being cut off.

  “Shyam, if you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to the conference room.” Jason ushered him away.

  Great. First, he rubs his dick against me and then turns me away. Now, I have to be alone with him to bask in my humiliation. I should have called in sick.

  ******

  It was late and I had yet to be called in to present. I tried to focus on the task at hand and rehearse all the specifications I had worked on in my head to calm my nerves. If I took my focus away from presenting to Shyam and just concentrated on the work, then I would be okay.

  It was a little after six-thirty and I was the last one in the office. I assumed Jason had left too, since the lights in his office were turned off.

  Dave came out of the conference room and collected his laptop and bag. “Good luck,” he said as he headed out the door.

  It was my turn. I stood up and gathered my laptop. I walked slowly to the conference room, praying my feet would get me there even though they felt like running away. When I reached the door, I raised my fist to knock before entering.

  “Come in,” Shyam’s voice echoed t
hrough the door before I had the chance.

  I followed his order. The privacy blinds had been drawn to prevent anyone from seeing into the room. It was intimidating to be in here with no view of the desks and chairs beyond the windows.

  Shyam sat with perfect posture at the head of the table. He gestured to the opposite end and commanded, “You may begin, Ms. Becker.”

  I took a deep breath to steady my shaky legs as I approached the front of the room. My stomach was filled with butterflies.

  I connected my laptop to the screen projector on the wall and pulled up the app onto my screen. All the while, he sat focused on me, with one arm across his chest and the index finger of his other hand pressed against his lips. A silver ring flashed on his finger as he waited for me to start.

  I cleared my throat and willed myself to speak. Just focus on the work. “Most tracking data collected from various apps collect bits of information, like a person’s name or username. For example, Facebook will collect information that is entered, like a username and phone number, and associate it with a specific account. Facial-recognition software offers another dimension to collecting data. When users upload photos to any app, we can use the embedded coordinates of where the photo was taken to ask the user to check in to certain locations or rate and review local businesses where the photo was taken. But I’m sure you know this already.” I realized this was all probably redundant for him.

  He dropped his finger from his mouth and leaned back in his chair. “I do. How is what you’ve done different from what is currently available?”

  “Most facial-recognition software uses special algorithms to identify a person from certain traits specific to their face. However, the software that already exists is only specific to a certain type of demographic.”

  “Caucasian men,” he added.

  “Yes. Specifically, Caucasian men over the age of forty. Available software suffers from large margins of error when trying to identify other races or women. Our software has the highest accuracy available for identifying demographics other than older white men.” Speaking about what I knew was a lot easier than I had feared. It helped to ease my nerves.

  “Would someone be able to trick your software from identifying them accurately?”

  The short answer was no. But I wasn’t sure why someone would try to trick the software. It was meant for social media use.

  “Cloaking” was used to hide from facial-recognition software. It involved changing pixels of an image to trick the software, though the cloaked image remained virtually indistinguishable from the original image to the naked eye. A person could use cloaking software to alter their facial features in pictures. Many of those altered pictures would be uploaded and linked to a particular person, thus preventing facial-recognition software from “accurately” identifying a person when a real photo was uploaded. The government had their own version of facial-recognition software that was unaffected by cloaking. Ours was the first facial-recognition software meant for social media use that was also unaffected by cloaking.

  I had implemented a feature that could cloak any image of a person, so that if a person tried to cloak their own photo, our software would have already altered the uploaded image, beating the person to the punch. It would use various combinations of the cloaked images it generated to identify a person who was trying to hide their identity.

  Shyam slowly stood up from his chair. I hadn’t even answered his question yet, so I wasn’t sure what this meant. I stopped talking as he stalked toward me like a panther, his strides quiet but ready to pounce at any moment.

  I turned to face him when he reached my side. He turned me back to my original position, facing the conference table. I felt warm hands inch the hem of my shirt up, exposing my midsection. Goosebumps spread all over my body.

  “Go on,” he whispered in my ear from behind. His breath caressed my sensitive skin.

  Still unsure, I kept talking. “No…our software is still…able to accurately identify people…even if cloaking is used.” My voice came out between panting breaths.

  One of his hands rested on my waist, as the other pushed on my upper back until my chest met the surface of the table. I turned my head back to see him standing behind me with a satisfied look on his handsome face. He pressed my face down on its side so I couldn’t see him anymore.

  “And how did you do that?” he growled as he stroked my belly.

  It was getting more difficult to concentrate on my presentation. My body was on fire with anticipation. “A built-in feature,” I managed to say.

  His hand roamed from my belly to the button at the top of my jeans. With steady fingers, he undid it and lowered my zipper ever so slowly. Oh God, what was he doing?

  “What kind of feature?” he asked. I felt him move in closer to me, so his cock was pressed against my ass through my jeans. His hand moved under the waistband of my panties and grazed the scant amount of hair that I kept there.

  “One that could…cloak images…for reference,” I managed to say. I didn’t know how I could keep talking at this rate. I was so needy that my pussy ached.

  “You’re a smart girl,” he said as he slid his hand lower and found my clit. I couldn’t hold back the moan that escaped my lips. I knew he heard it too, because his cocked jerked against my ass.

  “Bolo,” he said gruffly in Hindi. Tell me. “Can this be used to find the location of a person?” His fingers rubbed a single tight circle on my clit. My body jolted with pleasure from his brief touch. He weaved his free hand into the hair on the back of my head and held me in place. His dominance satisfied me.

  He continued massaging my clit. My palms pressed into the table in front of my head. My panties were so wet that they slid against my swollen flesh.

  “Yes,” was the only answer I could manage. Pleasure was building. His fingers moved faster, applying more pressure. I was almost there. I felt like I would die if he stopped.

  “And there is no way to block the integrated cloaking feature?” he asked gruffly as he rubbed his dick against my ass. It was all too much. I couldn’t answer. I was ready to burst.

  He grew impatient when I didn’t answer him and stilled his hand. I cried out in frustration.

  He yanked on my hair to turn my head to face him, and I yelped at the pain. “Bolo, Ms. Becker.” His eyes were full of force.

  “No,” I blurted, “there is no way to block it.”

  “At all?” he demanded as he pulled my hair harder.

  “Only if someone physically altered their appearance,” I answered quickly, desperate for him to continue stroking me.

  He seemed happy with this answer and loosened his hold on my head. He didn’t force my face down to the table again. Instead, his fingers worked faster on my clit, bringing me back to my threshold. Then he slipped a finger inside. “Oh God!” I moaned.

  “Come for me,” he growled.

  As if he owned it, my body responded automatically. I detonated under his fingertips as I cried his name out. “Shyam!”

  My torso collapsed onto the table as my orgasm washed over me. I took a few moments to catch my breath.

  Shyam pulled away from my body. I pushed myself up off the table and saw that he had made his way to the door. He was about to step out and leave me—again.

  “Shyam!” I raised my voice at him in anger. I was usually soft-spoken, but I was furious that this was happening again. The first time, I had been pissed at myself, but this time, I was pissed at him.

  He turned back toward me with an unreadable expression on his face.

  The scarf around my neck had come undone during his manhandling. His eyes flicked to the bruises on my skin. It almost seemed like concern entered his eyes. Before I could ask him what was wrong, he stepped out the door and closed it behind him.

  VII. Shyam

  Smoke trailed from the end of my cigar. I brought it to my lips and inhaled deeply. Tipping my head back, I exhaled slowly, letting the tension in my shoulders release.


  Nirvana was full of life tonight. Fridays were always good. The women were out in droves.

  Jai and I sat in my private office suite on the third floor. One wall was made of tinted glass—bulletproof and soundproof—and overlooked the entire club. Below us, I could see hordes of horny twenty-year-olds looking to hookup. They were young, with tight asses and perky tits, and danced for attention—to be noticed by young guys looking for an easy fuck.

  My mind wandered to Amelia as I breathed in another puff from my cigar.

  Amelia Anne Becker, age twenty-three. Only child of Joseph and Angela Becker from Seattle, Washington. Her father had been an electrician, and her mother was a nurse. Joseph Becker died from cancer when Amelia was fifteen. She had lived with her mother until she moved across the country to enroll in NYU’s School of Engineering on a scholarship. She’d graduated with a bachelor’s degree in computer science and held top honors.