The Misters Series (Mister #1-7)

by J. A. Huss

  I don’t bother going home to change before work, just park my car behind the building and climb the stairs to the fourth floor. I head straight to the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of Katya in the apartment that might be hers before I have to sit down and deal with real life.

  But no such luck. She’s not there.

  Why am I surprised?

  When is the last time luck showed up in my life?

  Chapter Twenty-Two - KATYA

  The crisp, cold air is a welcome relief as I make my way back to my apartment. But instead of ducking my head into the wind like I usually do, I look around. Nervous. Everything is happening too quickly right now. Oliver, the phone call, the sisters, the meeting tomorrow. Do I really know what I’m doing?

  No, I conclude. Some of what’s happening seems controllable but other parts are so out of my realm of expertise, I have to fight off a panic attack. What if I do it all wrong? What if people get hurt? What if, what it, what if…

  I turn into the alley to avoid a group of college kids ahead and bump right into a tall redhead. It takes me less than a second to realize who she is and why she’s here.

  “Ellen,” I say, a slight tone of disgust in my voice. “Something I can help you with?”

  Ellen Abraham is a washed-up old bat who has nothing better to do than fuck with people’s lives. “Just letting you know we’re here. We’re watching you, Katya. And if you think you’re going to change sides now, you’re mistaken. What were you doing at that house?”

  “It’s called Phase Two, Ellen.” I practically sneer it. I hate this woman. Ever since she showed up in my life last year I’ve hated her. She’s so… gross. “Everything I just did was in the plan. Not that it’s any of your business.”

  She squints at me, making the creases around her eyes all that more prominent. She has so much make-up on, it practically creates crevasses. “We don’t trust you.”

  “I don’t really care what you think. Or your boss.” She is nothing but an aging whore. Not even disgusting Lucio Gori would have her.

  “He’s your boss too.” Her smirk is ugly. Her wrinkled red lips so pathetic. Please, I pray to God. If I live as long as this woman, please don’t let me age this badly.

  “No,” I say, sounding a lot surer than I feel. “He’s not. We made a deal. I give him what he wants, he helps me with what I want. Nowhere in that deal do you even enter the picture. So you better stay the fuck away from me, Ellen. Or I swear, I’ll tell everyone what you’re doing.”

  Ellen is silent for a few moments as she considers my threat. It’s almost a ruse. Almost. She’s working both sides just like me. I could tell people what she’s up to. Of course, I’d give myself away as well, so I wouldn’t do that unless I felt I had no other choice. Still… she needs her secrets just as much as I need mine.

  “You know what he wants and you better deliver,” she finally says.

  “I always do,” I reply.

  “Has she been in contact?” Ellen asks.

  She. That’s all they care about. Her. “No.” I shake my head.

  “You’re sure?” Ellen asks. “Because I have it on good authority that someone saw you buying a disposable phone the other day.”

  Who the fuck saw me? I was so careful. Lily and I were at the Super Target. I slipped into the electronics section while she was looking at pajamas. I didn’t see anyone. Do they have access to that security footage or something? “Yeah,” I snarl. “The one I used to talk to Gori, you stupid bitch.” I spit at her, but my insult falls short.

  She laughs. “Do you really think Lucio Gori is going to let you go once this over? Really? Come on, Katya. You have to know you’re in it for life. Didn’t your parents teach you anything?”

  “First of all,” I say, refusing to let her words bother me. “I’m not in anything for life. What they have with me is a contract, and all contracts have an expiration date.”

  “You’re property,” Ellen says, clearly enjoying her opportunity to remind me of things I already know. “The Russians sold you.”

  She has a smug look on her face, like she thinks this hurts me. But it doesn’t. I let go of the Russian part of me a long time ago. I’m no one’s property and maybe the Russians did get something in return for handing me over to Lucio Gori, but it wasn’t with my consent. And that’s the only part that matters.

  “Yup,” I say, letting that go. “I am. But not for long. I have done everything asked of me. I have not fucked up once. And next week this will all be in the past. A bad dream and nothing else.”

  “You keep telling yourself that, Katya. You probably need to believe that more than anyone I’ve ever met.” And then she pats me on the head like a dog and walks off, calling over her shoulder, “You better get that information from Weston Conrad, Katya Kalashova. Or your sister’s name will be added to your contract, just like you were added to your parent’s.”

  I rush forward and grab her throat, pushing her up against the brick wall of the building so fast, she doesn’t even have time to scream before I’m pressing on her neck. Her hands claw at mine, but I just squeeze harder. God, I hate her. I hate them all. I want to end her life—

  Ellen gets a knee up and delivers a blow to my ribs so hard, I stumble back. She has both hands on her throat as she gasps for air. I can’t help myself. I laugh. I laugh loud. So loud, Ellen gets nervous and glances at the street to see of anyone is watching this little altercation. Bitch isn’t smug anymore.

  A group of college girls walks by the alley. We watch them pass. Ellen, still gasping for air. Me, stifling a laugh.

  And then I look at Ellen and point my finger right at her face. “I don’t report to you, Ellen. You can tell him I said that. You can tell him if he’s got a complaint he can come here and take it up with me himself.”

  Ellen is still pawing her throat. “I’ll pass it along, Katya,” she croaks. “But one wrong move and you know what happens.” She makes a slicing motion across his throat. “Only this time it won’t be you who gets cut. It will be her.”

  Ellen doesn’t wait for me to answer. Just turns and walks towards the busy street and crowds of people beginning their day. I don’t have a comeback anyway. Every time they threaten my little sister like that I just freeze. It sends a panic through my whole body.

  I lean against a brick building and take deep breaths until I stop shaking. And then I force myself to walk the opposite direction. Get as far away from the past coming back to haunt me as I can.

  They will not get my sister like they did me. I will do anything to keep that from happening.

  But they do scare me. My legs are trembling with the adrenaline rush from the confrontation. And there’s a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that everything is about to go very, very wrong.

  I’m almost feeling normal when I get to my building. The doorman has the elevator for me, but I wave him off. “I’m gonna to take the stairs,” I say with the most cheerful voice I can manage. “I need the exercise.”

  “Sure thing, Miss Kalashova,” he calls back.

  I open the door to the stairs, but instead of going up, I go down to the garage level. Then one more, to the storage unit level. Everyone gets one closet-sized storage unit to keep things like Christmas trees and boxes out of the way during the year.

  I have one. But that’s not the one I go to now. I’d have to be a fool to think they wouldn't check my storage unit.

  Instead I go to the one for the unit next door. It’s got a lock on it, but I have the combination.

  I quickly find the right numbers on the dial and it pops open with a click. One last look behind me, and I slip inside.

  The disposable phone they caught me buying the other day is right where I left it and when I flip it open I have a message.

  We’re on track. Do your job, stick to the plan, and I’ll see you in two days.

  I flip it closed, set it down, and exit—quickly locking the storage unit back up and jogging all the way up the stairs to the top flo
or.

  Inside the phone is buzzing in the drawer. I have a slight moment of panic as I try to assess how many seconds late I might be, and then force myself to take a deep breath and let it out as I answer.

  “Yes,” I say.

  “Progress?”

  “Yes,” I say. “I have a meeting with them tomorrow.”

  “Make sure you get what I need.”

  “Yes. I’ll have what you need.”

  The line goes dead and I stare at the phone for a moment before flipping it closed and tucking it away in the drawer once more.

  I’m shaking again. All over this time. My legs, my arms, my hands, my whole body is nothing but fear.

  Ellen Abraham is no threat to me. But the people on the other end of that phone are another breed of evil.

  I walk around my condo, pacing back and forth down the hallway between the living room and the bedroom to avoid the cameras they have hidden in every single room. Fully immersed in my own thoughts.

  And then the security phone next to the door rings.

  I breathe in and out for a couple seconds, not allowing myself to fall apart even further. I walk to the door and pick up the handset. “Yes,” I say.

  “Miss Kalashova, you have a visitor.” It’s the doorman.

  “Who?” I ask, hoping it’s Oliver.

  “Miss Ariel Shrike, ma’am.”

  Hmm. This must be very important if she can’t wait until tomorrow.

  “I’m afraid I’m just getting into the shower,” I say. “Can you ask her to come by another time?”

  But also very dangerous.

  “Yes, ma’am,” the doorman says. “Sorry to bother you.”

  I hang up the handset and go to the window to try to catch a glimpse of Ariel. She works two doors down with Oliver. But there is no way for me to get over there without being seen.

  I open the drawer that holds my sanctioned disposable phone and text.

  A few minutes later it rings. “Yes?” I ask.

  “Meet with her.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three - OLIVER

  Some time later—hours, probably—I hear footsteps on the stairs. And when I look up from my work they are all there.

  Perfect, Romantic, Corporate, and Mysterious.

  “What’s up?” I ask, looking back at my computer. There were two servers down this morning but they went back up without any interference from me. So I’ve been half-heartedly working on another delete file, while doing my best to come up with a plausible story to tell the Misters—because let’s face it, the one I told was pretty bad. And also compulsively checking Katya’s Hook-Me-Up profile for another video.

  No luck, as usual.

  “I think you know what’s up,” Nolan says.

  “No, Nolan,” I say, exiting out of the admin page of Hook-Me-Up. “I really don’t.”

  Mac comes and takes a seat in one of the chairs in front of my desk. West takes the other one. Nolan stands behind them and Pax goes to the window, looking down on the city below like the suspicious motherfucker he is.

  He steps back, untucks the curtains out of their holdbacks, and then pulls them across the window, the metal rings clanking across the rod.

  “How the fuck can you do business without a door?” Pax asks, nodding towards the stairs.

  “I don’t usually need so much privacy up here.”

  “Well, you’re gonna need it today,” Nolan says. “We should probably go somewhere else.”

  I stand up and shrug. “Follow me then.” I couldn’t have asked for a better invitation to explain more of what’s happening here.

  I walk over to a door on the other side of the stairs, open it to reveal another door, then dial the combination.

  “What is this?” Pax asks, knocking on the metal door with his knuckles.

  “SCIF,” I say, like this is normal.

  “Nice,” Pax says. “How come I didn’t know you had a SCIF room?”

  “Need-to-know basis, my friend.” I look over my shoulder at him and smile. “You never needed to know.”

  I open the second door and lead them down a flight of stairs. When we get to the bottom I dial the combination to the third door, open it, and let everyone pass me by as they enter the dark room.

  I turn on the lights, jog back up the stairs, close the first door, lock the second door, then hop back down the stairs and lock the third door.

  “I think you’re being dramatic,” Nolan says.

  “You would. But you’re the dumbass who had a SCIF room in his resort basement and didn’t know it.”

  “Do I need to know what a SCIF room is?” Mac asks, leaning against a wall.

  “Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility,” I say.

  “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’v
e 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.”