Hack, page 4
“What else?” I asked.
“A place to live and a cover for a job.” Below the table, Majel213’s leg bounced, rubbing against mine. She was going all in. Respect.
Anton laughed. “Is that all? I don’t know what you think we do here, but running an employment agency isn’t on the list.” He turned to me. “What do you think?”
I’d weighed the position I’d take throughout her spiel. The end goal was more money and a bigger operation. She was a risk worth taking, and since Anton had trust issues—among many, many, others—I would no doubt be put in charge. Majel213 might have thought that she’d one-upped me by going directly to the boss, but she didn’t understand how it would play out in real time. However she had calculated that she needed me. That was why she had yet to sell me out as getting hacked.
“What’s the cut?” I leaned back and crossed my arms.
“Fifty-fifty.”
“Nope.” Anton popped the P. Negotiations were his favorite part of the game.
“Try again.” I licked my lips. I loved the taste of money.
Majel213’s eyes fell to my mouth and I must have been high at the idea of making bank because I was sure she’d swallowed hard as she tracked my movement. For the first time since I’d been in the diner, it occurred to me that she might just like what she saw. Holy Shit.
She shivered, straightened and said, “Fine. Seventy-five, twenty-five.”
“You’re heading in the right directions, Rainbow Brite.” Anton smirked.
“Eighty-twenty.” Her nostrils flared. Fuck. She was one of those girls who were hotter when they were pissed off. That was kryptonite for my Brazilian blood.
“I’ll think about it.” Anton stood and the minions at the end of the diner did the same. They’d been watching his every fucking move. “Wrap this up and meet me at our place in fifteen.”
I nodded and we waited for him to leave before I turned to her and scowled. “You are fucking lucky, little girl.”
“I want my phone back, asshole.”
God, her flushed cheeks were gorgeous.
I grinned. “That thing is long gone by now. A boy can never be too careful, so I’ve recently learned.”
She snarled then shook her head. “You really should be ashamed of yourself. I basically told you I hacked through messaging, then you direct messaged me.” She tapped her forehead with her index finger. “Hello.”
Okay, fine. That had been stupid. What could I say? I’d been excited.
“Me? What about you? You walked into one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in the city with…what? Hopes that your dog’s slobber would make a criminal slip and fall like a banana peel in a cartoon?”
She gasped. “Spock would protect me if push came to shove.”
I exaggerated my laugh to annoy her even more. I dropped my head into my hands then turned. “Spock? You have to be kidding.”
“It’s clever.” Majel213 smacked my shoulder. “Spot…Spock?”
The dog must have understood we were talking about him and he nuzzled between our thighs. I grabbed his huge head and scratched behind the ears. “I’m sorry, buddy. Your owner is one of those rare breeds—half genius, half idiot.”
“Fuck you.”
I licked my lips, all slow like, then clicked my tongue. “Is that what you been thinking about, baby girl?”
“Eww. Gross.”
“I’m a lot of things. Gross ain’t one of them.”
Majel213 stared out of the window then fluttered her lashes back to me. “I’ve heard of insta-love. But I gotta admit, insta-hate is brand new for me.”
“Uh, huh. Rii-ight. More like insta-lust. You’re still trying to understand how I’m not some fucking skinny geek like all the rest of your followers.” How I’d kept myself from saying ‘fan’ instead of ‘follower’ was a miracle. God bless my ego.
“Do you have to pay for friends? Is that why you need money?”
“I have plenty of friends. Oh my God.” A wicked grin spread on my face as a bell sounded in my head. “You don’t.” I dropped my head back and faked my laugh harder. “You’re lonely and you need a crew, so you decided to step all up in mine. That’s adorable…and fucking sad.”
“You need me, asshole.” Her disgusted look practically gave me a hard-on. I was fucked. History proved that I was immediately attracted to any girl who hated me. I’d never tried to figure out the reason. I’d always just gone with it because it made for hot sex.
“You keep calling me ‘asshole’. It makes me think you like it in the back door, like some kind of code or Freudian slip.”
Her eyes widened. “You are the most disgusting human I’ve ever met.”
I shrugged. “I’m a criminal, baby girl. So are you, by the way. Our ability to decipher right and wrong is fucked up.” I winked and she frowned like she’d eaten a shit sandwich. As I stood, I said, “I’ll be in touch.”
I was pretty sure she flipped me off with both hands as I walked out of the door. And while I jaywalked over to the courtyard, I knew I would do whatever it took to convince Anton to take her up on her offer.
Fucking with Majel213 while I made money? I had a new lease on life.
Chapter Four
Marigold
I helped Spock step out of his bag as the train whooshed past and sent a gust of polluted wind up my T-shirt. Once free, we exited the station and climbed the grimy steps.
There was nothing to like about Rafael Santos. Dick fucking squat. He defined the word ‘cocky’ and while some girls might fall for a prick like that, I would not be one of them. Nope. I was pretty sure I loathed every fiber of his being, right down to those beautiful hazel eyes that had tiny specks flickering with mystery and sin.
Okay, fine. He was hot. Anton’s crew looked like they spent as much time in the gym as they did breaking the law. But that didn’t mean I actually liked him. He was crude and gross. Hell, he’d probably been one of the assholes who’d sent me dick pics early on. Foul fucks.
And he was way, way off base to think that I had any sort of real attraction to him. Yeah, fine. I’d expected a typical computer nerd to show up and not a muscle-head model. He’d been right about that. He’d also nailed the whole ‘I’m a criminal’ bit—and didn’t have friends. God, that overly confident asshat had been on point with almost everything he’d said. Maybe street smarts counted for more than I’d given it credit for.
Spock and I headed down my tree-lined block. He stopped to sniff his favorite hydrant and lifted a leg. It wasn’t that I didn’t like my home in Bay Ridge. It was the desire to experience something else, along with my deviant ways that I could no longer keep secret in the basement. I had goals. Building my online reputation as one of the top malware providers was just that.
And I couldn’t look my father in the face anymore while I was doing it. Rafael had been right about something deeper. My moral compass had gone wonky somewhere along the way. I didn’t just want to make money. I liked the chaos I caused and the panic that ensued once I’d gotten a victim where I wanted them.
It was perverse, wrong and thrilling. And sitting alone and having no one to chat about it with was borderline depressing. So while I was pretty sure I’d get the call—or message, since those Neanderthals had stolen my phone—to say that we would move forward, I was still nervous that they wouldn’t.
And to be honest, pretty damn proud of myself that I’d gotten out unscathed.
I unclipped Spock’s leash from his collar and unlocked the front door. He barreled between my legs, eager to see if my mom had left any scraps for him in his bowl. The clanking of metal on the tile floor proved his instincts correct.
My parents sat in the study, both reading in their chairs. My dad’s feet were propped up on the end of the recliner and his slippers dangled from his toes.
“What didya do in the city?” he asked as he stuck a bookmark in between pages and closed his book. Part of me wondered if my mother had told him to ask me.
“I met up with my friend Rafael. He might have a job for me.”
That got my mom’s attention and curious eyes.
“Huh,” she said, with her specific and tiring air of judgment. “If it doesn’t work out, I saw a sign in the window at PBJ’s. They’re hiring.”
PBJ’s stood for Plant Based Jim’s. It was a clothing store for vegans. I referred to it as Plant Based Junk, because Jim’s idea of style was sad and depressing. Once I’d seen an actual potato sack for a dress for fifty bucks. I was working on the evolving thesis that Jim had smoked too many plants over the years. My mom suggesting that I’d like to work there was further proof that my parents did not understand me.
“Oh, I dropped my phone down a gutter. So if you tried to call and I didn’t answer, that was why.”
“What?” My dad sat up. “That doesn’t sound like you.”
No. No it didn’t. But me throwing my parents under the bus for a mistake was something they could relate to. “I was fumbling with the newspaper to pick up Spock’s poop.” Plastic bags had long been outlawed in our house. They would be happier I’d used paper than upset I’d lost a phone. It made no sense, but so it was.
“Maybe you don’t need to get a new one.” My mom’s eyes lit up. “I barely use that old one I have. You can have it.”
That would be depressing. I shuddered at the thought of one of my followers seeing me with a flip-top portable.
“I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”
My dad smiled and I was sure both sets of eyes followed me to the door leading to the basement. Spock stayed with them—he liked being spoiled with tummy rubs and fruit—and I closed the door behind me. On the wall, I flipped on the light and headed down to my desk in the corner.
I probably should have done some research before going to Covington, but I’d found out more there than I would have online anyway. A quick search didn’t show any rap sheet for Anton. That made no sense. Someone must have buried it deep in the police basement. The juvenile record was trickier to get, but not impossible, once I’d found his social security number. Robbery, assault and possession of a controlled substance at the age of twelve. He’d been busy.
Next up was fuck-face Rafael, and his story was a little less typical. He’d gone to a private Catholic school until he’d gotten arrested. After serving several months for attempted extortion, his address had officially changed to Covington Heights.
What had the other thing been that Jessie had mentioned? I zoomed out of the map of Covington and was reminded. Bradford Towers.
I hacked into the police database and searched for mentions in the previous six months. When the word ‘homicide’ popped onto my screen, I gulped. Yeah, okay. Anton and Rafael were an entirely different breed of criminal than I was. I was officially in over my head.
I lugged up the stairs, unsure of what I’d gotten myself into and half-hoping I’d never hear from them again. But the other half? The evil twin inside me? She had her bags packed and was already decorating a make-believe apartment on the other side of the river. She rubbed her hands together in greed and delight at the idea of a more criminal future.
“Night,” I called to my parents and went up to my bedroom. Under my pink fuzzy blanket, I wondered how I’d managed to put my destiny in the hands of a hottie wanna-be hacker and his boss.
* * * *
The next morning, my dad had already gone to work, and my mom had left a bowl of her granola on the table for me with a note to say that Spock had been fed and walked. Bowl in hand, I descended to my workspace, Spock following me. He hopped up onto the tattered couch opposite my computer screens and I logged on to social media as Nate to give a few updates about his sick cat. Then I read through old posts from Caroline Claussen to try to figure out how her cat had died three years prior.
I was in the middle of reading her recipe for fried chicken—the woman used frosted cereal and I may have been drooling—when my messenger dinged.
GoldieLocks: You dream about me?
Majel213: There’s another word for that. It’s a nightmare.
GoldieLocks: Both usually result in screaming. Good point.
Majel213: Or maniacal laughter.
GoldieLocks: Are you self-projecting again?
How had he become more pompous than he’d been the day before? Gross. GoldieLocks was fucking gross and arrogant and…the key to my future.
Majel213: Are you sure it’s not you? You probably jacked off to feeling me up all night.
GoldieLocks: The only thing true in that statement is the part of it where I last all night.
Majel213: Your wrist must me sore then. Get to the point.
GoldieLocks: Email a list of what you need to Rafa@CriminalsRUs.com
Majel213: Really? That’s your fucking email? Why aren’t you still in jail?
GoldieLocks: Awww… Rainbow Brite finally did her homework. I’m flattered. And no, that’s not my email. Get your ass over here before A changes his mind. And your split is the same as the rest of us. 90-10.
My heart rate sped up. I’d been hired. I had a place to call my own and a built-in crew of accomplices. The split sucked, but it was a way out. Besides, it wouldn’t be forever. Bye-bye, lonely basement. I clapped my hands and woke up Spock, who thought it was meant for him.
I popped up from my chair and powered down all my computers. I skipped up the stairs and a curious Spock trailed behind. In the shower, I shaved my legs and bubbled up in my favorite soap twice. With my hair dry and styled, I applied my mom-illegal makeup nice and thick.
My outfit was intentional—a tight black shirt with short black shorts, black tights and my boots. I could kinda fit the part. I decided to leave Spock at home. I wasn’t sure how long I would be gone and my parents might think it was suspicious that I took him with me to my ‘new job’.
I grabbed a coffee from the deli on my way down to the train and sipped it all the way to Covington Heights. It was weird not having a phone to hide behind, and the lack of security brought everyone else’s screen addiction into a giant exclamation point of anti-social behavior. How odd that the bulk of their social interactions happened through a filter. Then again, I was no better. In fact, my failed attempts at friendship were what had driven me to be a hacker. I hated norms, nice girls who were actually mean as fuck and rules.
A tweaked-out hippie. Maybe I wasn’t so far off from my parents after all. I was just born in a different era. They solved their problems by living a clean life and I solved mine by giving society a general ‘fuck you’.
The wind whipped between the tall buildings surrounding Covington Heights. A storm was moving in from the ocean. I could smell the salt in the otherwise-exhaust-ridden air.
I crossed the street and entered the cement-cracked courtyard. A group of black-jean-clad men huddled around a bench. In the park, a rusty swing rocked by itself in the wind, creating a high-pitched squeak that swirled with children’s laughter and made for an eerie soundtrack. The sea of criminals parted and a huge black dude sat, legs wide, on the bench. My throat tightened as if someone had a hold of it, and heat spread like wildfire over my body.
“Hi. I’m looking for Rafael.” Oh, for fuck’s sake. My voice had cracked and I had no idea where to put my hands. Crossing my arms or fiddling with my fingers didn’t seem right. The reality of my surroundings hit me hard, like it had the day before in the booth, but to my surprise, again, I found my stability. I shoved my hands in my back pockets and rocked on my heels.
Come on, confidence. You must be somewhere.
“You’re looking for Rafa?” The black dude chuckled. Whatever was funny had gone over my head. But it struck me again that Anton, Rafael and the guy in front of me… They were all dangerously handsome…and built like brick houses. Damn.
I set my shoulders. “Is he here?”
“You.” The guy snapped his fingers in the face of a younger member. The kid blinked a few times then stood straighter. “Walk her up to the boss’s place. And don’t talk to her.”
I wasn’t sure why the minion couldn’t speak to me. Maybe it was just a test. A ‘thank you’ brewed in the back of my mouth, but I remembered that I wasn’t in polite society. I nodded instead and followed the kid. His black jeans were baggy, and his arms were noticeably skinnier than the rest of the guys.
Inside the center building, the lobby was in a sad state. Banged-up metal mailboxes lined one wall and an old elevator creaked after Skinny Boy called it. Inside, he pressed the round button for three and it lit up with a dull glow.
When the doors closed in front of us, I wondered if I was a spider or if I was the fly in its web.
After two dings, we arrived. The third floor was nothing like the lobby. In fact, it was the opposite. The sealed concrete floor shined below my black boots and dark wood doors lined the hallway. The kid walked me all the way down the hall to the left and knocked three times on the last door.
After thirty seconds, no one had answered and my palms had started to sweat. What if it was just payback for me trying to take advantage of him? What if Silent Teenage Bob understood that ‘don’t talk to her’ was code for ‘throw the bitch in a dumpster’?
He knocked again, louder. Muffled stumbling came from the other side of the door and it eventually flew open. When it did, my escort scurried away and left me alone with Rafael.
There was a joke somewhere about the fact that he was foaming at the mouth. But it was stifled by my eyes, which may have been bugging out. GoldieLocks was shirtless and his hairless ripped chest taunted me like my favorite bag of sour gummi bears.
Somehow—I really didn’t know how—I managed not to reach out and touch the ripples in his stomach or reach for a coin in my pocket and see if it would bounce off his fucking pectorals. Jesus. His tattoos were colorful and vibrant. A Brazilian flag was over his heart. Aww, he was sentimental…but still an asshole.
Rafael opened to door wider and motioned for me to enter. Once I managed to yank my eyes off his bare torso and thank Jesus that he at least had jeans on, the state-of-the-art everything dazzled around me.
