101 Nights Box Set: Volume Two Page 4

  The elevator doors open, and I step from it into the well-lit penthouse below Elijah’s. I can smell food from the kitchen and silently thank Jamil, Elijah’s head of household, for leaving me dinner. I punch a few buttons on a keypad near the elevator to engage a state of the art alarm system I helped design and relax, aware I’ll be able to track her every move now that we’re safely in my territory.

  “Master suite is down that hall at the end.” I indicate the direction with a tilt of my head. “Shower, sleep, and we can talk later.” Turning away, I start towards the kitchen.

  “Wait,” she says.

  I face her.

  “Promise you won’t hack my laptops while I’m here.”

  “No,” I reply.

  She clutches the bag more tightly against her, glaring at me.

  Without another word, I leave her standing in the foyer and go to the kitchen for dinner.

  Chapter Three: Alisha

  There are showerheads everywhere in the luxurious stone and glass shower. Above, on either side of me, in the corners … as if to ensure every last bubble of soap is blasted away. It’s heavenly, and I stay too long, savoring the heat and pressure of water washing Tony’s funk from my body. George has some upscale brand of soaps and hair products, ones I’ve never heard of. They come in glass jars and smell of herbs, so I know they aren’t cheap.

  It doesn’t stop me from using them. If assassins don’t faze him, me borrowing his expensive shampoo won’t either. Just like I intend to borrow his computer to figure out how hard it’ll be to hack my way away from him and transfer money where I can reach it before I run.

  The towels are as luxurious as the bathroom, thicker than my comforter at home. I towel off and pause, realizing my hands still tremble. I’ve been avoiding any serious thoughts. Soon, I’ll be left with nothing but Tony’s computer and the knowledge that my time to stop his automated time lock from expiring is up.

  I already know I can’t hack it. I’ve spent the past few months trying to. Having his laptop gives me some leverage but won’t prevent what’s coming. My only hope: he doesn’t have any information about the secret bank accounts and crypto-currency stashes I have all over the internet. As long as I have money, I can run and survive.

  I’m not about to put on the clothes I wore to Tony’s, not until they’ve been washed. Restless with the dark thoughts settling into my mind, I leave the bathroom and rifle through the drawers of a dresser at the center of a walk-in closet, filled mainly with suits, a sitting area and fireplace and tons of mirrors. George’s closet is nicer than my apartment.

  I tug on a soft, thick t-shirt that falls to mid-thigh and a pair of boxers.

  “Even his underwear is nicer than my Sunday best,” I complain aloud. Irritated at George despite him saving my life, I pause in the middle of the master suite. “Now, where would someone like him keep his computer set up?”

  As close to him as possible, like I would. It’s clearly George’s room, and I look around. There are four doors leading out of the master suite, aside from the main entrance.

  “Bathroom, closet, balcony and …” Tilting my head, I go towards the fourth door and open it. I walk into a darkened space filled with the soft whir of computers and the glow of monitors everywhere. It’s about ten degrees cooler in here than it is in the rest of the condo, and there are no windows. It’s dark, cool, quiet - totally the kind of spot I’d want for my set up.

  If I could afford one like this. Massive, flat screen monitors hang on the walls while smaller ones span a full one hundred eighty degrees around the computer desk in the middle of the room. He’s got a bank of mini-servers on one shelf and top of the line everything. I sit at the desk, awed by the amount of hardware and mentally calculating the price.

  “Custom,” I murmur, trailing fingertips over a case and several other tools I have heard of but never used. “No wonder he beat me!” Pride swirls through me. If I had an endless supply of money to buy shit like this, I’d take out Tony in a snap of my fingers.

  Hope bubbles within me, and I stand quickly. It’s five forty. It’s insane to think I might be able to crack his computer before six, and equally insane not to try with George’s fancy toys.

  Leaving the computer room, I return to the bathroom, where I stashed my messenger bag beneath a sink, in case George got any ideas about grabbing it while I was bathing. I grab it and hurry back to the desk, only to see George in his seat. He’s bringing the various computers and other equipment online. Bluish light from a monitor outlines his wide shoulders and thick biceps. He’s wearing a t-shirt that stretches snugly across his upper body and clings to his lean, perfectly sculpted torso. One bicep is bandaged from our run-in at my apartment.

  For a minute, I forget what it is I need to do, too distracted by his body.

  “I see you found my set-up,” he says without turning.

  I blink out of my daze, gaze going to the clock. Five forty five. “I need to use your equipment.”

  “Forgive me if I don’t trust someone with your hacking skills with my computer.”

  “I am better than you,” I tell him, too concerned with the time to be gleeful about the fact. “It took all this to hack me, and all I had was a laptop and a tower.”

  “You’re not making your case for wanting to use my computer.”

  “Are you gonna move or not?” I ask anxiously, approaching.

  “Not.”

  I’m not an assassin, not carrying a gun, and he wants me alive. Therefore, I think right now, I can do whatever the hell I want, consequences be damned.

  “Okay then,” I say. I tug his rolling chair back from the desk far enough for me to slide between him and it then plop Tony’s laptop on top of his. “I have to do something before six.”

  George is quiet, which I take as a good sign. I’m not gonna look at him, though, just in case. My attention goes fully to Tony’s laptop as it powers up.

  “Can you move?” I ask again. “I’m sorta hunched over here.”

  “I’m not leaving you alone with my computer.”

  Rolling my eyes, I make myself at home by sitting in his lap, not caring how pissed he gets at me right now. “This is a custom memory forensics extractor, right?” I pick up one of the tools on his desk.

  There’s a pause then, “Yes.”

  I plug it into the USB of Tony’s computer and flip on George’s laptop.

  He jostles me to get more comfortable, and I shoot a glare over my shoulder at him. One of his hands goes to my thigh, the other on my back. I miss a beat and try to will away the heat building within me at the sensation of having George’s body touching mine, of his calming scent.

  I’ve got a much more important issue to deal with right now.

  “Whose laptop are you trying to crack?” he asks, leaning forward until his breath stirs the wispy hairs of my neck. His arms go around me to his laptop, and I freeze again, my shoulders fitting perfectly between his. His chest is hard and strong behind me, his warmth moving through thin t-shirt to my skin.

  It takes me a minute to register that he’s asked a question. “None of your business,” I reply.

  “My custom equipment works with my laptop only,” he responds. “So if you want my help cracking it, you might want to start answering questions.”

  Damn. It figures. He’s too smart. He turns on his laptop and positions it but doesn’t lean back, instead nearly resting his chin on my shoulder and wrapping one arm around me, as if I’m going to fall off his lap if he doesn’t.

  “Passcode,” I say curtly when his laptop is ready.

  He shows me his watch. “On the screen.”

  “That’s pretty damn cool,” I murmur, taking his wrist and tilting it to see better. A long, alphanumeric combination is in a small window on his watch. “I’ve heard of cyphers but not on a watch.”

  “Custom.”

  “Of course.” I’m a little too aware of his body. It’s making me edgy, just like the fact that he can buy the kind of s
hit I can’t to hack makes me mad. If I had his resources …

  I don’t even know how much insane shit I could do. I definitely wouldn’t be getting hunted down by the Russian mafia. I type in the code, and his laptop glows readily.

  “Whose is it?” he asks again. This time there’s an edge to his tone. “I’m humoring you, Alisha, but not for long.”

  “The guy who sent the assassins,” I answer. “I’m hoping to prevent any others from sending hit men after me.” And saving what little self-respect I can by deleting the videos.

  “Tony.”

  I pause. “How do you know that?”

  “His name is on the laptop, along with his passcode.”

  My face feels hot. Does George think I’m like, the worst hacker ever? Because I’m starting to feel that way. It shouldn’t matter, but I really want George to think I’m smart. At least, smarter than he is.

  “Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Okay. I guess we can do it the easy way.” I lower the top of Tony’s laptop and check the faint but present writing on a label that I’d never noticed before. After all, what kind of idiot writes his password on his computer?

  “He’s the source of your bruises, I presume.”

  I look down at my arms and legs. There’s a damn good reason I always wear long sleeves and cover my legs. In the t-shirt and boxers, my skin is exposed. Even in the dim light of computer monitors, I can see the marks, the evidence of Tony’s temper and deviant sexual appetite. I forget to look anymore, unwilling to acknowledge what I put myself through in order to lead a semi-normal life.

  “That’s none of your business, George,” I whisper.

  There’s a tense pause, before he releases me to reach his computer. “I need you to shift a little so I can help.”

  Help? It’s not a word I’m accustomed to. He doesn’t wait for me to move but maneuvers my body so that I’m sitting across his legs rather than in his lap. Able to reach his laptop, I watch his fingers fly over the keyboard for a few seconds before forcing my attention back to my task.

  I sneak a glance at him. His grey eyes glow silver in the light of the monitors. He’s impossible to read. I can’t tell if he’s quietly judging me, like everyone else in my life, or offering to help under the guise of laying another cyber trap, like I’d do to him. Or both.

  “You got into his laptop. What are you looking for?” he asks, his business-like tone putting me back at ease. His focus is on his screen.

  “He has an alarm system he has to reset every day at six or … well, there might be more issues.” Reluctant to admit to anyone how fucked up my life is, it’s somehow harder to tell George, who I’d like to think understands that I’m not the waste of space my family considers me. The only one who ever believed in me was Natalie, and George knows enough to respect my hacking skills.

  I can’t trust him anyway. George’s help is temporary and any insight I give him, he’ll undoubtedly use against me. It’s what we’ve been doing to one another for the past few weeks.

  Although another thought is gaining traction in my mind. He’s being very … cooperative. For him, anyways, given how our past meetings have gone. What does he need from me that makes him willing to protect me, take me in, and help me?

  How bad is it that he’d rather take on five assassins to save me than walk away and find another way?

  “George …” I start.

  “You’ve got five minutes to find this timer and reset it. Then we’ll talk,” he replies, already aware of my thoughts.

  “Right.” I shake my head and lean forward. “Five minutes isn’t enough for both –”

  “Long term and short term memory exploitation,” he finishes for me. “You take short. I’ll take long.”

  “Okay.”

  We both begin working, typing, searching, manipulating code in a way that only a hacker knows how. Understanding the zeros and ones - seeing the pictures and words they create instead of the numbers - comes easy to me. I can deftly switch between computer coding languages and identify discrepancies, mistakes, and anomalies at a glance. I’ve been told I think like a computer.

  I’m one of the best in the world. Unfortunately, that discipline and skill don’t translate to the rest of my life, which is basically a glorified dumpster fire. I also don’t have a billionaire funding me with snazzy equipment like George has. I shouldn’t, but I feel a little resentful that my lot in life is so much worse than an admitted murderer’s.

  “Two passcodes are needed to crack whatever this is hiding,” he says and swipes the window of code he’s got open from his screen onto my screen. “Biometrically locked.”

  “Shit.” I pause, mind whirling with the possibilities for circumventing something that would require Tony to be standing right here.

  “You can’t fix the passcode, but maybe you can –”

  “- reset the clock,” I murmur.

  “Exactly. Short term solution.”

  I pass the window back to his screen and then a second, this one with the computer’s activity log. “Pass me anything I need to see.”

  “Got it.”

  I focus back on the clock and resetting it manually by rewriting code. Adrenaline is racing through me at the idea that I might beat Tony’s stupid system after all. It’s enslaved me for months, and I begin to think I’m a total idiot for not just snatching his laptop and running with it after the first night.

  Then again, I need someone close to my skill level to help and equipment like this. There is no way I’d ever ask George for help, if I wasn’t sitting at his desk, and this is a two-person process.

  Together, George and I work seamlessly, passing windows back and forth, working in silence, somehow on the same sheet of music, even if we aren’t talking. He’s as good as I thought; it’s not the expensive, customized equipment alone his billionaire boss pays for that enabled him to hack into my system.

  “Done,” I say.

  “Ready?” he asks.

  “Yeah.” Five fifty nine.

  He punches a few more keys then sits back.

  I stare at the clock on Tony’s laptop, praying this works. It’s the second longest minute of my life after almost dying today.

  The clock turns to six o’clock – PM instead of AM.

  “It’ll stay on a twelve hour cycle,” George confirms. “Until he gets his laptop back.”

  I’m still, not quite believing I managed to temporarily disable my shackles. No more bruises, no more sick fucking, no more scrubbing my skin until I’m in tears.

  No more avoiding my reflection in the mirror in shame.

  The twelve-hour loop gives me an eternity to figure out how to crack the server with my secrets on it.

  “We did it,” I say, a smile spreading across my face. “Omigod, we fucking did it!” A squeal is building, one I doubt George will want to hear. I shift on his lap to face him, beaming. “You, George Henry Stuart-York, are a fucking genius!” Too giddy to stop myself, I take his cheeks and plant a quick kiss on his lips.

  The minute our lips touch, he tenses, and I lean back, startled by his reaction.

  We gaze at each other, and it hits me then that I’m sitting in the lap of my greatest hacking nemesis, the man who has been the bane of my existence for a few weeks. Our faces are inches a part, his grey eyes emotionless and riveted to my features. His heated strength is the same that murdered five assassins, his intensity unlike any I’ve experienced before. What possessed me to get this close without an escape plan … pure desperation. It’s the only reason I’d temporarily trust my enemy to help me.

  I know some of what he’s capable of without knowing what motivates him to act. It’s kind of … scary. Exhilarating. I’ve never felt threatened by him, despite this knowledge.

  “Sorry. Just got excited,” I mumble. “We cool? You aren’t about to snap and kill me, are you?”

  His eyes go to my lips. He says nothing but closes the distance between us. There’s a tiny voice in my head that tells me it’s a mistake to
provoke someone this strong, given my experience with Tony. There’s another one that wants too badly to know what George tastes like.

  His lips press to mine, warm and soft. I’m hesitant, and he’s patient, the pressure light and gentle, the opposite of how I think a man like him will kiss. When I realize it’s nothing like Tony’s unpleasant kisses, I grow a little braver, as interested as challenging George with a kiss as I am in cyber space. Warmth trickles through my body, stirring my blood and settling into the base of my stomach. Uncertain what to do with my hands, I clench them in my lap, afraid of doing something that might earn me a slap.

  George’s tongue flicks against my lips, and I open to him. He remains gentle enough that I grow bolder, assured he’s not about to flip on me and add to my collection of bruises. I savor him for the first time. He tastes like food: roast beef, something slightly sweet, and his faint flavor, as earthy as his scent. The combination makes me hungry for more than one reason.

  His hot tongue explores my mouth before he nibbles lightly on my lower lip and wraps his arms around me. He deepens the kiss, pulling me into his intensity and heat. I can taste his hunger, too. If I know anything about him, it’s that his reserved exterior is hiding more than a few secrets about who he is. His incredible body and quiet strength, mixed with his dry wit and intelligence, are compelling, intoxicating. He’s deliciously complicated and detached, an enigma I want to crack open and explore in every way possible.

  He also kills people. The fire of desire shoots through me and pools between my legs, and along with it, fear. He’s so much stronger than Tony, and I’m afraid of melting into his heat, only to find a fate worse than a night with Tony awaits me. Not that I see George like that, just that …

  … I’m too confused to know, too scared to take a chance with someone I already know can and has hurt others.

  I pull away from the kiss, embarrassed by how uneven my breathing is and the fact I’m already yielding in his arms, resting against his wide chest. It’s too easy to get comfortable with him, which seems even crazier when I think about what happened in my apartment this night.