“What the fuck is wrong with us? Is it impossible for us to fuck more responsibly? First Nate, now you. Do our dicks need warning labels like spicy food?” All of sudden habitual thrill over the idea of food lights up his eyes. “Caution: May cause you to become addicted after just one fuck.”
This is the same moron people will travel across the fucking country for, just to have him create them a fucking sandwich? I swear, if I didn’t have the digital proof I’d call him a childish, vain idiot whose oversized ego needs a sedative.
“I didn’t technically fuck her.”
He turns slightly. “You just finger banged her?”
“Right.”
“But she is technically your new nanny? Not just the pop in babysitter?”
I glower, but nod.
Wyatt poorly stifles his chuckle. “Was having her come a prerequisite for the job?”
My glare deepens from the patio chair I'm sitting in. “It wasn't like that.”
“Is that why you have so much trouble keeping nannies? Because you keep fucking them out of a job? Literally?”
He laughs again, but I shake my head in disgust. “I didn’t fuck her.”
“Fucking close enough, bro.”
Not close enough.
Not close at all.
Not close to anything I’ve ever done in the past.
Fooling around with the nanny isn’t even something I’ve ever considered. Fuck, I didn't really consider it last night, it just… happened. A natural response to being too close to her. Completely instinctual.
Completely out of line.
“Okay, okay,” he turns completely away from glazing the grilling chicken, “let's walk me through this shit storm from the beginning. Feel free to include the dirtiest of the dirty detail such as the volume to which she screamed your name.”
I swallow my increasing irritation.
“How do you know her again?”
“Back from The Row days. She used to watch Lynk for us.”
The Row was the nickname given to the house where we lived out most of our free time while at Clover Rose University. Those were the days when I behaved like my biggest worries were making sure my son knew he was taken care of and passing all my non-computer classes with more than just a C average. Those were the days we partied like Dons and ruled an entire college campus like royalty. Too bad I didn't pay more attention in history to realize sooner or later all empires like that fall. Glory must be given up. Popularity in any social situation has a price. Our reign may have ended when we left campus, but restrictions and regulations were rewritten because of our lingering ruins. Because we pushed limits, redefined rules, and broke boundaries as an entity. What began as basically four guys looking for fun and brotherhood led to us becoming legends and an unbreakable bond that runs deeper than blood ever could.
“She um...well she was actually the only reliable babysitter we ever had back then. We could always count on her. She never hesitated to come when we needed her.”
Meena loved Lynk, my son, like he was her own. I used to hate myself for thinking it, but it was true. There were days where she gave a shit about him more than his own mother.
“So, what happened?” Wyatt questions picking up his beer. “You get the urge to sleep with her back then and decided it would be smarter to fire her instead?”
Fuck, I wish that were the case. I wish that was the reason she disappeared from our lives. I would take that over the truth any day. It would be much simpler. I’d also probably have a degree framed on the wall instead of prison clock with years slowly digressing on it.
I give the collar of my black t-shirt a tug. “Once I got kicked out, there wasn't really a point in having her around anymore. I was home. I…worked from home. Beth and I were...going through shit. Few months later, you all graduated and we all moved back to Highland. We just uh…never kept in contact. Didn’t really see a point.”
More like didn’t want to loathe myself for everything I abandoned to save her.
Everything I sacrificed to do the right thing.
To prevent her from becoming a victim.
To keep the biggest secret of my life, one not even my bros have all the details of.
“Anyway, I ran into her at Lynk's soccer game yesterday, her nephew was playing on the opposing team. Turns out she just got back into the country and was looking for a job. We got to talking and before I even fucking realized it, I was inviting her over. Next thing you know…I just…offered her a job.”
Wyatt has another sip from the glass bottle of beer. “Is she even qualified?”
“Beyond,” I sigh, slouching down in my seat. “That's what makes what happened even worse. For once, I hired a solid woman to be their nanny. One with longevity potential. We're not talking about some little girl fresh out of high school with responsibility issues as big as her daddy ones. No, we're talking about a woman with a degree in early childhood education who has worked in numerous capacities with children of various ages and backgrounds. She has constant continuing education hours she accrues. She's CPR certified. She's bilingual-”
“Meaning she can call you daddy in English and Spanish.”
I grump, “That daddy thing isn't sexy when you've got a four-year-old daughter.”
Or hunt down pedophiles for a living.
Or men who purchase underage women specifically to be called that.
Wyatt finally frowns. “You just had to ruin that for me.”
“Yes.”
After a good roll of his eyes, he states, “Look, you fucked up. It happens. A onetime finger bang isn't the end of the world. You're being a fucking drama queen. Just....make sure she knows it won't happen again. Problem. Solved.”
He's right, which are two words I will never say to him out loud. But, in this case he actually is. If we never cross that bridge again, we'll be fine. While I can't explain what happened last night or why my brain can’t logically break down why Meena always ignites this primal urge to protect her, I can actively make sure it never happens again. Life is nothing more than a long binary code. 1s and 0s. True or false. Constant yeses and nos. Rights and wrongs. I know the difference.
I know when to go which way.
I won't fuck up again.
All of a sudden, Meena appears in the back porch doorway. She tosses her long, dark curly hair to one side of her face and pins me in place with her wild, brown stare. Helplessly, my eyes drink in the white tank top clinging to her chest before scrolling lower to the tiny red work out shorts stuck to her thighs. Images of tearing a hole in the crotch and yanking her onto my lap to fuck her the way my fingers did yesterday causes my cock to stiffen.
As nonchalantly as possible I relocate my ice-cold beer to cover my lap. Unfortunately, it's too late. She's already taken notice or at least that's my assumption by the way her bottom lip is now concealing what I hope is a whimper.
Not hope.
Can’t hope.
All sexual Meena responses need to be an automatic zero.
Wyatt plasters on a grin I know too well. A grin that up until this moment I never hated. The number of women who have fallen for his obnoxious good looks and charm is too high. He used to be the kind of asshole in college women would consider themselves privileged to have a spot on his endless list. Can't say it's any better now. He's a world-renowned chef that looks like an A-list Hollywood celebrity. He doesn't hear the word no very often.
This better be one of those times.
He better hit the zero without vacillation.
Fuck.
I can't think like that. I have no business to. She doesn't belong to me. She's here to do a job, and it isn't the one I keep thinking about that requires her on her knees.
“You must be Meena.” He extends his hand. “I'm-”
“Wyatt.” She shakes and sweetly smiles. “I remember you.”
“And it is a shame I don't remember you.”
His flirtation grinds my teeth.
“Face and body like that...” he continues, moving a little closer. “How could I forget?”
Meena offers him a wicked smirk. “Porque no estaba buscando tomar un número.”
To my surprise he chuckles and gives his chin a rub. “O tal vez simplemente no querías el mío.”
Are they fucking flirting? In front of me? Fuck, I hate the fact I didn't pay more attention when he tried to teach us the shit he learned while he was traveling.
Meena's eyes steal a glance of me. “Tal vez.”
I swallow the urge to growl my annoyance on having no idea what they're discussing. “Did you just get in?”
She nods and allows her attention to drift back to me.
Where it belongs.
Wait.
No.
“Key works? No problems?”
“Not with getting that door opened.” Meena’s smile becomes sexually taunting as she gives my crotch a glimpse. “We’ll see about the others.”
My mouth cracks slightly open in shock.
In awe.
In temptation to press fucking one.
Seeing my response, brings more cheer to her expression. “I was going to unpack, but Lynk was wondering if we could come outside to kick the soccer ball around while we wait for dinner to be ready. Sage says she just wants to look for rolly pollies.”
My mouth opens to reply when Wyatt interrupts. “Oh, you're having dinner with us tonight?”
Meena wets her plump lips slowly. “Si. Is that a problem?”
His gaze begins to travel down her body and my grip on the bottle aggressively tightens. “Absolutely not.”
No, but him thinking about her naked sure the hell is.
“It's fine,” I interject, shooting to my feet. “Just make sure they put on their tennis shoes, please.”
“Sure thing.” She spins on her heels and shuts the door behind her.
Instantly, I snip in a quiet voice, “You cannot fuck her, Wyatt.”
A very loud laugh erupts from him. It continues for what feels like hours before he finally catches his breath and shakes his head. “I've got no desire to have her call me papi, bro.”
My head tilts at him sarcastically.
“Don't get me wrong. That,” he motions his head the direction of the door, “that's a hot piece of ass I would consider going after under normal circumstances, but these are not normal. And this fucked up reaction you had to harmless flirting, was to prove a point.”
“Which was?”
“You want her to be more than your nanny. Even if you refuse to admit it out loud.”
What I want and what is going to happen don't have to be the same thing. Ever since I got kicked out of Clover Rose they rarely are.
Ever since I stopped my world for her once before, I avoid allowing them to be.
The door swings open again, this time freeing Lynk, my nine, almost ten, year old son, and Sage, my four-year-old daughter, to the backyard. They barely acknowledge us as they part their separate ways, which stings more than I want to admit. The more they grow, the less their every moment is required to have my attention. The more they grow, the more I fear they won't need me. Won't want me. It was hard enough their mother grew to that point. I'm not sure I can handle it if they do too.
Meena struts out into the open grass area with the soccer ball tucked underneath her arm.
With my eyes held hostage, I watch her drop the object, and give it a hard kick to Lynk. The one swift action regains all of my dick's attention. Between the way her tits bounce and full ass shakes, even a fucking priest would consider tapping that.
Fuck, my cock wants to just rest on the 1 key.
“Are those…butterfly tattoos creeping up the back of her thighs?”
A snarl slips from between my gritted teeth.
Wyatt chuckles mockingly in my ear at the same time he drops an arm around my shoulder. “Estás jodido.”
My voice comes out strained, “What does that mean?”
“You're fucked, bro.”
Completely.
I lean back in my leather office chair, eyes staring absentmindedly at the black screen waiting to be turned on. Waiting to toss me into the pits of perversion my life revolves around. I know I’m doing the right thing. I know chasing down these sick sons of bitches is better than being some boring IT asshole, or manager of some IT team, but sometimes I wish it was a choice. Not a sentence.
There’s a light tap on the open door, and I swivel to face the visitor.
Meena’s face lights up like a computer fresh from sleep mode at the sight behind me. Her jaw cracks open and all I want to do is fill the space. Doesn’t matter if it’s with my tongue or dick. All I want is to have her constantly consumed by me.
With me.
The runaway train of thoughts has me adjusting in my chair. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” she quietly replies, inviting herself in, eyes still observing the setting.
Her immodest entrance into the room along with the free roaming her attention is conducting creates an unexpected response.
It’s like watching someone crack open their tower and be surprised at the number of parts that make their computer function.
Her eyes gradually roam around the downstairs den I converted into my work area. The room itself doesn’t possess anything more than the basic necessities to get my job done. There’s one long desk built into the wall, monitors on it and above, protected towers, and two chairs in case I have unwanted company in the form of my handler. I left the walls a pale gray and stained the cement to match. There’s a pad on the wall to help me keep track of the years I have left to shave off. It feels like a prison cell because it is one. There’s an old fashion lock you have to have a key for, but also a digital keypad I change the code for on an unpredictable rotation that you have to use immediately afterward. Past that point, there are motion sensors in the room that require my voice activation and my security phrase to prevent everything on the hard drives from self-destructing. I don’t worry about what dirt I may or may not lose by having that happen. Every respectable hacker knows you never keep your leverage all in one place.
I clear my throat. “You um…You have everything you need?”
“Si.”
“Did you check?”
“Si.”
“Towels? Were they the right style? Right size and color?”
Meena merely hums her answer.
“What about your toothpaste? Do you mind the mint or do I need to grab another brand?”
The question doesn’t seem to warrant any response.
Her alluring, brown stare lands on me and my heart threatens to punch itself out of my chest.
I ignored these feelings for years when we were closer.
I sure as shit should be able to ignore them now.
Meena playfully asks, “So, this is where the magic happens?”
“I thought that was the bedroom.”
My thoughtless bawdy response is well received. “Pretty sure it’s wherever your fingers are, mi corazón…”
A grin begrudgingly crawls onto my face.
Zero. I have got to keep hitting fucking zero.
Meena flops down into the empty chair, which isn’t for guests. It’s for the FBI agent sent to retrieve me or the information I have. This room isn’t for entertaining. It isn’t for visitors. It isn’t for her yet I can’t seem to form the words to instruct her to leave. I’ve never had this problem before. I never hesitated to kick Beth out, but then again, she rarely ever crossed the threshold. She respected what I did but loathed the reason I had to. Still have to. She never understood why I risked what I did.
She never risked anything for anyone other than herself.
Our children included.
The beautiful new distraction I don’t need in my life asks, “Think you can do a favor for me?”
“Working for me less than a day and already asking for favors? Not giving me good vibes.”
Like before, she takes the teasing happily. Plasters on a smirk. Lets her brown eyes sparkle. “I can give you great ones if you let me….”
1…
0.
I helplessly smile despite the fact I wanna do so much more.
She’s so fucking different than the woman I married. Beth smiled and I knew without a doubt despite the ugliness I had come across in the world, there was hope. An undeniable, universal belief that goodness still exists even if sometimes we just have to look a little deeper. It didn’t matter if her smile was usually a giant lie. It still instilled a false feeling I loved buying into. But when Meena smiles, there’s this indescribable invisibility that pumps through my veins I don’t understand. It makes me feel bulletproof.
Unbreakable.
Appreciate the strengths I actually possess and the real difference I have and can make.
“What do you need?”
Casually, she pulls a small white business card from her bra.
I swallow the urge to moan at the tiny bounce of her tits.
“My baby sister, Mia, wants to be a model,” she begins with defeat already in her tone.
I don’t admit that I’ve already done my research, that I’ve already seen the pictures she wants the world to see and the ones she doesn’t think anyone other than some college freshman she was into earlier this year will. If she were older, I could see the appeal. She looks likes the woman who happens to be slowing down my processing system.
“This man, she randomly met at the mall while shopping with friends, gave her his card, claiming he runs a talent agency. My father is refusing to even entertain the idea, but Mia is refusing to let this go.”
Hearing her confide in me her family issues shifts something inside of me.
Only my bros are usually this open and even then, I usually have to drag the shit they wanna discuss out of them by admitting I already know what they’re trying to hide. It’s why they hate me as much as they love me. I constantly know more about their lives than they do. Everything I discover is calculated, sorted and stored. There are no surprises for me. Why would there be? Having all the information I want literally at my fingertips benefits everyone and keeps me productive.
Keeps me useful in their lives.
After all what purpose does an out of date program serve?
“I already looked up the website online. It looks legit, but I’m not an idiot. I know anyone can have a website just like anyone can get business cards printed.” She offers me an innocent look at the same time she hands me the card. “Mind checking out this guy for me when you have time?”
“Yeah, I can do that now.”
“Really, Holden. It can wait.”
“It can’t.”
“It can. Whenever-”
“Now is good,” I insist and swivel back towards my computer.
As it loads, I twirl the card between my fingers, unfortunately already aware he’s most likely a scammer or something worse. Far worse. This is just one of the many games monsters like to play, but luckily for her, I play it better.
Much fucking better.
Part of me wishes she truly knew how much…
No.
0.
Just after typing in the set of passcodes to gain access to my device, Meena asks, “So, what is it you exactly do for the FBI again?”
“I consult as part of my work release program.”
“Work release?”
My nod is not enough for her.
“What do you mean work release?”
Reluctantly, I reply, “I was arrested for grand larceny my senior year in college, but due to the level of talent I possess, I was given the choice to rot in a cell with limited visitation to my wife and son, or become a member of a special task force to hunt down those involved or participating in illegal activities such as the auctioning off of underage women and children online.”
There are a few crucial details missing from the story, but those are enough.
Those have to be enough.
“Grand larceny? Isn’t that like theft?”
I begin scanning the windows on the screen that are popped open and separating them accordingly. “Much bigger scale.”
“What exactly did you do?”
“Does it matter?”
“Is it a secret?”
Considering it caused an entire campus to review policies and procedures, I would have to say no.
“I hacked my way into Clover Rose.”
“You mean like off the wait list?”
“No, I mean I hacked into being a student. We’re talking the whole nine yards including hacking my way out of ever paying tuition.”
“Are you fucking serious?!”
The excitement and amusement in her tone strokes my ego in new ways. “Absolutely.”
“But don’t they have shit in place that should make that virtually impossible?”
I glance over at her with a triumphant smirk. “They do.”
Her eyes widen, which ignites that feeling of being untouchable inside of me all over again. The reality is I’m not. And those same brown eyes that are staring at me in awe are the same ones that got me this prison sentence, even if they’ll never have any idea about it.
Rather than admit out loud what I swore to myself I never would, what I made the government swear she’d never know, I turn back around, and state, “There’s virtually no digital trace of this man.”
Meena quickly questions, “And that’s a bad thing?”
“In this day and age? Typically, yes. His website, is shit. Those so-called model photos,” my fingers click the keys, “are of google searched images. The host information, like the email address and other shit you type in when you register, all fake, and if you follow that information just a little further down you hit essentially a dead end.”
Or in any other circumstances what I would just call a momentary stopping point.
“Meaning the guy is a fake?”
My body turns to face her. “He’s more than a fake. He’s definitely a predator.”
The very kind I spend countless hours hunting.
Disappointment falls on her face. “And you’re sure? Absolutely sure?”
I shake my head with growing vexation. “Why is it people constantly ask me that after they come to me for help? Like I’m making this shit up? Look at the fucking screens, Meena. Look at the lack of fucking presence. This man is pretending to be someone else to hide that who he really is, is someone he doesn’t want found. And finding out who people really are is what I do. I have built entire programs to aid me. The type of information it would take most people years or months to cultivate I can do in minutes. I know more about who you are from the digital print you leave behind than you could ever imagine.”
It should terrify her. Hell, it terrifies me. The little traces people leave behind and don’t think twice about are the scents I follow. The boundaries I cross. The dots I connect. Everything from innocent photos to phone calls to things more in depth like GPS and banking codes can be used. Are used. No matter how private you think you are, the truth is nothing is inaccessible any more if you know how to get to it.
Meena leans back in her chair and folds her hands into her lap. “Impress me.”
The childish antic should have me rolling my eyes or at the very least insisting she get over herself, but the bait is too easy not to take.
Too easy not to snatch.
Too easy not to hit 1.
“Give me a challenge.”
She wets her lips, reeling me further in. “What’s my favorite flavor of ice cream?”
I nod, turn back to the computer, and begin typing.
Within seconds, she commands, “Tell me what you’re doing.”
“You have eyes.”
“Explain it.”
Every hacker is different. To say or imply we all have one trail we follow would be perjury. Ripping apart someone’s online existence goes beyond a few clicks and changes of code. It goes beyond tearing down a firewall or working around a password. To me it’s like sex. There are times when it’s fast and rough, where my heart races so rapidly, I swear it’s going to come right out of my chest and explode on the screen. Those are the times the darkness I have spent years trying to conceal withers from my cracks and consumes everything in its wake. No one is safe. Not my daughter’s pre-school teacher who thinks no one will ever find out she’s having an affair with one of her student’s fathers. Not my son’s soccer coach who has a severe foot fetish. Not the pizza delivery boy who experimented with the quarterback at his high school. Those are times I fear for my own life. For my sanity. The discovery of what lies in the darkness is delicious and exhilarating. It’s like coming and then having the ability to go another round with no reprieve necessary. It’s like coming so hard your mind blacks out. There is nothing else. Just the euphoria of release. But then there are times like these, when it’s easy. Casual. Thoughtless. It’s a routine response. My body just naturally flows where my mind commands it. There’s no lasting trauma or further fuel to confirm my belief that the world is too damaged to ever be repaired. Just facts. Just figures. Just your routine orgasm. Nothing special. A relief is still had, but it barely alters your state.
Meena scoots her chair closer to me. “I’m waiting.”
My eyes dart her direction. “I’m hacking your life apart. Pun intended.”
The intrigue pumping in her eyes swells my cock.
Now is not the time….
Fuck.
It’ll never be the time…
“I’ve developed several programs to help make what it is I am trying to accomplish at any given time more efficient. The program to my left is known as Grayson. Basically, he’s given a keyword to search your online activity for mentioning of. Every social post, every email, every private message. Anytime the key word appears in one of those areas, he pulls it up, which is what is covering that screen as you can see.” I toss my head to the screen closest to her. “Over there is Drake. He’s given an image or set of images to look for. Anything it recognizes as ice cream in multiple formats. We’re talking cups of it, cones, gallons, in the background of grocery store selfies. Drake is essentially crossing image recognition through all photos you have posted online in any capacity.” Her eyes enlarge as my fingers resume typing. “Then you’ve got Wayne, he’s helping run through your personal computer, and Robin, who is trailing through your texts and really anything connected to your storage cloud.”
Meena remains silent, which isn’t surprising. Most people are too stunned to speak when they truly see their existence actually being violated.
I let out a hum while my attention oscillates between the three screens. “It appears from the initial searches, the answer to your question would be cookie dough.” With a quick click, I pull up seven photos, “That’s what you claim to be eating in these photos.” More clicks. “And according to these ten text messages and then,” I type again, “four emails, it would be the most logical guess.” My hands remove themselves from the keyboard with a winning smirk. “When you analyze the given data, it is the most consecutive flavor mentioned.”
To my surprise, what appears to be a victorious smile crosses her lips. “But it’s not my actual favorite.”
“From what I see-”
“Sometimes what you perceive isn’t always the whole picture,” she corrects moving her chair back. “That’s the thing about actual people, Holden. We’re more than just digital tracks. More than just files you can open with a click.” I prepare to argue when she drifts her thick thighs apart. “Then again, sometimes you can get exactly what you’re looking for with just one…touch.”
Against my better judgment, I steal a glance of the area.
One touch and I’ll know if she’s wearing panties.
One touch and I’ll know if watching me work made her wet.
One touch and I’ll know exactly how much she wants me.
Too bad those are answers I probably won’t find in a file.
Too bad I can’t hit 1…
All of a sudden, my phone begins to vibrate across the desk. I drag my attention from her to it and groan at my handler’s call.
Yeah. I’ve got my own fucking nanny.
“I need to take this,” I announce, reaching for it.
“I should probably crash anyway. Early morning tomorrow.”
Instead of answering my cell, I swivel in my chair to watch her exit, ass begging for me to follow. Just seconds before she crosses the threshold, I call out, “Wait.”
Meena turns and lifts her eyebrows into the air.
“If cookie dough isn’t your favorite ice cream, what is?”
“Butter pecan.”
“And I’m just supposed to believe you?”
“Si.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve never given you reason not to.”
“People lie Meena. All the time. It’s why using your digital traffic as a basis for my theory is relevant. What you frequently do is a habit. Habits define who we are.”
“We can definitely agree on that,” she says in a cryptic tone. “But, you want proof you won’t find online? You want an outside source from your click caving? Ask Wyatt.”
Unwarranted jealousy runs rapid like an unknown virus in my system. “What the fuck do you mean ask Wyatt? Why would he know?”
Another pleased grin appears on her face. “Because he asked.”
“Why?”
“Because we had a conversation.”
“Why?”
“Because he wants to know more about me.”
Instinctively, I glare.
“Is that a crime?”
Yes.
No.
Yes. Technically, in our circle it is. Going after what you know your best friend, someone you call a fucking brother, wants but can’t have is a crime. Lying to his face and telling him you don’t want the woman he does when you really do is a crime. It’s breaking trust we’ve spent years building. I don’t even like to entertain the idea Wyatt would just throw that away for a piece of pussy. Not with what he knows I’m capable of.
Not with what secrets I’ve helped him hide.
“Don’t worry,” Meena’s voice seductively comforts. “My body has no problem remembering who it belongs to even if there’s no digital trace to prove it.”
Her reference to my loss of control from last night should bring shame not satisfaction.
“Night, Holden…”
I turn away before she can spot the growing bulge in my jeans that proves my cock is equally at her mercy. The phone stops vibrating, but I know Agent Murphy isn’t going to stop after one try. Even if I’ve never given him a reason to suspect I would skip out on my sentence, my history, digital and otherwise, would imply something else. Hm. Meena may be right to a certain extent…but so am I.
My phone begins alerting me to his call and this time I promptly answer. “Reiss.”
“Why didn’t you answer before?”
“I answered now.”
“Go ahead. Get cheeky with me. Maybe I’ll mention that in my report to Brewster in the morning, which is actually why I’m calling. There’s a briefing in the morning she is expecting you to be a part of. Apparently, your presence is crucial.”
A displeased grumble leaps out of me. “I hate those meetings.”
“No one cares.” Murphy’s callousness is expected.
They don’t. The only thing that they care about is the number of walking nightmares I bring to them. Each with their own price tag. Some shave off days. Some shave of months. All prevent me from ending up behind bars. They take my place. Rightfully so. What I did to get in this position didn’t harm anyone besides the greedy university hell bent on contributing to the growth of debt in this fucking country. What I did exposed their flawed system. What I did… well it saved the very woman headed to sleep in the room next door.
“Ten hundred.” The call ends and I toss the device to the side.
Rarely does anything good come from these unexpected meetings with Special Agent Paige Brewster. She’s been on a Holden Reiss hostile takedown since she was brought in earlier this year. Her mission? Get me back behind bars where all criminals belong. My mission? Stay on her good side so I can raise my fucking kids like they deserve. Thankfully, she prefers putting away pedophiles as opposed to cooperating convicts. Her recent transfer to this task force has caused Murphy to tighten my leash. Before, I was allowed a couple moments of personal time. An afternoon off to take my kids to the zoo. A Friday night to drink a little less responsibly. A weekend away to celebrate my bros’ birthdays in peace. I had a few liberties and luxuries. Now? I can’t shit without my cell phone in reaching distance.
While proving to Meena what I am capable of was entertaining, the rest of the evening is not. The so-called chatter I am supposed to be following leads to nothing but goldfish in a tiny bowl. Men with lives so textbook transparent the possession of kiddie porn charges will probably give them a stroke. These are the type that look and assume they’re doing nothing wrong. That no one is ‘hurt’. Like the children aren’t real. As much as they disgust me, they aren’t what I’m looking for. There are lower branches and individuals to reel them in and put them away. I’m looking for blowfish, the ones who swell when they’re cornered and their actions can become deadly. They’re the ones I can trail to bigger operations. They’re the ones I find relief in ripping to shreds what they consider iron clad covers.
Around one a.m., just after finishing my routine trail around the areas of the dark web I lurk, I decide to call it a night. As I prepare to shut The Beast down, the business card Meena handed me earlier calls my attention. The small paper rectangle slides between my fingers again and I glare at the name.
Allen Hoover
I could dive into this.
I could spend a little more time poking around.
I could exert a bit more energy into seeing just what type of monster is sniffing around her baby sister.
My body slumps down into the chair and I tap the card against the desk.
No. What I did was enough. I proved her parents were right. It seemed to be enough for her, I need to let it be enough for me.
I cut the wall we share a glance. On this side, there’s nothing more than a trashcan against it, but on hers? It’s the headboard. It’s where she’s sleeping.
Dreaming.
Temptation to peak in on the sight begins to flow towards the front of my mind. Curiosity wastes no time becoming a curse as I wonder if she sleeps in a t-shirt or just panties. Maybe she sleeps naked. The image of her caramel skin sprawled out in the freshly changed white sheets swells my dick.
I can’t go in there.
I can’t.
I shouldn’t.
Desire to hear her moan again grabs me unforgivingly by the throat.
What if I never set foot in the room? What if this time I just use clicks instead of touches?
Logic loses to the battle of longing and my skills expose to me the darkness of her room from the view of her cellphone’s camera. From the shitty angle, I suspect it’s on her nightstand and the faint sound of the television laughter informs me she has a fondness for sitcoms.
My disappointment is deserved. There’s no fucking reason I should be rewarded for invading the small amount of privacy she is expecting to maintain. That she is entitled.
What the fuck is wrong with me? Why can’t I just let her go? Why can’t I just turn off the part of my brain that craves her chaos? Why can’t I steadily hit the fucking 0.
I did it before.
I should be able to do it again.
I prepare to cut the connection when suddenly there’s a faint noise I swear I recognize. A fucked up combination of hope and desperation have my fingers pounding at the keyboard, enhancing and cleaning up the sound until it’s crisply revealed.
“Holden…” Meena whimpers with a heavy breath.
“Fuck me...” I mindlessly mumble in return while dropping my hand to my dick. It thumps against my touch begging for mercy, begging for a mere moment of opportunity to breathe outside the constraints of my jeans.
Absolutely not. It’s already fucked up I’m listening to her get off. I’m not going to make this situation worse by jerking off like an adolescent with a hot girl unknowingly stripping in front of his bedroom window from across the street. At least in that scenario I would be somewhat innocent. Not blatantly breaking the law to hear her come.
And I’m going to hear her fucking come….
“Harder,” she pleads, her panting increasing, but volume the same. “Si…Harder Holden.”
One hand tries to stifle the growl while the other applies more pressure to the appendage that’s now in pain.
“Please…”
Does she fucking know I’m listening?
Does she fucking suspect?
After all the tricks and truths I showed her, she’d have to be completely stupid not to. Which she isn’t. I wouldn’t have hired her if I thought she was.
Now or then.
The continuous chanting of my name bashes against rationale until I can no longer resist. In one swift execution, my jeans are parted and my cock is my grasp through the hole in my boxers.
My low groan greets the moan pouring out of the speaker system.
“Holden,” Meena cries out quietly as if somehow aware I’ve joined her in the pursuit of coming.
I don’t bother drawing out my actions with long strokes or over exaggerated pulls. I grip my cock tight and viciously begin jerking like I’m not sure if I should give it pleasure or punishment.
She moans once more and my eyes fall shut, mind envisioning her fingers nestled deeply in her pussy like mine were just yesterday. Envy builds at the base of my dick. It should be me between her legs. It should be me making her beg for more. Not thoughts of me.
The pumping becomes more ferocious as her panting seems to reach its pinnacle. There’s a sharp gasp followed promptly by a chorus of muffled cries. My name falling so rapidly from her lips rips an orgasm from me without remorse. I bite down harshly on my own lip and succumb to the high of the situation. Burning blast after blast blankets my furiously moving hand yet I don’t stop.
I won’t stop.
I can’t stop.
Meena’s mewls finally begin to subside, bringing me back to reality.
Back to the mistake.
Back to the trust I just shattered.
My untainted handed quickly closes down everything, but it doesn’t matter. It’s already too late. I’ve already made her an unknowing victim to my depravity. I’ve already fed the demon inside of me I keep chained up. First the car incident. Now this? How many more lines am I gonna cross? How many more risks am I gonna take? How many more times am I going to press 1 instead of 0? And why the fuck am I more excited by the pending perils than terrified?