Page 58 of Pretty Savage: Defy

He looks around, taking in the blank monitors, the lantern on the floor, and my weapon hidden somewhere under the furniture where neither of us can reach it without giving the other an opening.

“This is less fun,” he says. “You’re Senator Ashford’s son. You broke into my apartment, shut down my weapons, and explained magnetized bullets to me like we were at a science fair.”

We push ourselves up at the same time. Damian takes the far end of the desk, careful not to turn his back on me, and I mirror him from the other side. We circle each other warily through a room that has gone from command center to wreckage in less time than it takes to make coffee.

“What do you want?” he asks, his feet sliding in a side-step. “I have money, but I saw your bank account. You don’t need it. You have power. An army of important people backing you.” His focus narrows in on me. “Still, there must be something you want.”

What do I want?

I glance at the computers, the monitors, the cameras hidden in the corners of the room. “How good of a hacker are you? Exactly?”

We keep the desks between us, still moving. A slow-motion chase.

“Good enough to discover a centuries-old secret society that controls everything from illegal drugs to the price of eggs.” One shoulder lifts. “So, yeah. Pretty good.”

“How about a fake passport?” I ask.

Damian scoffs, “Please. Child’s play. My fake IDs are more real than real IDs.”

I run through the possibilities. “Nah.” I move faster, gaining on him. “People will check. Make sure I killed you.”

“I can disappear,” he counters. “It’s kind of my specialty. I can forge a name no one can trace. Papers that get me through any airport, across any border, wherever I decide to go.” He pauses. “I already sent my girlfriend.”

“And the cat?” I ask.

He gives me a look like I’ve insulted his ancestors. “Obviously the cat.”

I consider that, how he could have disappeared with his girlfriend and cat. Instead, he put himself between them and whoever my father sent. I know that decision because I would make the same one for Laurel.

That earns Damian more respect than a man in his position should get from me, but still not enough. “You expect me to take your word for it?”

“No.” Damian’s eyes move to the broken monitor on the floor, then back to me. “I expect you to let me live.”

“That’s not much of a sales pitch.”

“I’ll owe you a favor.” He holds up his hands, palms facing me.

“A favor,” I repeat.

“Anything you need. One time.” Damian keeps circling, hands raised where I can see them, never giving me a clean line to his body or the gun hidden beneath the furniture. “You call, I answer.”

I assess him, noting how his pulse jumps at his throat, the slight waver of his hands. He’s scared. Not enough to stop fighting, but enough to understand he needs something better than a promise.

I almost laugh.

“You’re offering me a Mafia-style favor because I broke into your apartment to kill you.”

“I’m trying to meet you where you are.”

One favor from a man who found The Order’s locked servers. A man who can create identities, move people across borders.

“What else can you do?”

“Depends on what you need.” Damian steps on a piece of cracked monitor casing. It snaps into smaller pieces under his weight.

“Hypothetically.” I follow him, keeping him inside the light cast by the lantern.

“Hypothetically, I can make records disappear. I can make new ones appear. Dig up information people would kill to keep buried. I can put that information in front of people who were never meant to see it.” His gaze shifts toward the dark monitors. “I can make powerful men very nervous.”