Page 7 of Ricochet

The same intro to all of Achilleus’s videos.

He was what was known as a hacktivist. A cyber terrorist who’d somehow managed to evade the FBI. Due to being an indirect target in each video, Michael preferred that the feds not find him first, anyway, lest they’d be knocking at his door—a thought I’d fantasized about many times.

Achilleus had grown a large following on the deep web and amongst the many anti-government groups out there. Each time a video leaked, it spread across the net like flames, and Michael was forced to stamp out the blaze before it got out of control.

Onscreen, lights flipped on in a boxy room, revealing a black ski mask like the one from the intro, the mouth of which had been stitched with red thread. As usual, his head remained cloaked by the hoodie he wore, leaving two black holes for his eyes. I stared at the screen, waiting for some slip when those eyes might’ve become apparent, allowing a small glimpse of how intense they must be. Achilleus was careful, though. Too careful.

Behind him, a poster that read, Never Be Silenced, glowed in the darkness. Already my adrenaline pumped in time to the fast beat of my heart. I knew what was coming.

A computer-generated voice said, “Good evening, citizens of Detroit. I am Achilleus X.” With controlled movements, his head bobbed and his gloved hand gestured with his words. “In October two thousand and fourteen, a party took place at the home of councilman Leonard James.” Images flashed on the screen, of a group of boys clustered around a girl who appeared to be passed out. “The names you see across the screen below are the men who took part in the kidnapping, rape and murder of a seventeen year old girl. One of the young men was James’s son, Eli. This video serves as proof for the masses, as the city of Detroit has been very thorough in keeping this case quiet.”

Phone still propped at his ear, Michael sat beside me. A growl rumbled in his chest, as the names flashed across the bottom of the screen, including his own.

“This young girl was taken from her home during The Culling on Devil’s Night, then drugged and raped, and did not wake from her comatose state. Pathology reports show she died from the drugs she was given. This bastardization of laws designed to protect you, the citizens of Detroit, is unacceptable. Mayor Culling …” He shook his head and tsk’d, waving his finger in disapproval. “… has once again failed you. As you watch this video, the personal information, including addresses, cell phone numbers and social security numbers of all the young men listed, as well as their parents and anyone involved in covering up this crime, is being compiled. This information will be released, unless you come forward and acknowledge your crime. You have forty-eight hours to confess. As for Mayor Michael Culling, I’d advise you to watch your back—or, more importantly, what you find most valuable in the world. Speramus meliora resurget cineribus. Operation Culling … engaged.”

Trance music punctuated a non-distinct robotic voice announcing a call to action.

A threat. A promise to steal what Michael loved most.

Michael sat up, lip peeled back like he might snap at any minute, and the anger plastered to his face had me stifling a smile. The targets in each video could be linked to Michael. Members he’d personally appointed to his staff. It’d only be a matter of time before the mysterious vigilante uncovered the truth behind the fake façade of Michael’s smile. The deals, the bribes, the exorbitant amount of money to which I would never be privy.

As mayor, Michael had connections to powerful politicians, but also some of the most brutal leaders of organized crime. Yet, only one man got him flustered. One man had him waking in the middle of the night with cold sweats. The only man who had the smarts to expose him, ruin his career, and only because Michael had no idea who the hell he was or what he wanted.

Achilleus X.

In truth, I had no idea whether Achilleus was a man or a woman. I’d become obsessed with him just the same. Behind that mask was a mastermind of the most notorious computer hacks the city had ever known. His bold threats, his willingness to take on my psychopathic husband, had turned him into my own personal fantasy. I dreamed of the day Achilleus X would drop some major revelation about Michael’s illegal deals and send my shitty half straight to hell. Every video sent pulses of excitement through my body, clenching my stomach, and drenching my panties. I’d fallen in lust with a complete stranger, strictly on the basis that he happened to scare the shit out of my husband.

The men he’d called out would come forward because they had no choice. They always came forward after Achilleus’s threats, because he never bluffed. The FBI had nothing on Achilleus.

The hacker community had dubbed him a mysterious hero.

I’d dubbed him a beacon of hope. My freedom.

“Why the fuck hasn’t he been brought down yet?” Michael’s voice barely hid the ire that’d undoubtedly spread like a volcano deep inside of him. His will to keep calm must’ve been spinning like a hamster wheel. “This isn’t good for any of us, Cox. Any of us.” He spared me only a quick glance before turning his attention back toward the TV.

Following a brief pause, a flashing ‘Call to Action’ banner danced across the screen over the blaring din of an air raid. Something inside of me thrilled at the sound—a warning, loud and clear, to my corrupt fuck of a husband that justice would be served.

“I know what the fuck dark net is, I don’t need a goddamn lesson! You find him, Cox. You find out who this motherfucker is, and you bring him down, hear? Bring him down to the depths of hell and then cut his fucking balls off. Better yet, bring him to me.” He shot up from his seat, paced a few steps, and collapsed back onto the leather couch again. “He is going to ruin us. Do not fail me. You do not want to fail me, Cox.”

Michael threw the phone across the room, where it slammed into the opposite wall before crumbling into pieces of plastic. He let out an angry bellow, and goddamn it, I had to choke back a laugh. It was rare for him to be pushed beyond the calculated and controlled psychopath I’d come to know.

Like Achilleus, though, Michael made threats he was only too happy to deliver. It was why no one crossed him. Why I hadn’t gone screaming to the FBI myself. Even if Michael died at my hands, he’d have three hitmen lined up to take my ass to the grave alongside him.

Achilleus X could’ve brought an end to my husband’s regime. Exposed Michael’s darkest secrets—ones not even I’d had the pleasure of knowing. For five years, I’d worked my way into my husband’s trust, to let him think he’d broken me. All in the name of finding one hole that could secure a ticket out.

“Come here.” My heart sank at Michael’s words, particularly because of his mood at being shown up again.

With some hesitation, I slid along the couch, closer to where he sat, and piercing pain stabbed the back of my neck where he dug his nails into my nape.

“You want to fuck him, huh? Like all these other bitches? Does he get you hot?” His game. He looked for any sign, any flicker or flinch that might suggest I’d been even remotely enthralled by Achilleus’s threat. His way of justifying the pain he wanted to inflict right then.

If there was one thing I’d learned after five years with the asshole, it was not to give any reason to piss him off—so I remained silent. There were days when that approach worked, and like night and day, he’d snap back to being relatively gentle. The twitch of his eye and the rubbing of his thumb along my nape told me something inside of him was building, though.

“Did I tell you, darling …” He placed lips to my ear, and my heart kicked up. “The last time we were together, I recorded it. Every humiliating moment was caught on video.” His chuckle had my hand flexing beside me. “I can’t help but think, by the look on your face, that you enjoyed every minute of it.”

“Fuck. You.” A twinge of rebellion lit my blood and I resisted the push of his hands clamped to the back of my head, toward his flaccid cock. Getting him hard again would mean pain and punishment for me, because that was the only thing that got Michael off. Control.

His nails dug harder, and he gripped the crown of my head, twisting my hair in his fingers. My muscles buckled under the pressure, and his groin slammed into my face. He finally released my nape, held his dick, and smashed my mouth over it, cramming my head to the base of him while his erection grew, hitting the back of my throat and tripping my gag reflex. “You’re nothing but a whore, Aubree. A dick-gobbling whore.”