AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The wall of screens is flashing with code, pictures, and games happening in real-time, and the computer bank is neat, with a sole occupant seated in one of the two comfortable leather-backed gaming chairs.
Michael is drinking a red bull, alternatively watching the screen, typing in some code, or scribbling on a piece of paper with a 2B pencil to work out the odds.
Digging my phone out of my pocket, I read through the nightly report Anthony sent before he went home, my eyes occasionally darting to the screens or where Michael is absently working at the desk.
That is until he loses his shit, shoving the paper aside. His drink can tips and hits the ground, sticky sweet soda spraying anywhere, but he doesn’t even notice.
“Call Anthony in!” he yells over his shoulder at me. “We’re getting fucking hacked!”
My phone is at my ear instantly.
“Hello?” Anthony mumbles sleepily.
“We’re getting fucking hacked. Get your arse down here now,” I snap. Immediately, Anthony is more alert.
“I’m on my fucking way!” he yells down the phone. It goes dead, and I shove my phone back into my pocket, my eyes trained on the back of Michael’s head.
His fingers are flying across the keyboard, and code appears on the screen almost impossibly fast. I can’t read it, so I watch his face, which is tense and alert. Not a great combination.
There's a screeching sound within ten minutes while Michael’s fingers furiously fly over his keyboard, and the door slams open with a crash, Anthony sprinting in. His glasses are askew, his T-shirt is inside out, and he’s wearing loose cotton boxer shorts, which he probably sleeps in. At least the lad sensed the urgency in my demand he gets here.
Ignoring me, Anthony runs straight over to one of the keyboards, slinging himself into the chair, and starts typing as furiously as Michael.
Their faces aren’t telling me much about the situation beyond the fact it is still worrying, so I pull my phone out again.
CONNOR: We’re getting hacked. The lads are on it.
There is no reply, so either Seamus is busy or on his way. Pocketing my phone again, I stand behind the lads, staring at the meaningless numbers, letters, and symbols they are typing.
I get my answer to Seamus’s lack of response in another ten minutes as he strides in, looking fucking furious.
“What’s going on?” he asks quietly, his voice tinged with Irish in his fury. Neither of the lads looks around, but Michael starts to speak.
“We’re being hacked,” he spits out. “I’m trying to stop them. Anthony’s trying to find them.”
Because he knows as much as I do about computers, Seamus stands next to me, a tower of silent rage. Finally, after about an hour, Anthony stops typing, slumping back in his chair with a grin.
“Fucking got the prick. He’s in Chicago.”
Well, thank fuck it’s not local. We’ve got enough problems without someone here trying to fuck with our online business.
“Shut him the fuck down,” Seamus growls. Anthony cracks his knuckles with another grin.
“With pleasure,” he drawls.
From what he and Michael mutter to each other, I gather Anthony is sending some virus of something into the hacker’s software. It takes another thirty minutes before they both stop typing.
“It’s over,” Michael confirms, dropping back in his chair, looking relieved.
Seamus is anything but relieved. Stalking over, he grabs Michael by the collar, jerking him out of his chair, hauling him up until they are nose to nose. I take a step closer in case I have to pull him off the lad. Seamus is six foot two, and Michael is only about five-ten, standing on his tiptoes, his eyes wide with fear.
“What kind of weak, pussy-arse security do you have that we can get hacked?” he hisses.
Michael pales, swallowing roughly as Anthony shrinks down in his chair, trying to make himself small. That’s enough now. These are my lads. Seamus needs to calm the fuck down.
I stride across the room, tugging Michael out of Seamus’s grasp.
“Fitzy,” I say quietly, a thread of steel in my tone, “that’s enough.”
