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How in the hell did my life become so fucked up?
Chapter Eight
Wilder
“How the fuck does it keep going back to anonymous IPs and dummy accounts?” In frustration, I smack the desk inside my newly outfitted tech room, courtesy of selling a shit ton of guns to some guys in Costa Rica.
“This hack job isn’t even that good!”
Gia laughs across from me, where her desk faces mine, because two pairs of eyes are better than one. Her arms are folded across her chest, and one brow quirks up at me, slightly amused.
“It’s fucking terrible, actually. The IP is masked, which is easy enough to do with the help of a YouTube video. The dummy accounts are a nice touch, making me wonder if this person is making it look like shit on purpose.”
She ties her blue hair into a bun and points to her screen. “We know the Iron Kings are responsible for making it look like you guys are into human trafficking, right?"
“Fucking assholes,” I growl and nod my agreement. “What are you thinking?”
Gia blows out a breath and looks over her shoulder where Ace and Shades are taking in the new office like it’s a museum exhibit. “I have an idea.”
“I can use this space to do the MC books,” Shades says loud enough so I can hear.
“I don’t want you in my office,” I say quickly.
Gia snickers. “That’s not what I was going to suggest, but now that you mention it…”
I laugh and shake my head. “Shades, if you ask nicely, maybe I’ll cordon off a tiny part of that corner over there for you, just enough room for you and your calculator.”
Shades flips me off with a good-natured grin. “I’ll take half of this office.”
“No, you won’t.”
“We’ll see, Wild Man.”
“We'll see nothin'. Unless you wanna go out back?” I arch a brow.
"Nah, I'm good." Shades grins and turns back to Ace.
Gia snickers and looks at her computer. “I think this source code is a mask. A fucking mask,” she repeats to herself with a smile.
“What are you talking about?”
“I think the real code is hidden underneath. A mask is a common way to do it. If you want to find the real code, you have to peel back the layers of the mask.”
“And do you know how to peel those layers, or do I have to show you?” I ask. Gia is brilliant, but I have a lot more experience.
“Oh, I know how.” Gia starts typing away, her fingers flying over the keyboard. “But it will take me some time.”
“I have all the time in the world, darlin’.”
“Don't let Preacher Man hear you call me that. He'll kick your butt.” Gia teases.
“Nah, he loves me.” I lean back in my chair and watch Gia work. She's good. Real good.
“Of course he does,” Gia mutters. “Everyone loves Wild Man.”
She sits back and sighs. “Maybe they contracted the job out to a freelancer. Their techie, Bowie, the dead guy? Well, he looked like he was afraid of Santos. Like he wasn’t an actual Iron King. Just someone who worked for them?”
She shrugs, and when she smiles, she looks like a kid. “This is some shit I would do, sometimes, when a job paid too much or felt too risky, but I needed the cash. Desperate times and all that shit, ya know?”
