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I wanted to punish her deception by pulling those strands until her back bowed, her breasts presented as an offering to appease the animal within that wanted to mark, bite, and even break her resolve.
The game was afoot! She was running; I was chasing. But my little vixen would come to me. She’d come, admit her desires and fall apart in my hands even if I had to use a little deception of my own.
She had hacked into Eoghan’s systems. That was no small feat.
It made me think about Geordie, Caledonia’s tech guy, and how he had ranted and raved about some gothic girl called Jubilee hacking into his systems, and we had to re-do everything to kick her out. This had happened a few days ago, and it knocked us back several days in delays.
Eoghan was now ranting and raving about my Rose, and what damage she had done. I wondered if she was the head hacker, or if she was just a figurehead. The operator sent in to do the mission.
I had never seen her on a computer.
There’s a certain art to hacking. It requires finesse and creativity. It might not be visual, but the process could be beautiful. Eoghan and Geordie’s systems had the same problem - a vulnerability was created, and then they laid in wait until they needed control of the systems. In Eoghan’s case, there was a printer that was unsecure, which let them into the system. From there, someone’s phone further opened the vulnerability until they controlled the entire power grid.
For Caledonia Security, the hacker only wanted the information in the system. But there was something that instinctively felt similar. Something in the coding and the way they created their stack.
These aren’t things taught in school or regulated like the colored wires for an electrician. There was always a personal touch.
Itfeltlike Eoghan and Geordie were hacked by the same person. So was my beauty also the gothic computer girl that Geordie encountered? I wondered what she looked like black lipstick. Probably sexy as hell. As dark on the outside as the beautiful, expansive darkness she had on the inside.
I adjusted in my seat to accommodate my growing erection.
A plan was starting to form, based on what I learned about her. Now knowing that my sweet iron Rose was possibly the one and only Jubilee Bradley, the hacker that had made Geordie so angry that he came back from California spitting mad, I thought up a trap.
I logged into my computer station, making myself a cup of tea while it booted up.
Hugo was at his station, staring at his screens. I knew that he would sit there all day, waiting for a glimpse ofherleaving or returning from work.
It was a strange hope. He wanted just a moment of her in his view and he’d stand vigil for hours on end. All of his spare time was spent here. This was his favorite TV show, and the only film he had an interest in.
With my tea in hand, I returned to my station.
There was going to be a tiny bit of faith required for my trap to work. But that was normal. Hunters always had to have a little faith and a lot of hope, as they put out traps in the morning. There were never any guarantees.
Was she as obsessed with me as I was with her?
I took out my phone - my civilian, unsecure one - and typed out a message to my former lover and longtime friend, Sophie Tudor. After a rather unfortunate marriage with a man who was less than ideal, and more than a little violent, we were never able to rekindle anything but our comfortable friendship. Her husband did accidentally, tragically, end up drowning. His body was found one morning, face down, in Loch Fyne.
The careless bastard went for an early morning swim, and must have slipped in the dark and hit his head on the rocky shore.
Sure, he slipped on my boot, my hand on his skull. Yes, he hit his head pretty hard with the aid of my hand, smashing his face into the ground. But it was just an accident. It could have happened to anybody!
Sophie had since decided that she was asexual. That was probably true even before her husband’s accidental shrugging of this mortal coil. It was probably true even when she and I were together, awkwardly fumbling in the back seats of cars at school dances. She was never enthusiastic. But I couldn’t read the signs back then.
My text to Sophie was simple: “Dinner?”
Even though it was late, I knew she was probably awake. She was a perpetual night owl, finding the darkness friendly to her muse as she wrote songs, or sang in the loneliness of her in-home studio.
“A meal that comes after lunch and ends before bedtime.”She texted back.
The little knob head. I chuckled to myself as I responded, “would you like to have said meal with me? Twat.”
“When said so eloquently, how can I refuse?”
With that done, I turned my eyes to my computer. I opened up the software Caledonia used to communicate and exchange information. That was when I noticed it.
I chuckled to myself, seeing the green blink of my camera light. Someone was watching me through my own laptop.
There was an irregularity in the script as well. A certain lag that wasn’t normally there.
