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The tension in my shoulders hold them high and taut, but I fight the grappling feeling, levelling them into a position of feigned indifference. My mind chants for me—Get it over with, Kaya. Get it over with.
Kicking off my flats, I step backwards, my shaky hands finding the button at the top of my jeans, my mind finding a resilient space inside my brain. Get it over with.
My jeans slide down my thighs.
Get it over with.
A puddle of denim ropes my ankles together, but I refuse to step from them. They are mine.
Get it over with.
The cotton of my shirt slides up my tensing abdomen, over my breasts, tugged from my head. I fist the fabric by my side, unwilling to relinquish control over my clothes.
Get it over with.
Mentally inside that resilient place, I remove my bra and slide my knickers down my legs, left completely bare, tied at the ankles by my jeans, and clutching the shirt like a lifeline.
My skin erupts in shivers from the filthy press of his ogling eyes. Unseen, but I canfeeltheir presence on me. I can’t see the definition of his body or face, the details cloaked in moving shadows from the dancing curtain. He is simply a silhouette of a man. He shifts. His hand moves to the front of him. The shape of his elbow juts out, jerks up and down to the side of his hip. He’s touching himself.
I freeze. Even as my mind screeches for me to pull my clothes back on, step back to the door—call Chloe.
His horrible breaths shake with arousal and the sound makes me want to puke. Then he says, “Show me the inside of that cunt!”
I panic. His husky utterance enters my mind, drags me from that place of strength and nonchalance, and tosses me into a basement where fear nests in my hollow stomach.
“No.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-NINE
xander
I’m glaringat the damn phone, surprised it doesn’t shatter in my fist, while Clay’s hacker works his magic, hitting his laptop keys with purpose.
Charles Young:
You want to know what my brother does with those photos, Butcher? Check your Tor. Get yourself a Girl.X
Dipshit.
Why?
Chuck isn’t getting a response. Not from me. And our new hacker is all over his scent like the ghost of a bloodhound. Sniffing him out. Undetected.
The young blonde lad beside me goes simply by Slip—he’s a digital parasite. He can slip in through tiny fractures in the code, gain access and take control.
He once followed a crooked politician for months by hitchhiking from handset to handset, activating the microphones in his friends’ cars or mobile phones, listened in on every conversation no matter where he was. He followed him across the country, jumped on a plane with him and sat opposite him on the television. He was eyes within the display, watching him sleep, eat.
Yet, Slip never left his house.
Fucker’s talented.
Clay inclines backwards in his chair, musing with his fingertips pressed together at his chin. “Why would Charles tip-off his brother, Xander? What are you involved in?”
We haven’t spoken about the hospital or the allegations tossed around, but we have business to avoid the beckoning topic. It has always been that way. This business of ours is the great divide between him and us—his brothers.
“It must have something to do with our catchweight. A fucking threat to throw me off. To… I dunno.” He doesn’t know I can’t fight him… that I never will.
Sure as death and taxes, Slip finds the site. The landing page is enough to set my blood to a steady simmer. My gaze roams the categories. Underage pornography, services, girls.Fuck.
