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The word made my heart snarl, the tension in my spine enough to make it snap, and my head too heavy with the memories of the two biggest assholes in the universe, my uncle and my sperm donor. Their sneering faces, their chest-pounding pageantry at being mobsters, and their relentless cruelty.
Go fuck yourself,I typed and sent Iris hurtling through theHyperionstratosphere.
I couldn’t wait any longer. I’d started to lay traps for Iris, but that wasn’t cutting it. The next hours were a blur of locking down the most vulnerable and important parts ofHyperion, taking breaks to nap, and plotting where Iris might live in Boston.
The next morning, I was out the door by nine, ready to hit every coffee shop and public wi-fi area around the Common. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but I had a feeling Iris was smart enough to keep moving, and staying private in public was their best bet at continuing to hackHyperionand avoid me finding them.
Dressed like a college kid, I’d opted for a Northeastern University sweatshirt, a Boston Red Sox hat, and my most comfortable pair of jeans. I kept my hat pulled low and glasses on, trying to keep my expression neutral as I entered theDowntown Bean. But still, I saw the curious glances from people, the mix of admiration and nervousness, and my gut twisted.
Fuck off and stop staring.
I knew, deep down, I had not received the suave, stupid-handsome Italian genes that my cousins Ty and Luca had. Instead, I had a weird mix of striking features that made people do a double take, which I fucking hated to no end. Especially since, once they got a good look at me, saw the look in my eyes—they ran for the goddamn hills. Every time.
Sometimes, I might get a wild child of a woman to pursue me for the thrill of danger, but once she got close, once she sensed even a fraction of how broken and fucked in the head I was—she always vanished on me.
Now, I didn’t even bother beyond an occasional one-night stand, but even that had become less and less frequent. Once, I’d thought that maybe there could be at least one person who might be able to match me. Who might at least like me, who might be into the same things I was, and wouldn’t mind sharpening passion and intellect with me.
Probability-wise, on a planet with eight billion people, it seemed arrogant to assume otherwise.
These days, even that probability seemed like a fucking fairy tale.
I glanced out the window, at the busy stream of people crossing from the Theater District into Chinatown, the artsy kids from Emerson College smoking on the corner and laughing, the parents hustling kids with bouncing backpacks, and tourists ambling along.
The best you can do for Ty and the rest of the family is keep your head down, hack, and keep building Hyperion. Don’t get it twisted. You’re the monster on the Michaelson leash.
My computer let out a strange chime and I jolted, nearly upsetting my coffee. A few people looked over as it went off again and I touched my ears. I was wearing headphones. What the fuck?
Miss me?Ran a message across the screen.And it’s cute how you’re using café wi-fi. Great minds—but I prefer a different coffee shop. Also, there are a lot of public wi-fi places in this city, Mr. Hype. You’re out of your depth—and hiding something in West Carlisle.
Shaking my head, I typed,maybe that’s what I want you to think.With a few keystrokes, I made it look like I was in a different café, then a public library, and finally, an Emerson college classroom in the nearby theater.Or maybe I want you to know where I am.
I didn’t want that at all. Pressing back against the wall, I flicked my eyes over the room, but I saw no danger. Still, maybe sitting by the window wasn’t the best decision. Shattered glass and gunshots flashed through my head, and I let out an unsteady breath. I’d been witness to a drive-by once before and I never wanted to see that shit again, much less die that way.
You are pretty damn good,they wrote back, and I thought the tone was one of begrudging respect, which was kind of amusing.MIT?
Hm, well damn. I had indeed taken an accelerated program at MIT, at Ty’s insistence.Yep. Harvard?
They took a moment to respond.Maybe. And I didn’t know mobsters were so touchy about name-calling. I’ll be more sensitive to that, Mr. Hype.
A jolt went through me, a roll of surprise and excitement that had my fingers hovering over the keyboard as I almost typed out what I’d just realized.
You’re a woman,I thought, and a grin spread over my face.
I wanted to keep things interesting, Ms. Iris.
All that came back was a winky face before my computer rebooted and I yelped out, “Fuck.” The entire café went silent as heads swiveled to me and I gave a sheepish salute. “Computer died. Big paper due.”
Shoving upright, I grabbed the computer, and hustled to another café. There, it took me twenty minutes to get the computer working again. When I did, Iris was nowhere to be found, nor could I assess if she’d found anything.
And then my cousin Luca called me to set up a meeting with Boston Bratva.
CHAPTER THREE
Daniel
After the unexpected outing with a bunch of fucking Russians, the bad news that a local Russian mob boss, Ivan Volskov had been offed, most likely by Hendrix, and having to keep Ivan’s nephew Kir and Ty from beating the hell out of each other, I hadn’t had a chance to check onHyperionor Iris for almost a full day. For safety, I’d taken parts ofHyperionoffline before the meeting with the Russians, and was now booting them back up, wondering if Ms. Iris was watching.
Ooh, did I spook you, Mr. Hype?Came the message.
