At this point, all the color had drained from his face, now resembling a corpse he was so pale. “Wha—How—Wh, “ he sputtered. Words were apparently too difficult for him right now. “What do you mean? You’re a fucking hacker?”
“Among other things, yes. Currently, I’m probably your worst feckin' nightmare. Because I know exactly what’s in those data warehouses, and I know what’s in your basement. And I’m positive the people you report to would be very unhappy to findyour security breached. Rather dark group you hang with, isn’t it, Frank?”
“You’re lying,” he snarled. “There’s no way you got into that server! Not by yourself!”
“Yes, yes, just like I shouldn’t have gotten into this house. And just like I didn’t get into your computer and pull just a smidge of the videos of women on the black market you’ve been sending out to potential buyers. Let’s see, I think their names were Rebecca Minor, Hailey Ann Jones, Tina Becker, Chanda Pa—”
Frank’s hand had been inching slowly toward a toaster left out on the counter, obviously thinking I hadn’t noticed. I had expected him to try and recover the drive before bashing my brains in, but I wasn’t surprised he’d taken this route either. Finally, he snapped and yanked on it, ripping the cord out of the wall plug and lunging at me with his makeshift weapon high overhead. The wild light in his eyes as he tried to brain me was enough to confirm he knew all those women’s names. I sidestepped his flailing attempt and tripped his left foot with my boot. He nearly knocked himself out on the corner of one of the overhead cabinets and lost his grip on the toaster. Then I punted it straight through the doorway into the dining room with a kick of my heavy boot. “Goal!” I yelled and tossed my arms up.
That only pissed him off more. Frank scrambled from where he leaned over the countertop, trying to wrap his feeble old hands around my throat to choke me. Frank stopped like he had come to the end of his leash when I pulled the other thumb drive up between us to dangle it over the sink, the one I made to ensure he wouldn’t try anything shady. The brand name imprinted around the drain assured me there was a high-quality disposal in there. One that advertised being able to grind chicken bones.
Perfect.
“How many of those fucking things do you have?” he snarled. Frank’s chest heaved with every strained breath, eyes wild as they flitted between my covered face and the drive.
“Touch me, and I dropthisflash drive that has the kill code for my program to join its little friend down there. If I don’t plug this into my computer in two hours, every single file you’ve ever uploaded to DeNiro Technologies’ data warehouses you have in Utah and Tel Aviv will be wiped from existence. I won’t bore you with the details. You look like someone who still struggles with texting. But I can guarantee your shareholders and clients wouldn’t be happy to lose all their data.”
Face turning purple with rage, Frank lunged at me again with his wrinkled hands curled like claws. He made his choice, then.
I flicked the drive into the sink, where it clattered against the pristine stainless steel and bounced into the disposal with the other. Frank tilted to the side as if torn on whether to go for it or wring my neck. “Uh-oh, slippery hands,” I wiggled my gloved fingers. “Last one, though, I promise.” Which was a total lie. A bitch had backups for her backups when it came to incriminating evidence.
A brief moment of indecision flickered in his watery eyes. With a curse spat from his thin lips, Frank dove for the sink and shoved his hand straight into the drain. I leaned against the counter, a hand cradling my jaw, inching closer and closer to the little row of switches lining the wall.
“Oops.”
Quicker than Frank could pull back, I flipped all three switches. Two of them turned the lights on under the cabinets and above the sink. And the third was the one that meant business, filling the air with a satisfying grinding sound as the disposal caught his hand.
“AAAARRRRGGHHHH!”The deafening wail from Frank, along with a spectacular geyser of blood coming from the sink,filled my cold little heart with glee. He tried desperately to yank his hand from the metal teeth, but I slammed my forearm across his upper back to pin him in place with my full body weight. With the other, I pushed his right arm even further into the drain.
Vibrations from the grating and grinding of the machine traveled up his arm and straight into the part of me that got totally turned on by this kind of gruesome, gory body horror come to life. I tried not to groan wantonly watching the bottom of the sink fill up with beautiful red blood.
“You… fucking psycho bitch!” Frank’s voice lost the bite from before. He was obviously starting to wither from blood loss.
“Oh,” my lips made a little moue, not that he could see it behind my mask. “You’re giving up already? I guess the drive is pretty busted now, huh? What a bummer!”
Slowly, unsteadily, with hatred burning in his eyes until his last second, Frank slouched over the sink as the garbage disposal continued its whirring and grating. The sound of the blades crushing whatever piece of his arm they could touch gave me the tingles. But alas, I had to flip the switch off eventually as an acrid burning smell wafted from the drain. His arm was stuck almost to the elbow, his body slumped over the edge of the sink enough to keep from falling to the floor. The motor was likely burned out now. Boo.
I wish that motherfucker Frank had a much longer torture session than what I gave him. Hell was too cold a place for that shit-smeared asshole.
My brother, ever faithful, showed up a mere twelve minutes after our call. I was perched on the counter, idly doom-scrolling my socials with my one clean glove, and enjoying the scuffs myboots made on the white cabinets as I kicked my feet against them.
Who Iwasn’texpecting was Grant, creeping in from the back door just three minutes prior to my brother.
He rounded the corner from the connected hallway into the kitchen, aiming down the barrel of a pistol fitted with a silencer. I was wearing a Kevlar vest underneath my black long-sleeve shirt, but being shot was not on my bingo card tonight. I held both hands up with my phone still gripped in my left. He didn’t even have a face cover before barging in here. Such a rookie move.
“Frank is a little… indisposed,” I tried not to laugh at my own joke. “To be fair, he had it coming to him.”
His sharp stare lingered on me a moment longer than was comfortable, before it swept the rest of the kitchen more thoroughly. The gun was still trained on me. Or it was until Taylor came from the foyer and stopped in the other doorway.
“Wow, you really fucked ‘em up this time.” Taylor had his hands jammed in his pockets, a habit he picked up to keep from touching anything and leaving prints at the scene. He was totally unfazed by the gun, so he probably had his own Kevlar strapped on. Belatedly, Taylor turned his head to take in Grant, still posted up on the other side of the kitchen. “Hope you’re a good aim with that, if you don’t feckin’ kill me, you will regret it.”
I wished I wasn’t wearing the mask so Taylor could see my ‘shut the fuck up’ face.
“Vixen, I presume.” It wasn’t a question, and Grant’s voice was so cold I would have thought a robot spoke if I hadn’t been staring at him when he spoke.
I gave a little shrug. “Guilty as charged. You here to pick him up?” My thumb jerked to the limp body of former Frank DeNiro slumped halfway into the deep sink. “Oops. Maybe reschedule your meeting for never.” With a little hop I pushed myself off ofthe countertop and took three measured steps, until I was within reach to snatch the gun from Grant's hands. His grip indicated he wasn't a total newbie to handling it, but I was confident I could disarm him if I needed to.
“Obviously,” he bit out. “You seem to get around. Here I thought you were just a camgirl.” He lowered the handgun a little, still glaring daggers at me.
