Hologrid Hub uses a next-gen platform so users can meet in holographic form and do whatever they want with one other. There’s a sexual component to the platform that has not been explored enough, and I plan to change that. The more users to the platform, the more power to my amethysts, which leads to more power and strength, not to mention health, for me. I won’t live forever, but I also won’t be struck down by disease or deterioration too soon.
I finish reading as Garik takes another turn into the northern part of San Francisco and a rough looking storage facility with multiple pods, once painted white that now has rust scarring down each face. “Who killed Cal?”
Garik lifts one shoulder. “Not sure. Your younger half brother had a problem with women telling him no. Your stepmother had to settle several assault cases against him, and those that couldn’t be settled ...”
No doubt Hendrix or his enforcers had taken care of the problem. “Has Hendrix discovered the killer?” If so, surely he killed them.
“Hell if I know.”
I thought through what Rosalie had said about Thorn Beathach possibly killing Cal. Beathach runs Malice Media, which is currently in the number one spot. It’s a next generation platform that uses neural interface tech to share thoughts, emotions, and experiences directly. In other words, it translates neural data into shareable formats. His AI is more advanced than mine—for now. “What about Thorn Beathach?”
Garik nods. “Maybe. The gossip rags hinted at an arranged marriage between Cal and Alana Beaumont, and now she’s living with Beathach. Word is out that if anybody touches her, they die and not quickly. She’s under his protection.”
Alana has always had protection. Her family owns Aquarius Social, an emotion sharing based platform. They’re currently in second place, and Thorn’s company, Malice Media, in first. Are they going to combine their platforms? I don’t see how, but it’s something to consider.
I dig deep to see if I have a need to avenge Cal’s death. Maybe. I hated him, but we shared blood.
However, I have more urgent matters to handle. Irritation cuts through me at my lack of a following. If I make a proclamation about Rosie’s safety, it might plant a bull’s-eye on her back. I need to consolidate power fast, and that means spilling blood. A lot of it. “You ready for this?”
“I’ve been ready since they took you away in chains.” Garik pulls to a stop in front of the storage unit at the end. Rust scars the door in stripes reminiscent of a panther’s claws. Dents punctuate the bottom, and if a storage unit could look lonely, it does. “I hope you have piles of cash in there. Jewels too. Maybe some silver?”
I open the door and step out into the rain. “If I had cash in here, you’d have cash.”
A quick flash of emotion crosses his broad face before he masks it. “You need me to stay?”
“No. Thanks. See you tonight.” I shut the door and turn toward the unit.
He drives off, leaving me in the quiet area with the rain. I lift my face and allow the liquid to slide down the planes of my face with a sense of freedom very few can understand. The wind whistles between the units; a forlorn sound that still beats any cacophony found within prison walls.
Alone. It’s the first time since they shackled me that I really feel alone. There’s no alone time in prison. Not really. The sense of desperation within those locked places makes its own sound.
I allow the rain to land on my mouth and tongue, tasting freedom.
And the hint of vengeance.
I don’t know who ensured I languished behind bars, but I will find them. Then they’ll wish for me to send them to prison.
I won’t.
God, I won’t. I gave up on God a long time ago, but if there’s any such deity, even He will fail to protect those who betrayed me. Only someone close to me, a being with access to me, could’ve ensured I was found guilty. For them, I’ll be the judge, jury, and fucking executioner.
I make the vow as the rain pummels down, drenching me. My T-shirt molds to my chest and my jeans to my legs. The boots I wear are leather and new with a rough edge.
Finally, I lean down and flick open a carefully hidden keypad before punching in my code. A lock releases. Grunting, I grasp the handle and lift the door, allowing natural light to illuminate the narrow space.
She’s still here. My MV Agusta Brutale 1000 Serie Oro—black with a hint of red and so sleek she purrs like a genuine animal. Calling her a motorcycle is an insult I’ve never issued. She’s a goddess on two wheels.
Moving to the rear of the structure, I find my weathered backpack with the two loaded guns in it. Good. I shove them both at the back of my waist and pull my jacket down to cover them. They’ll need to be cleaned and oiled as soon as possible, but for now, having their weight against my skin grounds me. I left the older Beretta at Rosalie’s home under her frilly bed.
I can’t count the number of enemies coming for me right now, and that’s not even considering the kill list from my old prison pal. His gang will be dangerous to me if he gives the order, at least until I have my men back in place. But I’d rather prevent a full-out war on the streets of Palo Alto. Plus, a deal is a deal.
I need to receive that list now to handle those kills before the authorities put a tail on me, which should happen any moment. Not that I couldn’t ditch one, but even so, the clock is counting down quickly.
A crow cries in the distance, and I pause, waiting to make sure I’m alone. The surrounding area falls silent without a hint of tension.
I roll the bike out and throw a leg over her, flicking on the engine. She purrs to life like she’s been waiting for me, and the rumble between my thighs feels like an unstoppable energy.
I twist the throttle and drive through the silent structures, finally reaching the quiet main road. Then I take her wide open.
