Bastian: A Secret Baby Romance (28 page)

“What's that?” I said, rolling my shoulders. I didn't lift very often, and I knew I'd be sore the next day because of it, but I didn't really care. It was better than being bored out of my skull. Actually, just having Daniel nearby helped.

“Carlo told me that you’re to live in the house. So starting next week when you go back to classes, we're going to have to leave earlier to make it on time.”

“What about you?” I asked. “It’s going to be even more of a pain in the ass for you.”

Daniel shook his head. “Actually, I'll be getting a bit more sleep, since I'm going to be staying here too. The housekeeper’s making up my old room.”

“That thing? It's the size of a broomcloset!” I protested. “Seriously, the pantry is bigger than that!”

Daniel shrugged it off. “I don't need it for much more than a mattress and to store a few clothes. We've got a shower over here, after all. Speaking of which, if you just happen to wander down here at six fifteen in the morning and hear the hot water running, feel free to join whoever is in there.”

“Yeah right. Knowing my luck, it'd be the gardener. No thanks.”

Daniel laughed and turned to go, when I stopped him. “Dan?”

“Yeah, Ade?”

“Are you busy tonight? I'm going batshit crazy around here, there's far too many men in dark suits, and I need a break from all this heaviness.”

Daniel sighed and turned back. “We're here to protect you, Ade. He could never get in this place.”

“Still, I need to get out of here, even if its just for a few hours. Think of it as mental therapy,” I said. I went over to my next machine and adjusted the seat and pins, readying myself. “Come on, don't make me order you.”

Daniel chuckled. “I think you'd prefer me ordering
you
around. But I have to say no either way — your mother wants me to do something. Also, I have some restitution to take care of. I don't like saying it, but I didn't exactly behave well the last time I stopped by the Starlight Club.”

I was surprised at the flare of anger and jealousy at the mention of the Starlight Club. I knew what sort of business that was, and I didn't like the idea of Daniel going there, regardless of if it was his job or not. “You should frequent a better class of business, Daniel.”

“It's my job, Ade. In either case, I'm going to be leaving around six and won't be back until after midnight.”

“Fine. Then tomorrow night, you're protecting me while I go out to dinner and a movie. I need a few hours to feel like a normal girl, and not a fucking victim.” I sat down at the machine and started, pulling the handles this time instead of pushing them. “Got a problem with that?”

I think it was the first time I'd seen Daniel uncomfortable in a long time. Sure, he'd been hesitant in the graveyard, but not uncomfortable. He wanted to say no, but another part of him wanted to say yes. “Fine. What time?”

“I'll tell you tomorrow,” I said with a smile. “It'll be fun.”

I don't think he knew that I heard his next comment, he was trying to keep it under his breath, but it still made me smile, knowing I was affecting him the same way he was affecting me. “It'll be my fucking funeral, more like it.”

* * *

M
om and Uncle Carlo
weren't happy about it, but they understood after enough convincing on my part. So, at six thirty Saturday night, I was dressed in my best jeans and t-shirt, freshly scrubbed. I'd taken the time to make sure that I didn't have any paint on my clothes or in my hair, even though I'd spent four hours that afternoon painting in the library, letting my stress out through the use of oils. The painting was shit, dark and violent and not at all like what I preferred to do, but it helped. It let me pour out my emotions in a safe way, and a way I was familiar with. At least Vincent’s fuckery hadn't robbed me of one of my primary joys.

Daniel met me in the foyer, looking for all the world like some of the guys who'd come to pick me up for dates back in high school. Well, except for the small bulge on his left side where he had his pistol under his shirt. “You ready?”

“Of course,” I said, trying not to skip down the steps. Mom stood there watching, her eyes filled with concern. “I'll be back by eleven.”

She looked at me, then at Daniel, and gestured with her head. Daniel nodded silently and stepped outside, his keys in his hand. Mom used the opportunity to lean in close. “You behave yourself, young lady. Do you understand?”

“I'll be fine,” I said, giving her my best innocent smile. “It's not a date — I doubt you’d want me to go alone. No that I’d want to, but I need to get out.”

“It better not be, for both of your sakes,” Mom whispered. “Be careful.”

I kissed her on the cheek and gave her a hug, patting her back. “I will. Thanks, Mom.”

Daniel was already outside, standing next to his car, holding the passenger door open for me. “Should I ask what she said?”

“You're smart enough to know,” I replied with a smile, sliding into the passenger seat. We drove, heading out of town. I'd chosen a mall outside of Seattle purely for the fact that we'd never been there before.

As we drove, Daniel relaxed bit by bit as we put miles between us and the house. “Dan?”

“Yeah, Ade?” he asked. He reached out with a thumb, jabbing the power button on his car stereo, and I was surprised as relaxing mellow instrumental music, not jazz but something else, filled the car. “Just downloaded it today. Thought you could use the relaxation.”

“Thanks,” I said, leaning back into the leather seats. “I just wanted to let you know, this dinner is for you too. I know you've been doing your best, and you've been showing a few signs of stress too. Also I shouldn’t have snapped at you about the Starlight Club. I know it’s part of your job.”

“Thanks, but you didn't need to,” Daniel replied. “Last night was purely business — I met my private eye there. He's helping me with tracking down Drake.”

“No more on Vincent tonight, please? For the next four and a half hours, I don't want to hear or even think about that man.”

“Deal,” Daniel said. “Just dinner and a movie for a stressed out girl. Too much cobalt blue and titanium white or something.”

I laughed. “Something like that. Although after today's painting, I think I need a few more tubes of black and gray.”

I was surprised when he nodded. “I saw. I liked it.”

“Really? I thought it was terrible,” I said. “Not realistic at all, too dark, just . . . not me.”

“Maybe not, but it's got a lot of intensity. You really poured a lot of yourself into it, and I guess it speaks to me that way.”

“Then it's yours,” I said immediately. “The best way to get through to an artist is to say you like their work, even if the she hates it herself.”

The restaurant lived up to the reviews, with some of the best burgers I'd had in a long time. Daniel enjoyed as well, and ended up licking the barbecue sauce from his bacon barbecue burger off his fingertips, something I'd never seen him do before. At home, he'd always been the epitome of decorum, wiping his hands and mouth with his napkin even if everyone else was nearly under the table drunk. “Worth the thirty minute drive, that's for sure,” he said. “What’d you think?”

“Great. You know the only downer in this?”

“What's that?”

I took a sip of my soda and set my glass down. “You and I were good friends for about five years there, after I came to Uncle Carlo's house. But then we were kept apart.”

“For good reason, Ade. I haven't been the type of man who’s supposed to be friends with a classy girl like you.”

“I think I'm old enough now to pick who my friends are, and who I want to spend time with,” I said simply, but touched at his compliment. “I guess what I'm saying is, when this is finished, I don't want you to drift away again. I know Uncle Carlo doesn't like it, but I want to talk to him about it later.”

“You can talk all you want, but he’s not going to listen. I'm not worthy of you in his eyes.” Daniel lowered his eyes to the table, and I could tell he wished it weren’t the case.

“And what do you think?” I asked, then shook my head. “Never mind, that's an unfair question. Come on, let's see the movie. After all the terror of the past week, I need some fictional scares to put all of it in perspective.”

The movie was a remake of a Japanese horror flick,
The Ring vs. The Grudge
, and had plenty of creepy atmosphere. Sure, it was an amalgamation of two pretty worn out movies, but it was still fun. As the tension built, I pulled my legs up underneath me, my eyes wide and staring at the screen. The first time the ghost popped out to scare the first victim to death, I'll admit I jumped, a little bit of popcorn bouncing out of my tub to rain down on my lap, some of it falling onto Daniel's lap as well. “Thanks,” he said blithely, picking up a kernel and tossing it into his mouth. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I whispered back. “It's why we came anyway. It's therapeutic.”

When the next scare happened, I shrieked loud enough for those around me to jump too. Daniel put his arm around my shoulder, not saying a word.

I fidgeted some, the hard plastic of the arm rest in my ribs preventing me from getting comfortable before I realized that the arm rest lifted up. Scooting to the side, I pulled it up and out of the way, snuggling back in closer to Daniel who rested his arm on my shoulder for the rest of the movie. With his strong arm holding me lightly, I didn't have to jump for the rest of the movie, but certainly enjoyed some of the scares that were left, and by the end I was laughing at some of the cheesiness of the two ghostly characters and the idiotic people caught between them.

As the credits rolled and the lights rose, I reached up and gave Daniel's hand a squeeze. “Thanks, I needed that.”

“No problem,” he said, removing his arm, “but I think you and I need to set some ground rules. For our safety, especially mine.”

I nodded, reality poking its ugly head in, and sighed. “I guess so, but can we at least save it until we get to the car?”

Daniel looked like he was about to protest, then just nodded. He reached over and took my hand, entwining our fingers. “Let's go.”

The three hundred and twenty three steps from the theater to Daniel's car were the best part of the evening, as for the first time in nearly a year I felt totally like a normal girl, free from all the stress and worry of what I'd been through. I imagined that it was like what girls who weren't Mafia princesses felt like most Saturday nights when they were out with a cute guy.

Daniel held my door open and got in afterward, sticking his key in the ignition. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

“I did,” I said with a smile. “You know Daniel, when you want to be, you're a pretty decent guy.”

“Don't let the secret out,” he said with a chuckle. “But Ade, we're pushing a very dangerous line. One that I don’t think we should cross.”

“I know,” I said, sighing and looking out the windshield. “The problem is, I like spending time with you. Beyond what the could all mean, I'm just saying that going out with you is a lot of fun. Even when we've been bumming around campus, you taking me to classes and stuff, I've enjoyed myself. I keep wishing you were an actual student.”

Daniel's short laugh and nod told me both that he agreed, but also felt it was impossible. “Ade, I don't even know my real last name. The Social Security Number I used to get my concealed carry permit is invalid, connected to a man that died a decade ago overseas in Zimbabwe and therefore cannot for certain be declared dead. Besides, while I learn what your uncle asks me to, I’m more of a hands-on type of man. But yes, I've enjoyed my duty for the past two weeks.”

“Has it been just duty?” I asked quietly, stopping him. Daniel stared at me, his mouth working silently for a moment, and I could see the answer in his eyes. “That's what I thought. Your duty and honor is stopping you . . . stopping us.”

“It is what it is. We can enjoy this time, the times when we can be friends . . . but nothing more,” Daniel said, the last words said between tightly-clenched teeth. He started his car and put it in reverse. “If it means anything, I wish things were different.”

“Yeah . . .” I replied, looking out the passenger window so he couldn't see me cry. “Me too.”

T
hey call me Razor
.

6’2, blonde, green-eyed, 185 pounds of pure muscle with an 8-inch cock
—
I pull b*tches like a grandmaster angler.

But laying the pipe isn’t all I do.

I’m a hacker
—
the best there is.

There’s no code I can’t crack, no problem I can’t hack
—
that is,
until I land myself right in the middle of a murder investigation.

On the run, there’s only one woman that I know I can trust
—
my stepsister Carly.
Tempting as fuck, I’ve had a huge crush on for as long as I can remember, yet I’ve always known she was off limits.

Being around her will only complicate matters, make it harder for me to complete my mission, but I can’t help myself.

With old feelings resurfacing, and a growing need to claim her body as my playground, I’ll have to decide between my freedom or letting her take the edge off of this . . . RAZOR.

* * *

“
F
uck yeah
!” I growled as I furiously pounded my keyboard. “I’m in!”

“In what?” asked Bianca, the rich socialite I’d just banged the fuck out of the night before. Her red silk negligee open at the front, she stood off to the side of me, slightly bent forward, her gigantic store-bought tits in my face.

I pushed my hair, which I’d let grow out, back out of my eyes, and regarded the airhead for a moment, my eyes straying down to her enormous rack.

It’d been hard to concentrate hacking into SFPD data bank with that in my face, but they don’t call me Razor for nothing. When it comes to getting the job done, I can hone my concentration with laser-like precision.

Is it even worth telling her?
I wondered.
She won’t understand a thing I say.

I scratched at the fresh stubble on my jaw, wondering what the hell I was doing in a hotel with her in the first place.

* * *

W
e’d met
the previous night at a black-tie fundraiser event for a local politician, mayor Bradley James.

I was supposed to be there as an agent for Anonymous, an online hacking group that hid behind anonymity, to find out information involving a murder case.

But when present company approached me, she made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.

Bianca Vanderbilt, or as I’d liked to call her, Vanderslut, was the daughter of a wealthy tycoon. Her father, Eric Vanderbilt, an heir to old money, owned a chain of three-star hotels and had amassed a fortune in real estate on top of it.

At first I’d resisted Bianca’s advances, but when I found out that her father was close to the mayor, I figured what the hell. I could use her to find out more information on the case I was working on.

I spent the entire evening with the socialite on my arm — who proudly paraded me around, introducing me to wealthy acquaintances and associates of her father.

Getting to meet the powerful men and women who basically controlled most of the wealth in the bay area was interesting, and I learned more than a few valuable tidbits of information that would prove useful to Anonymous.

But the prize of the night came when I met Mayor Bradley. He introduced himself with the charismatic charm he was famously known for, speaking about how happy he was with the turn out for the fundraiser.

The
inner city kids
, as he called them, would receive so much help from the donations that came from the black-tie event.

It was hard not to roll my eyes. Everyone knew that most of the money would never make it into the hands that it was intended to help.

But I kept my misgivings to myself. I was there to confirm my suspicions, not lecture on how corrupt politicians and the top one percent were, especially when I was looking one of said corrupt politicians right in the face.

“Mayor Bradley is such a good man,” Bianca purred, squeezing my arm. “He cares about the poor and disadvantaged. I’m so glad we have him as our mayor.”

“That’s right, Bianca,” Bradley agreed, tilting his wineglass toward her in toast and cracking a boyish grin. “And that caring for the people I represent is how I got elected.”

I nearly hurled. But it only got worse from there as the two began talking about Bianca’s childhood.

Mayor Bradley, it seemed, was close to Bianca, fondly reminiscing about how he’d practically watched her grow up before his eyes, and how much of an inspiration she had been in him wanting to have a daughter.

I didn’t miss the way he looked at her, who was at least fifteen years his junior — like he wanted to take her into one of the back rooms and fuck her brains out.

Obviously Mayor Bradley, who was supposedly happily married, had a roaming eye for attractive young women — even women who should have been off limits.

My opportunity to put the Mayor on the spot came when Bianca told him that I had a master’s degree in Information Technology, and that a lot of the big players in Silicon Valley were in bidding wars for my formidable talents.

“Steven here is absolutely amazing,” Bianca boasted, flashing a pretty smile up at me. Fake names did have their uses. “There’s not a major tech company here in the valley that doesn’t want him on their roster.”

It was amazing the kind of bullshit you could get away with if you had enough confidence and someone naïve enough to listen.

“Oh really?” Bradley asked me, flashing me a grin that told me that he loved successful people, because successful meant money. “What brings such a prosperous young fellow like you to this type of event?” He was obviously referring to the age group of most of the attendees, who were mostly middle-aged with money.

Here was my chance.

“I’m here on the behalf of a friend of mine to raise awareness for his sister he lost a while back,” I replied.

Bradley’s boyish grin dimmed somewhat. “That’s awful. What happened?”

I looked the mayor straight in the eye. “She was murdered.”

His fading grin was replaced by a frown. “Oh gosh. I’m sorry to hear that.” He looked at Bianca like he was about to change the subject, but then it seemed he was overwhelmed by a sudden burning curiosity. “What was her name, perchance?” His eyes bore into me with an intense scrutiny that would’ve been unsettling had I not been prepared.

I didn’t miss a beat. “Ashley Collins.”

Bradley, for the most part, kept his composure, but I didn’t miss the momentary flash of panic in his eyes. It was then that I knew, despite all of his charisma and efficaciousness, I was looking into the eyes of a cold-blooded killer.

“Hey, I’m extremely sorry for cutting the conversation short,” Bradley mumbled suddenly, tearing his eyes away from me, “but I must go find my wife. We’re supposed to be giving a joint speech here soon. It was nice meeting you, Steven.” Bradley nodded quickly at Bianca in parting, “Bianca,” and walked away.

I watched as he swiftly disappeared into the crowd, my suspicions confirmed.

It’s him.

All the information Anonymous had painstakingly compiled on the corrupt official seemed to be true.

There was one drawback to being a public figure — everyone knew where you lived. As an online task force against corruption and injustice everywhere, the local chapter of Anonymous kept watchful tabs on all of the power players in the area.

Unbeknownst to Bradley, Anonymous had kept vigil on all of his business dealings as soon as he was elected, as the office of the mayor was a frequently abused position of power.

It wasn’t long before the hacker group, along with my help, amassed a plethora of information about the handsome young politician.

Bradley, it seemed, always sold himself out to the highest bidder, influencing the city council to vote on propositions that were beneficial to whoever donated the most money to his office.

If that wasn’t bad enough, he took bribes for about almost any issue . . . as long as the dollar amount was right. He was rotten to the core.

Then there were his hobbies . . . golf, art-collecting, buying horses and . . . last but certainly not least, prostitutes. And not just any prostitutes. Bradley liked the young, desperate type — girls that would debase themselves to perfect strangers for a John like Mr. James.

While it’s certainly not my thing, there was nothing wrong with a man who used prostitutes for sex, but Bradley liked to torture, beat and rape them to get his rocks off — or so that’s what the rumors were at Anonymous.

The disgusting behavior was at odds with the way he presented himself to the public — a loving father with the perfect family — a doting wife with two very young children. And he always made sure they were around for any public event for photo opportunities to further enhance the made-up image.

I had to laugh at the hypocrisy.

Family man by day, prostitute beater by night.

And now murderer would be added to his list of titles if I had anything to do with it.

Through a network of contacts, Anonymous learned the mayor was the last one seen with the young Ashley Collins before her death. But you wouldn’t know that from the details that the police released to the public. They claimed that their investigation found that Ashley Collins had likely been killed by someone she owed drug money to, and that they were doing everything in their power to bring her justice.

Except for the fact that they hadn’t pursued new leads in over a month, even vital leads that were given to them by Anonymous tipsters and community task forces.

The whole thing stunk like horse shit and screamed coverup.

Considered one of the most talented groups among hackers, Anonymous selected me to be the one to obtain the evidence the authorities were hiding.

Having nothing better to do and an intense hatred for corrupt politicians, I gladly accepted the task.

“Mayor Bradley is such a good man,” Bianca purred after he disappeared in the crowd. “He’s done so much for this city.”

“A model citizen,” I agreed sarcastically.

* * *

A
fter a night
of wild sex with Bianca, I logged into the police station’s evidence database, looking for a needle in a haystack. I had only minutes to find and download video footage from a nearby security cam from the night of the murder — all while having a demanding vixen in my ear.