Mr. CEO

by Willow Winters

  “I call it functional,” she replies, coming around and pulling two jelly jars down from the cupboard and running the water until it's obviously cool to her touch before she fills them both up. “Vengeance isn't a well-paying job.”

  “Yeah, about that,” I say, sitting down in the folding chair that looks slightly stronger than the other. I notice that she's got a computer in the corner on a table that looks strong, if a little cheap. Like one of those all-plastic office desks you can get at Wal-Mart for about thirty bucks. The computer, though... damn. I don't know a lot about computers, but any computer that's running an actual antifreeze-based cooling system and pump has to be some serious shit.

  “You use that thing to help set up your little stunt on me?” I ask, taking a sip. The water's not the greatest I've ever tasted, since it's unfiltered city water, but at least it's cool. “That shit'll give you cancer.”

  “Not worried about cancer,” Kat says, taking a seat in the other chair. I get a better look at her, and my cock twitches in my slacks again. Jesus, she's fucking sexy when she's angry. Her eyes are sparkling with an inner fire, and the way her body's put together, she's built like a cat, all feminine curves and deadly sleekness.

  “You... Katrina, what the hell were you doing, pulling that stunt in the limo? I mean, in the past few days, I've learned a lot about why you might want to be pissed at Pops, but why'd you have to do that to me?”

  “You think what you've been through the past few days is hard?” Kat spits, angry again. “You didn't have to go through what I did! Try three foster homes in six months! You try finding out that your best friend's father ordered the car bomb that blew up your parents! You try watching as your parents are turned into a fucking fireball!”

  She's on her feet, yelling at me, her chest heaving and her forearms bunched. I'm kinda glad she left her glass on the floor by her feet. I think she might be able to crush that jar in her fist the way her muscles are flexing. My cock twitches again, but I tell it to shut the fuck up. I'm pissed off too, and I'm on my feet before I know it. “That doesn't mean you go and humiliate me! Hell, I barely talked Nathan out of killing you and giving me your address instead!”

  “Killing me? I don't fucking care if I die,” Kat responds, stepping back and turning around. “If I can take down your father, I don't care if my next home is six feet under. After what I've been through the past ten years, death would be a vacation.”

  Her words chill me to the bone, and my anger dissolves, at least temporarily. Instead, I back up, away from the chair. “Kat... Katrina. Whatever you want to be called right now. Tell me what you know.”

  She turns back around, and I see a hint of humanity in her face, and not just the enraged warrior I'd been looking at most of the time since I walked in the door. “You really want to know?”

  I nod and sit down on the wood floor. “Yeah, I do. If it makes you feel better about it, you can get your gun and keep it on me. For the first time in my life, I want to know the truth.”

  After a moment, Kat nods and comes over close to me before sitting down. The way she sits hikes up one of the legs of her martial arts pants, and her calf is just a foot away from my hand. It's defined, and perfect, and oh my holy God so sexy. I start to reach out, but stop. Kat notices, and gives me a little nod of appreciation for my restraint. “So what do you want to know?”

  “Why didn't you reach out to me before? All I knew was that you'd left school, and that one day you just dropped off the face of the earth. I didn't even know your parents were dead until months later.”

  “Probably had your head buried in that '67 Corvette model we were working on,” Kat says with a little smile. “We'd what, gotten the engine block completed together?”

  “And the tires,” I added. “We'd just finished the hubs the day before you disappeared. I never did finish that kit. I did a little of the framework, but after you left school... I just never wanted to finish it. It wasn't any fun anymore. I think it got thrown away maybe six months later or so.”

  “Shame, it was a nice kit,” Kat muses, then sighs. “But you asked what I went through. Well, at first I was pretty fucked up, it's the only way to describe it. The first foster home... to be honest, I don't remember much of it. I was going through a lot of shit back then, but I do remember them trying to hit me. I hit back and ended up right back in the orphanage with a broken arm. The second home, well, they were nice, but way too old, and they didn't know how to deal with my anger. You see by then I'd started to hear the rumors, a lot of the older kids at the orphanage were running in gangs pretty much, and word on the street was my parents were killed by a car bomb, and it was your father who ordered it. I wasn't sure though for a few years after that, but I had a name. Still, I was too angry, and took advantage of them. I lasted a month with them before they sent me back after I slapped the woman. Then they sent me to Virginia... she was my first real teacher.”

  “And what did she teach you?”

  “Quite a few things. Krav Maga at first, then later on, she hooked me up with people who could supplement my education. I spent more time on my real education than I did on my high school education, not that it mattered. When I was sixteen I took my GED and said farewell to public education. Actually scored a ninety-nine percentage overall. I spent the next five years doing my real training.”

  “Ten years... well, I guess nine if you account for the time before you met this Virginia... all to do what?” I ask, caught up in her face. My body remembers the feeling of her in my arms, the way she caressed my body, the feeling that shot through me. “And what did you do to me in the limo?”

  Kat chuckles and gives me a sexy look, her eyes... I'm being seduced, and I can't resist it, even though I'm pissed. “Liked that, did ya? Little trick I picked up from one of the best escorts in the city. She says she picked up the Touch from living in China as a little girl, but I don't care if she got it in Detroit. The woman makes half a million a year, most of her clients never even get her dress off, and she's more in demand than ever even though she's over forty.”

  “And what you hit me with under the pec? That shit bruised like a motherfucker for about three days,” I ask, rubbing at the spot unconsciously.

  “I bet it did. Probably connected to the other ones too, but I got that from aikijujutsu. I have some more... ones I'm planning on using on your father if he gives me a chance.”

  At the mention of Pops, I'm finally able to tear my eyes away from Kat again and regain some semblance of my anger. “Taking him down... I get that. You're right. From what I can figure out, he ordered the car bomb that killed your parents. Why, I still don't know. Doesn't really matter, but Kat... we were friends. You were my best friend even, for fuck's sake!”

  “I was,” Kat admits. “But the person I was best friends with was a sweet, maybe slightly spoiled, but overall good kid. Not a douchebag with a set of steroid muscles and a black mirror full of K-X, handing out party favors in the back of a limo.”

  I'm on my feet in an instant, staring at Kat and pointing at her. “You're not the only one who's been trying to cope! And for your information, this body has never seen a steroid. Lots of hours in the gym, probably just as many as you put in from what you're looking like, but I've never put a single pill in my mouth or needle in my butt.”

  “And the K-X?”

  I shake my head, knowing we're not going to get any further right now. “We all have ways of coping, Katrina. You know, next time you decide to do something against me, or Andrea or the rest of my family... think about that. We've all had to cope in some way or another. And not all of us are deserving of being destroyed.”

  I walk to the front door and pull the handle on the lock. Turning around, I see Kat still sitting on the floor, looking sexy and untouchable at the same time. “I hope that you can understand why I'm doing what I'm doing.”

  I open the door, temporarily blinded by the bright sunlight outside. “I do,” I say. “But I'd still prefer if you didn't get yourself
killed because of it. Or me either. Watch yourself, Katrina.”

  The afternoon sunlight is hot and bright, and I'm finally able to adjust my cock in my pants as I head down the stairs on the side of the old warehouse. I get into my car, the first time I've been allowed in it since the incident, and once inside, I throw my head back, sighing. She's dedicated, she's deadly, she's a fanatic that's on a level that makes those jihadist assholes look like a bunch of pushovers... but she's also beautiful and sexy, and part of me wants to go up there and tell her right now that whatever she needs, she has my help.

  But I can't. Not yet. I'm too pissed off, and I don't want to fight with her. Instead, I turn the key on my engine. I'm about to drive back to the plantation, and try and do some serious thinking, when the door to Kat's loft bangs open, and she comes running down the stairs.

  What is it now?

  Chapter 9

  Kat

  I really don't know why I'm running down the stairs. The question that I have in mind isn't all that important. Besides, I can't trust Jackson to answer me truthfully anyway, if he even knows the answer. Still, for some reason I'm pounding down the stairway, my Glock tucked into the back of my pants.

  “Jackson! Jackson!” I yell, hitting the blacktop. The parking lot of the gym is cracked and worn, and alternates between dusty and soaked depending on the recent weather, so my feet raise little puffs of dirt as I cross the few yards still separating us.

  I'm glad when he shuts off his engine and rolls down the window, although he's visibly annoyed. “What, Kat? Wanna arm lock me again? Tell me I'm a piece of shit?”

  I stop, frozen more by the pain in his voice than by his words themselves. “I... I need to know if Nathan Black is coming for me,” I finally say. “Are you going to send him to see me?”

  Jackson looks out the front windshield for a moment, then slams his hand against the steering wheel of his Audi. “You really think I'd do that? You think I'd just come by, ask a few questions, then send Nathan after you? I'm not my father, Kat. I'm not like him at all.”

  “You might want to reconsider that,” I tell him. “From what I saw in the limo, you're going down the same path he has.”

  Jackson's eyes are blazing in fury when he looks back at me, and his teeth are bared. “Goddammit Kat, I told you, we all have ways...”

  “Yeah, yeah, ways to cope. I'm just saying, you might want to check yours, ask yourself if they're making you the person you want to be... or not,” I say, gentler than before. “But fine. What about your father? Will Nathan tell him about me?”

  “I don't know... I don't think so. But Kat, I do know this about my father... this isn't over with Pops. He's not going to let it drop.”

  I smirk and tilt my head. “I hadn't planned on that at all. Hell, Jackson, what I did to you is just round one. I've got all sorts of shit planned.”

  “Then it certainly won't be over,” Jackson says, calming. He looks at me for a moment, his eyes uncertain. There's something in them, and I kinda understand, I think. It's the same uncertainty that's haunted my dreams for the past week. It's the same feeling that I have right now, looking at Jackson. Douchebag, yes. Spoiled rich kid, yes. But he's still Jackson, and we were friends.

  “I know it won't. But, 'even if it seems certain that you will lose, retaliate',” I tell him, knowing he won't get the reference. It doesn't matter, I understand it.

  I'm surprised, however, when Jackson chuckles and shakes his head. “'But in the end, the details of a matter are important. The right and wrong of one's way of doing things are found in trivial matters.'”

  I blink, absolutely shocked. Jackson shrugs. “You're not the only one who's read that book. I went through a phase of trying to find a philosophical backing to my bodybuilding. Katrina, my father probably deserves every bit of retaliation, hatred, and punishment that's in your heart. Just... make sure you're doing the small things right. As for Nathan... I won't send him. If he's coming, I'll try and warn you at least.”

  He starts his engine again and I watch as he drives away, and I'm still speechless. Finally, I shake my head, smirking. “Who the hell would have thought that?”

  I walk up my stairs and lock my door behind me, going over to my computer. The processors are still pounding away at Darcy's system, although I think they're developing a crack that I can exploit. I pull my chair over and sit down, looking at the readouts. Okay, so there's a hole. Maybe.

  “Yes!” I hiss quietly, seeing the target system open to me. I browse around quickly, knowing it's just a fake mainframe until Darcy gets her reports back, but I still poke around a little, seeing if she left any Easter eggs for me to find. Nothing all that interesting really, so I go into the home directory, create a file folder called CDG and drop in a JPEG of a misericorde dagger. I back out, and shut down both my connection to Darcy's target system and my Internet connection. It's a precaution, but since Andrea already found me, I don't want to make it easier to trace my online footprint.

  That done, I type up a quick report for Darcy telling her exactly what hole I found, the crack I used to exploit it, and what recommendations I'd use to shore up the hole. The biggest problem, as Darcy knows, is that no system, no matter how strongly put together, is ever secure forever. Darcy uses a lot of the best tools to reduce the chances of a hacker getting in, but nobody can protect against everything.

  Just as I'm finishing my report, my personal phone rings, and I see that it's Darcy. “Hey Darce, guess you found my little present?”

  There's disappointment in her voice, but at the same time, pride. She really wanted to stump me, but she's proud that I've actually grown beyond her teaching and become, as she put it, a great hacker. “I did. Where'd you get in?”

  “You used some old code, I found a loophole. I might have cracked it a bit faster, but I had a visitor.”

  “You? A visitor? You becoming a social butterfly on me?” Darcy asks, laughing. “Next thing you know, you're going to be asking for my earring collection.”

  I lean back in my chair, chuckling. “Hey, I'm not the one with seventy-two pairs of earrings I can't wear anymore because my son got too grabby. Besides, you look better without all that junk stretching out those earlobes anyway. And I bet Jeff appreciates being able to nibble on your ears without possibly getting something caught in his teeth.”

  Darcy purrs, and I can't help but feel a little jealous. A husband, a child, a dog even... she's got a pretty ideal situation. “He does like doing that, that man and his... well, never mind me. Who was your visitor?”

  “Jackson actually,” I say, clicking save on my file and putting it on the same thumb drive she gave me the initial information on. “Seems your prediction was right, Peter sent Nathan Black after me. But Jackson sort of deflected Nathan, somehow.”

  “Wanna talk in person about it? I can come by this evening.”

  I think about it, then nod. “Yeah. You sure Jeff and Henry won't be upset?”

  “Nah girl, tonight's Daddy Night before Jeff goes on night shift for the next month. The two of them are going to stay up and watch the game, so they won't mind, and Jeff and I will have our time after Henry goes down. When you want me to stop by?”

  “How about seven? I've got class downstairs from five thirty to six thirty.”

  “Cool. So do those parents know just how badass you are?”

  I chuckle and think about my class. “They have no clue at all.”

  “Front kick series three... ready, go!”

  I'm actually wearing a karate gi right now, even though nothing I've ever studied was called karate at the time, but after I kicked the ass of the third person who came in trying to call my teaching skills into question, nobody says a thing.

  The fifteen little kids, ranging from ages six to ten in the class, from white belt up to what I'm calling a purple belt, all strike the right pose as they bear down, throwing their rear leg thrusting kicks before following with a straight jab, a strong side elbow smash, and finally pretending to gr
ab their opponent and kneeing their 'head' with a loud shout. One of the boys, a new kid named Dylan who's only been in class a few months, shouts louder than normal, and I notice that he's sporting a black eye. He's a thin kid, the sort that just puts off an effeminate air, mostly because of the fineness of his features. He's a cute kid, and I know that in about seven or eight years he's going to have a look that's going to turn teenage girls weak in the knees, but for now he's probably getting picked on.

  “Okay, grab shields, I want you to pair off and practice that sequence and the reverse. Dylan. Up front with me.”

  The other fourteen pair off pretty quickly, but Dylan's dragging a bit as he comes up. Still, he assumes the proper posture that I taught the kids for using when speaking to me, and his eyes are clear, even though it's more obvious than ever he's sporting a shiner, and what looks like the remains of a fat lip. “Yes, Teacher?”

  I don't use foreign languages in my classes, even though some parents expect it. “You put a little extra into your combination today. Nice. But what's with the eye?”

  Dylan shifts side to side, and I kneel, looking the seven-year-old in the eye. “Who did it, Dylan?”

  “Bradley,” Dylan says quietly. “He's in my class.”

  I nod, even though I have no idea who Bradley is. “What happened?”

  “He made fun of me,” Dylan says heatedly. “He made the other kids laugh at me.”