Rebecca Sherwin
&
D H Sidebottom
Copyright © 2016
Rebecca R Sherwin & Dawn H Sidebottom
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Characters, places, events and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Please do not copy, alter or distribute Binary Code. By purchasing this content, you agree to abide by copyright laws and will not copy, trade, pirate or replicate any of the content within this book.
If you have not purchased Binary Code by Rebecca Sherwin & D H Sidebottom, or it was not purchased for you, please return it to the seller and purchase your own copy.
Thank you.
We would like to thank everyone who has played a part in the making, promotion, and release of Binary Code.
We’d also like to thank all the twisted little darklings who purred with glee and smiled towards the devils on their shoulders when we announced we’d be writing together. The response was amazing and we are so grateful for the support.
We are both insanely proud of what became of Binary Code, and as a result—a product of the solid friendship we’ve found and the number of times we said, “that’s exactly what I was thinking!”—our crazies will be colliding again.
Thank you to our readers, for giving this deviant duo a chance. We’re beyond excited to let this baby loose on the world.
Love,
Rebecca and Dawn
xo
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-nine
Thirty
Thirty-one
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Epilogue
Warning
This book contains trigger scenes for some.
Please hold on to your heart, and hide your breath in your lungs.
You’re about to be mind-fucked.
Sometimes it's not always about what you can see or hear but what's under the hood of a game that's most impressive. Between those thousands and thousands of lines of code, magic happens. Sometimes the most amazing feats of wizardry happen without you even noticing.
~ Rob Manuel
Prologue
My heart stampeded. The roar of blood pounded in my ears. Tears fell from my eyes as I stared in horror, the sharp sting after not blinking for so long making my vision blur at the edges. The tightness in my chest grew and my lungs started to constrict as the bile that was stuck in my throat obstructed the oxygen needed to fill them.
I couldn’t look away from the grotesque form laid out before me like a gift—which in a way I suppose he was, his very last breath an offering to me.
His dead eyes fixed on my horror-stricken ones, the blank stare mirroring mine. His head was bent at an angle that couldn’t, shouldn’t, be possible, the severe twist in his neck making his chin rest perfectly between his shoulder blades.
My head shook so hard the impact made my body tremble, my muscles constricting to stabilise the rattle in my bones. My jaw clenched when my teeth started to chatter. I was so cold, the icy panic and reality of what lay before me seeping into the marrow of my bones and making me numb. The bass of the music beat in time with my heart, the sharp notes of whatever the singer was saying piercing my soul with every screech and squeal, every sensual hum that filled the void in her song. But not in me. I felt hollow. I felt empty; I felt like a part of me had evaporated when he died. When he was murdered. His life stolen from him before my eyes.
“Harley.”
I blinked once, twice, as he called me again. His voice, low and seductive, firm and unforgiving, sent goose bumps to flare over my skin and burn against the coldness I felt. Finally, my stare shifted to find the source of the soft, coaxing voice. Eyes void of remorse bore into me, stealing the breath I was desperately trying to draw. He held me captive in his gaze, keeping me frozen to the spot, until he took a step towards me. On instinct, I shuffled back.
“No.” I wasn’t sure if I had even managed to speak the word or if my mind had just ordered it because I knew I should want him to stay away.
Nothing was real. Nothing made sense. But then, in so many ways, it did. While my eyes were struggling to define, my mind was sighing in relief. Every single one of my unanswered questions were finally satisfied. So many things that had made me doubt myself slotted into place, yet, still none of them made any sense. The conflict between my eyes and my brain was making me nauseous, and my stomach roiled as I fought to keep a retch contained.
“Let me…”
My head shook harder and I lifted my hands from where they rested on my stomach, attempting to stop him getting any closer. Of course he didn’t obey my silent command…had I expected him to? Did I even want him to? In my desperation to figure this out, rationalise what was happening, and force my mind to catch up to grant me some mercy, I needed to look away. I needed to not see, like I had been doing for so long. I needed the ignorance that once felt like a niggling ache for the truth; now it felt like I was being trampled by my own stupidity. They say ignorance is bliss…I could attest to that. I should have run while I had the chance.
My eyes ventured from him to my hands. Blood. So much blood. It coated my skin, dripping down my wrists and onto the floor. Flesh was buried deep under my fingernails, and a solitary pubic hair protruded from the edge of my thumbnail.
The bile that had been stuck in my throat spewed with the contents of my stomach and my knees buckled, forcing me to crumble in on myself. My hands slapped onto the floor as another wave of vomit burst from me. My stomach churned and water dripped from my eyes as my sanity broke and I screamed with every single heave of devastation.
Shoes came into my line of sight and I scuttled back, huddling myself into the wall as I tried to back away from him. I was trapped between his menacing form and the wall that felt like cotton against his frightening glare. I knew he wouldn’t hurt me, he would have done it already, right? But it didn’t stop the panic now I’d seen what he could do…and it didn’t stop me glancing behind him, around him, above him. Anything to make sense of what was happening.
“You’re hurt,” he said gently, lifting his hands quickly to placate me as he dropped to crouch before me. “Let me help you.”
Me.
But which one? Who was going to help me? Who was going to come to my rescue, and could I let them?
A wave of pain made my breath catch and my hands instinctively made to grab my belly. It was then I realised the blood that covered my hands was mine. Trickling. Pumping out with every beat of my heart. Soaking into my clothes as the adrenaline kicked in and told me to run. Where have you been, adrenaline? I could have used this warning months ago. The gash continued to seep and I became consciously aware of the pang of copper, the metallic smell so potent I could taste it. The pain. God, the pain. What had happened to me? How had I got here?
Out of it all…the dead man hideously still staring at me. The cruel break in my san
ity. The vicious tremor racking my bones. The deafening rush of blood in my ears. The rapidly dimming double vision. The music that continued to pound, over and over, like a ticking time bomb. It had been counting down for some time—I realised that now. The few remaining grains of sand tumbled into the funnel to settle on a discarded pile of morality and with them, my mind began to slip. It was the sight of my own blood that forced my brain to offer me a reprieve and swallow me in the depths of unconsciousness.
Blackness consumed me as strong arms pulled me in.
One
Six Months Earlier
Art was my passion. Fashion not so much. Not at all. Stand me in front of Mona Lisa, or ask me about The Persistence of Memories and I’d be at home, at ease and more than adequate at holding my own. Put me in a dress, and I forgot how to breathe, how to stand, how to hold myself amongst my peers and colleagues. Bottom line: I hated dresses. I was more of a wing it and slob it girl; leggings, jeans and t-shirts were my comfort zone. However, the small but popular gallery I owned required more than my comfy clothes.
I plucked at the tight red silk strangling my figure as if it wanted to suffocate the life out of me in revenge for having to sit against my hot skin.
Closing my eyes for a second, I fantasised about the moment I could take my leave, return to my bubble of solitude, and slip into my usual jeans and t-shirt.
“Stop fidgeting,” Evan, my best friend, chastised as he took my nervous fingers in his hand and squeezed tight, passing me a flute of champagne at the same time. “You’ve done this a million times. What’s eating you tonight?”
What was eating me tonight? I wasn’t sure, but something in my gut told me I had to get out of here and run. Fast. My instincts had been in overdrive all day as I prepared for tonight, and as I took another glance around the room I still couldn’t put my finger on exactly what had me so on edge.
My art gallery was my sanctuary, the tranquillity of the different features and colours decorating each wall calming the chaos that constantly travelled around my body. The varying scenes that I usually found myself sinking into and pretending my life was normal, ordinary, no longer offered me their refuge. Tonight each sectioned area felt like a prison, a trap that would suck me in and never let me go. I’d never felt unwelcome in the only place I called home, but tonight I felt like the outcast. Why? I didn’t know.
“I’m fine,” I lied, knowing Evan would see right through me, so I tossed the champagne back before he had the chance to analyse me some more.
“Miss Davids!”
Both myself and Evan groaned when Bill Clancy’s high-pitched tone vibrated in our eardrums. He had a voice that reminded me of nails on a chalkboard and, unfortunately, I’d been subjected to more conversations with him than I wanted.
“Who the hell invited him?” Evan grumbled in my ear, his irritation as paramount as mine.
Plastering on a fake smile, I turned to face the round and sickly pale face of the creepiest politician in history. “Mr Clancy, such a pleasure to see you again.”
His smile was wide and I cringed when he planted a wet kiss to my cheek, his large belly pressing into me as he moved to my other cheek. “The pleasure, as always, is mine, Harley.”
Evan rolled his eyes and then winked and wandered off. I glared at him, the traitor, before moving away from Bill’s unsettling molestation.
He looked around the room and then turned back to me. “The collection is magnificent. There are quite a few pieces I am considering purchasing. Is the artist here tonight?” Once again he looked around the room, his eyes hunting for his next prey.
Almost guiltily, I nodded. “She is. Would you like me to introduce you, Mr Clancy?”
I cringed inwardly when his hand settled at the base of my spine as I led him over to Jemima, the backless dress I had stupidly chosen to wear making his touch more nauseating.
“Have you thought anymore about my offer?” he whispered in my ear, leaning closer to me than was necessary, and comfortable.
Bile swirled in my stomach and I snatched another glass of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter. “Unfortunately, at the moment, I don’t have the time to give a relationship the attention it would need, Mr Clancy.”
I felt him stiffen beside me. His fingers that were still touching my naked skin twitched with irritation at my obvious lie. I thought it sounded pretty respectful for a brush off. By relationship Clancy meant no strings attached fucking. And I was far from interested in anything that meant I’d be disrespected, disregarded, and bouncing around in bed on a disproportionately sized chauvinist with a huge belly, an ego to match, and an even bigger mouth that meant my reputation would soon end up in tatters.
He didn’t reply but I sensed his ire as we approached a group of people surrounding Jemima. She turned to me and smiled as I slipped into the small throng and made introductions. “Jemima, I’d like you to meet Bill Clancy MP. Mr Clancy, this is Jemima Danvers, the featured artist for tonight’s exhibition.”
Recognition flashed in her pretty blue eyes, Bill’s reputation obviously preceding him.
My teeth sank into my lower lip when Bill slipped his arm around my waist and shuffled in closer to me as he took Jemima’s hand and lifted it to his mouth. “Such a pleasure, Miss Danvers. You have a beautiful gift.” I wasn’t sure if he was referring to her art or her chest when his eyes slid down her body, greedily eating her up.
I stepped to the side but Bill held me tight, his fingers digging into my hip and making me wince slightly. My teeth slipped out of my lip and clamped together as I attempted to calm myself, the nausea swiftly becoming a problem.
The cells in my blood started popping, the deep chill settling into my bones turning into a bigger problem than the queasiness...hunger. Not tonight. Christ, not tonight!
“Miss Davids.”
My gaze swung to a man stood beside Jemima. An involuntary gasp left me when my eyes met his. He had the strangest eyes I’d ever seen, one dark green almost brown, and the other a crystalline blue. I narrowed my eyes, intensifying my stare. I stared rudely for the longest time, the deep complex irregularity mesmerising me. I’d never been so hypnotised by such uniqueness. Yet it wasn’t the uncommon eye colour that captured me, but the glint of darkness that radiated from the stare holding mine. He was compelling and deterring all at once. I wanted to step back, turn around and run away, and yet I wanted to step closer. All the way closer, until I could make out every fleck of colour in his abominable eyes.
Forcing myself to blink, I snapped out of the trance and smiled, holding out a hand in offering. He took it, clamping his fingers around my wrist. I gasped when he tugged, snatching me away from Bill’s hold. I stumbled in my heels but his other hand seized the top of my arm to steady me.
His fierce gaze looked down at me and he gave me the faintest of smiles. “I was hoping to steal you for a minute, Miss Davids.”
My brain couldn’t fire a single synapse, and I stood mutely staring up at him. He was tall, at least six feet four inches. His hard, lean body pressed against my soft form but it was the look in his eyes, the silent demand, that had me nodding. For some strange reason I felt manipulated, as if he had physically taken my chin between his fingers and moved my head up and down in agreement to his order.
His gaze snapped from mine and he turned to Bill. “Please excuse us, Bill.”
Bill, as stunned as me, blinked and frowned as if he’d just been fucked over. No one addressed Bill Clancy as anything other than Mr Clancy. The man who had stepped in, muted me, and now wanted to ‘steal’ me for a minute couldn’t have cared less about who he stole me from.
Not waiting for Bill to answer, he spun around abruptly and directed us across the room. He didn’t stop until he had snatched two flutes of champagne from a passing waitress and was offering me a seat at an empty table in the corner.
I couldn’t look away from him, my eyes locked onto the way he moved, the way he radiated such aggressive authority, the way his jaw clen
ched as if he was furious. His hand in mine felt hot, the touch sending bolts of electricity up my arm and into my brain, numbing it in shock.
My reaction to him didn’t make any sense. I forced myself to pull my hand away.
He narrowed his eyes but gestured to the chair again. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer, and curiosity would make me comply.
Grateful for the rest to my trembling legs, I sat heavily and continued to stare at him. Why was that all I was capable of around him?
“Carter.” He finally introduced himself as he pulled his chair closer to mine and lowered his body down. His legs were so long he had to stretch them out, and he crossed them at the ankles. My eyes slid down him, taking in the way his trousers pulled against taut thighs and how the crisp white shirt hugged his defined stomach.
What the hell was wrong with me? I’d lost all motor skills, a puppet to his inexplicable influence over me.
“Carter…?” I prompted for his surname.
“Just Carter,” he stated firmly. “You looked a little uncomfortable in Bill’s custody so I offered you a way out.”
Oh.
Relaxing slightly with his gallantry, I grimaced. “Yes, he is a…”
“Cunt.”
The expletive was so sharp and full of belligerence that I couldn’t help but gasp.
“Do you have the credentials to say such a thing?”
“Do I need a certificate of education to call a cat a cat?”
“Of course not.”
“Then I can call a cunt a cunt.”
I shivered. The way the expletive clipped from his mouth brought my gaze to the lips that said it. I licked mine in reaction and kept the bottom one between my teeth.
“Touché. I was going to say persistent, but we’ll agree on your observation.”
“How very gracious of you.” His fierce gaze softened for a second and he smiled very faintly. “See, we already have so much in common.”
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