To Trick a Hacker: Women of Purgatory 3

by India Kells

“Sweetheart, one look into your eyes was all I needed.”

  The mocking way he repeated her own words made her snicker. “You will be disappointed.”

  “And so will you of mine. Do we have a deal?”

  It took her only a minute to decide. There was little interest in her childhood, and in the bargain, she was certain his revelation would be more captivating. “Sure. You first.”

  “Food first. Let’s eat.”

  Instead of following him, she let herself fall on the comfy sofa. “Food after. First a slight interrogation detour like where are we, and why do you say it’s your place? When I overviewed your data—”

  Owen scoffed. “I’m ready to say that you did more than overview …”

  She waved her hand, dismissing his comment. “Semantics. When I did what I did, there was no property to your name. Is this apartment really your place or another safe house you use on a long-term basis?”

  Dylan started to get the subtle and fleeting clues on his guarded face. “You’re hesitant to tell me because it’s not legit? Let me assure you that my cop days are long gone.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “It’s more that I invested into the business above which this apartment is located. And as I’m the main investor, it comes with certain perks, such as this apartment, as well as the second one beside it, currently occupied by my brother, Wes, and his new wife.”

  Recent information flashed before her eyes. “Mac. I remember now. Bea’s mighty sniper got married to your brother last year.”

  “Yes, Wes used the second apartment as a hideout, too. I was out of the country during that time.”

  “This company is mostly used as a cover?”

  Owen shook his head. “No, everything is legit. I just made damn sure my name was nowhere to be seen in the papers or ownership of the building. People run it for me and take care of it when I’m gone. It’s mine by word, if not on paper. And I’m in constant contact with the manager.”

  The more he talked, the more Dylan frowned. “If this business is legit, why would you need your name to be buried?”

  Owen rubbed his forehead and Dylan stood up to look downstairs through the window, but couldn’t see any signs.

  “So, Sorenson, what did you invest in?”

  As if bracing for an impact, he stood tall and stoic in front of her. “Sex.”

  She must have misheard. But as her brain tried to come up with logical synonyms for his entrepreneurial venture, none came to mind.

  “Sex? You own an adult bookstore?”

  Sensing she wasn’t accusing, but was more curious, he relaxed a bit. “No, there are sex toys, but we don’t sell any.”

  “Okay, second guess. You run a brothel?”

  Something flashed in his eyes, but it was fleeting as he started laughing. “Not quite. Listen, can you just let it go? It’s not as if you’re going downstairs. And to be honest, I think it may trigger bad memories.”

  Now, she had to shake her head. “What? You own a place that kidnaps people and tortures them against their will?”

  Now his face turned angry. “You know perfectly well I would never allow that. Everything that happens below stairs is consensual.”

  “Well unless you want me to go check by myself, Sorenson, you better spit it out, and soon.”

  “I own a BDSM club.”

  Chapter 13

  Dylan didn’t know exactly why she insisted Owen take her downstairs. Maybe it was only to be defiant when he turned all protective on her and forbade her to go.

  At some point, she didn’t think she could make him budge, until she asked him if she could have access to a computer. A good computer.

  When he told her that he had a state-of-the-art machine in his office, and that said office was in the club, Dylan found it interesting to kill two birds with one stone. Or was it?

  She should have found it strange that Owen insisted on using the back door. He said it was the shortest way to his office, however she suspected something else. Nonetheless, she followed him, but sooner or later, she would find out the truth. He wouldn’t be able to stay closemouthed on his motives for very long.

  The back door of the club opened to a small entryway, with one open door on the left going into an office space, and another one leading to a long corridor with many, many tufted green doors.

  As she was about to go into that intriguing direction, Owen stepped swiftly in front of her, blocking her access and closing the door, while directing her into his office. She didn’t say anything and smiled sweetly. She could bide her time.

  The office space was like entering some sort of spaceship. She never really cared about decor, the engine was all that mattered in her opinion. But, she had to admit, this command center warranted a second glance for sure.

  “This is way over the top for a club. Any club. You do know that, right?”

  Owen only shrugged. “This setup is not only for the club, although some people have special access to it. But I installed it because when I have to accept a mission or not, I like to be prepared. A friend of mine set up this military-grade computer and all the trimmings. It has been quite useful.”

  Dylan let her fingers trail on the three wide screens before sitting on the spaceship chair. Any minute away from a screen was a minute lost in her humble opinion, and she let her fingers fly on the main keyboard, starting to get a feel of its power. Scanning the potential, she whistled in admiration.

  “I have to admit, Sorenson, you know how to make a girl happy. This is sweet. It would need some strengthening, but …”

  “I know, you’re the goddess of this age. Be assured that I won’t let my friend know that you critiqued his skills.”

  Dylan stilled her hands and turned to him. “It wasn’t a critique. I’m grateful for this. For your hospitality and this kickass computer. I thought I would have to put scrap parts together in order to be online again.”

  Grinning, Owen shook his head. “Play with it all you want, just make sure nobody invades the building or sets it on fire.”

  “Promise. I will be beyond careful. And to be honest, I will install layers of protection here before I even start stalking our stalker. And we need to strategize on how we will bring him down.”

  “Agreed. Let me tell the people here that you will become a permanent fixture behind this desk and I’ll grab us coffee.”

  “What about your dinner? It’s getting cold as we speak.”

  “The food’s not going anywhere. And I feel you will be more relaxed if you kick-start this mission right away.”

  As he turned toward the door, she called his name. When he turned to look at her, she hesitated.

  “Thank you.” There wasn’t more she could say. These two words held everything she felt in them.

  As if sensing her embarrassment, he only nodded and got out, closing the door behind him.

  Back in her seat, she immediately started layering the security measures in mind since she was blindsided by that freak in her apartment. What she devised would take time to put in place, but it was necessary. She would never risk Owen. She had to be certain that her shield was up and ready for action.

  Entranced in her work, she only felt Owen come into the room and put a cup of steaming coffee within her reach. He looked at the screen for some time; he sat nearby and she believed he made a call before going out the room again.

  Time passed some more as Dylan was running another program and she felt an annoying tension in her neck. How long had she been immobile? Pushing herself up from her seat, she winced as her muscles screamed at the movement.

  While she stretched, she looked around the room—its décor—for the very first time since she came in. A real man’s den, all dark wood and leather. Very similar to his apartment, now that she thought about it. The large leather couch was tempting her to lie down for a moment, but it was the many blank television monitors lining the wall that drew her attention.

  Dylan glanced back at the main computer and again at t
he screen when she realized that there was a tablet acting as the main control. Unable to help herself, she activated the screens.

  It was one thing to know she was working in a BDSM club, it was another to see it firsthand. Each screen had a high-quality visual of each of the rooms of the club, probably behind all the doors she had seen. At first, her eyes caught on what she guessed was the torture room, blood red and black with hellish contraptions. Was it why Owen didn’t want her here? After a moment, she realized that it might be the case. And was he right to do so? Looking at the empty room, she didn’t feel anything frightening or repulsive. It was a kink like there were so many others in the world. She may have a fit in a surgical room, that would remind her more of her ordeal. In fact, it would be a trigger for her. Was it the distinction or was it because she was looking at it through a screen?

  One by one, she checked the screens and smiled as she discovered strange fantasy worlds. People paid for this? Also, she noticed on each of the screens that all the rooms were empty. Probably the evening hadn’t started yet, she supposed. On the monitor closest to the desk, there were people. It looked like a high-scale bar or lounge. Owen sat on a dark-green sofa, a beautiful dark-skinned woman close to his side. Another couple sat in front of them. The other woman was blonde with pixie-style haircut. The other man looked like a Latin business man with his three-piece suit. Owen with his dark jeans and deep blue Henley shirt clashed with the chic ensemble.

  The dark beauty, in a tight red dress that looked a lot like latex, ran her hand over Owen’s forearm before taking his hand. Dylan wasn’t prepared for the punch in her gut at the sight. Thoughts ran through her head and she scolded herself. Owen wasn’t hers. Why would she think that? Because he kissed her once? Just before she collapsed into a puddle of panic and snot that must have turned him off? And by the way the couple looked so cozy, his inclination had clearly moved on.

  And she had no right of claiming Owen, or any man for that matter. How could she be with anyone when a simple touch at her scarred skin ruined the mood? And since when did she care about that? Since leaving her old life behind, Dylan had scarcely thought about that. About having a normal life. Why was she thinking about this now?

  She left the monitors on before returning to the desk. She knew why the thought haunted her. And unless she miraculously could be touched again, without triggering a bad reaction, there was no solution. She rubbed her face and focused on the computer screen again before realizing that her program wasn’t even halfway finished. Bored and irritated, she spun the chair round and round until she became dizzy and got to her feet. A drink, that would be good. All she had to do was find that bar on the screen, which was probably at the other end of the long corridor. And no, she wasn’t going there to confront Owen, or have a closer look to his lady friend. Not really.

  No sound came from the other side of the long corridor, so she risked it. Pushing the door open, she noticed small details on each numbered door. The one catching her attention had red leather on black metallic numbers. That must have been the dungeon she had seen on screen. A quick check wouldn’t do any harm, would it? It was only to see if she could sustain the sight of restraints and torture devices. And if she did? That would be a good sign, wouldn’t it? Well, she sure hoped so.

  On a whim, she opened the door and was engulfed in a cocoon of scarlet hues and darkness. Her feet firmly set on the threshold, she waited. No heart racing, no cold sweat. As she suspected, it confirmed what she already knew and checked off another test from her list. Would she willingly be tied to one of these contraptions? Doubtfully. Would she tie Owen to one of them? That thought made her smile. Another check on her list, it seemed. She took more steps, and started examining the strange furniture, especially the throne-like chair, at the other end of then room.

  “Enjoying yourself?” The female voice made her jump and brace for an attack. The beautiful, dark-skinned woman she had seen on the screen was standing at the entrance of the room, arms crossed and a smirk on her face. Owen’s woman.

  “I was. To be honest, it was more of a test for myself. To be in here, I mean.”

  The woman looked around and nodded. “Yes, it’s always a test to be here. Even for me. Even now.” Her attention back on Dylan, she came closer, extending her hand. “I’m Margot.”

  “Dylan.” She forced herself to ignore her hesitation and accepted the contact. Her grip was firm, solid. Dylan relaxed a notch.

  “Yes, I know. It’s not everyday Owen brings a woman in here. And by here I mean this club. He must really trust you.”

  That made her frown. “Why would that be so? He has the right to own this business if it’s what he wants.”

  Her answer seemed to surprise the woman, although her reaction was subtle. If not for her training, Dylan wouldn’t have noticed it.

  “I agree. But people tend to receive information and twist it, or color it according to their own beliefs. How can someone see this room, and not think of why Owen created it?”

  Dylan’s eyes went to the wall of implements neatly hooked in straight rows; the whips and canes in so many styles and sizes it was dizzying.

  “I thought of Owen in here, I’ll admit that. But now that you brought it up …” She hesitated. Suddenly, she was spilling her thoughts to this woman she only knew by name.

  “You hesitate to say what’s on your mind. That intrigues me more than the question you didn’t ask.” Margot walked past her and sat on the throne that had so many leather attachments, it must have been designed for an octopus.

  “I must go back to my computer.”

  “You’re scared.”

  As a reflex, Dylan turned. That word—which she had made sure to cut into pieces, burn the ashes, and bury them in order to never be controlled by it again—was like a slap in the face.

  “I’m not scared.”

  “Yes, you are. But not of this room. So it must be something else, something more important. Or would it be someone?”

  When Dylan answered, it sounded too much like a snarl. “You know nothing about me. Keep your psychobabble to yourself!” And she turned to get out.

  “Was it rape? Personally, I don’t think so, because I didn’t react that way when I was attacked. And I somehow compare myself to you. We’re both strong women who I suspect are survivors.”

  Slowly, Dylan turned once more to the other woman. “Listen, if Owen put you up to—”

  “Owen didn’t tell me anything, apart that you were a friend in trouble and working in his office. But I know the man, and a part of him cares about you, and there is something hurting in his eyes. The same way he looked at me. After the attack.”

  Hell, she didn’t want him to hurt. “I wasn’t raped. But I was abducted and tortured. Marked, by my aggressor.”

  Margot nodded, but there was no compassion or pity in her gaze. It held hers with a steely gleam. “I hope for you the bastard died a horrible death.”

  The dominatrix’s fierce tone made her smile. “Unfortunately, no. I only have the satisfaction to be alive and know that he isn’t.”

  “But it’s not enough, is it? I was abducted in some way, and raped … even if I got out, I couldn’t find back what was taken from me. It was gone.”

  Dylan nodded, her chest tight. “Did you ever get it back?”

  Margot got to her feet and made her way to her on her sky-high matching red heels. “I have one piece of advice for you, Dylan. Don’t waste your time and energy to find what was lost. I spent years trying that, and I still felt broken.”

  “Wow! You should become a motivator; you really have the trick to lift one’s spirit.”

  Margot’s smile widened at her sarcastic tone and she shook her head. “What I mean is don’t use your mind to find what you have lost, but instead find what you need. Use your gut, your instinct. Focus on what you think is the first step, however weird it is. It worked for me.”

  “Your first step was to become a dominatrix?”

  Margot shook her h
ead. “Not exactly, but it brought me here, to this place. When I thought I wouldn’t survive or live anymore, my first weird step, to be honest, was to buy myself a very expensive dress. I remember looking like a ragged doll, but I entered that very expensive boutique. One woman took a look at my poor state, but came to help me anyway. It took hours, but when I exited, I was clad in an amazing red satin dress, and high heels. As I was trying on dresses, the saleswoman and I conversed, and even if I didn’t tell her the specifics, she guessed that something bad had happened to me. She called in a friend, a hairdresser who did my hair and make-up. After months of feeling I wasn’t going to make it, I felt human again. That night, without a reservation, I strolled inside the best restaurant of the city, and I was given a table. People looked at me, seeing the real me, not the broken, raped victim. That was my first step, the one convincing me I would survive.”