To Trick a Hacker: Women of Purgatory 3

by India Kells

  Owen stood up to peek over her shoulder to the screen. “And why would that be careless or dumb?”

  “Well, the more often you use one location, the more visible you become. And also, the more predictable. It’s like every time you use it, it comes out of the shadows, a little at a time. So, at the end, there is no way to hide.”

  “Or it’s a trap.”

  The word lingered in her mind for a moment. “But why a trap? Especially from this location? This place doesn’t mean anything.”

  “What is it?”

  “A place called Maison Amaryllis. Building looks upscale, located in downtown Dallas.”

  “I know that place. Maison Amaryllis is a brothel.”

  Immediately, the vibe changed in the room. She looked up at Owen, but he was moving to the door, taking out his phone.

  “And with that bit of surprise information, you’re going to make a quick exit? Are you hiding something from me, Sorenson?”

  When he turned to her, she knew her snide remark had hit a spot, and maybe a little harder than she intended.

  “I’m sorry, I let my frustration lash out on you, Owen. That’s the worst part of me, when I’m not in control, when I don’t get the information I want. Let me present to you, Lady Bitch.”

  Owen arched an eyebrow, and she saw his lips twitched a little. “A very fine name. Come, my lady. After what you just told me I need to make a call and you need your fix of information. What about a drink?”

  Chapter 15

  The Wolf’s Den. Dylan stood in the lounge of Owen’s club, admiring the brass and wood sign shining softly on the far wall behind the bar. She had to admit, this place looked amazing—comfortable, and sexy, but classy. The eye was easily drawn to the textures, the soothing colors, the smell of leather and firewood.

  The curve of the sofas and chairs begged the visitors to come sit and enjoy, which she did. Curling up on an oversize leather couch, her attention was inevitably drawn to the man behind the bar. Owen was unlocking a cupboard at the far end, retrieving a bottle and two glasses. He didn’t ask her what she would like, and she didn’t care. Hard liquor had a way of soothing her frayed nerves like no other, and that’s why she seldom indulged in it. She didn’t need another anchor dragging her deeper. However, based on the man’s expression, she suspected they would both need it.

  Her mind wandering, Dylan wondered what might have been if she had met Owen Sorenson, the mighty Navy SEAL, dark-operator extraordinaire, before all that awful business with Knudson. Who she was as a person before that ordeal, before being carved away by a crazy man. That thought made her frown. The more time passed, the less she remembered herself, the reactions she might have had.

  “That’s a mighty frown you have on your face, Lady Bitch.” Owen put a very fine bottle of whiskey and two glasses on the small coffee table and sat beside her, still keeping an acceptable distance.

  Dylan laughed at his teasing. “Yeah, I tend to frown so much more than I used to. In fact, I was thinking that I don’t remember so much of the person I used to be before …”

  After pouring the amber liquid, Owen handed her a tumbler. “Welcome to the fucked-up club.” He clinked her glass and leaned back, extending his legs with a sigh. “There were times I had trouble remembering my own name after a mission. The only reason I didn’t was because I have two older brothers who wouldn’t let me forget.”

  Dylan took a sip of the drink and it slid down her throat like warm, fiery honey. Another point in the SEAL’s favor—he didn’t care about the cheap stuff.

  “You’re too serious to be the youngest of the pups. I would have guessed Lance to be the youngest of your wild bunch.”

  Owen grinned, swinging an arm around the back of the sofa. “I may not always have been like that, but you’re right about calling us the wild bunch.” He shook his head, clearly having images popping in his head. “Between the three of us, there is only a one-year difference, so we became close very early in life.”

  “One year! Whoa, I have endless admiration for your mom.”

  “Yes, she’s quite a woman. Raising the three of us alone hadn’t been easy on her.” And at this instant, the smile and fond memories were gone, his expression shifting.

  “A single mother. But you did have a father.”

  His face turned to steel and he gulped the content of his glass. “The bastard that sired us hasn’t earned the right to be called by that title.”

  Whoa, his mood swung hard. The more she knew about him, the more she realized that he wasn’t that Zen master she thought at first. He only learned to harness his emotions and keep them on a tight leash. And beneath the layers of honed warrior still breathed the beast.

  “I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories. I’m sorry.”

  Owen poured himself another glass and sat back, composed and cool again. “The past is the past. And to explain why I know Maison Amaryllis, you need a bit of context.”

  Dylan swirled her whiskey, waiting for him to find the words. The more she remained grounded, the more her cop skills flowed back to her. She had been in her fair share of interrogations, both playing the good and bad cop, but she knew that finding the suspect’s rhythm, his comfort zone, was much easier when she was steady herself. Owen was like a caged tiger, and not of the tamed variety. The few times she had encountered those, hardened criminals, so calm and collected on the surface, she had learned to wait, stay immobile and not say a word. Stay solely focused on them. And that focus is what they wanted. Same for the warrior beside her. When he was ready, he would tell her. All she had to do was remain patient.

  “My mother is a very intelligent, smart, and caring woman. Ask Lance or Wes, we love her to no end and would do anything for her. She was always there for us. The only mistake she made in her life was when she married my father.”

  Owen didn’t even glance in her direction as he spoke. His eyes stayed fixed on his glass, partly lost. “I was the youngest, so I’m the one with the fewest memories of that time, but I retained some images. And they’re not good ones. I remember my mother screaming, bruises on her arms. I have an image of Wes being backhanded by the bastard, flying across the room. I swear, the earliest I can remember, there isn’t anything good about that life. It was pain and tears. Maybe it was one of the things that made us boys bond together even more, staying close.”

  He swallowed and continued. “And surely it’s the reason why we’re all three so protective of our mother. After what seemed like years, one night, she decided it was enough, grabbed her three boys, and fled.”

  Dylan swallowed hard. “Just like that?”

  Owen shook his head. “I don’t remember what happened, it’s Wes and Lance that told me about it. It seemed that during the evening, I was being fussy, not wanting to sleep alone in my bed. Normally, our father never paid us any attention, but that night, the overflow of alcohol made him irritable. As I was leaving my room to go to Wes’s bed, my father saw me and grabbed my neck, lifting me off my feet.”

  “Owen …”

  He shook his head, wincing. “As I say, I don’t remember that episode. Lance told me I started wheezing and kicking my feet, hitting the wall. My mother, alerted by the ruckus, came out and saw what was happening. Lance and Wes tried to stop the man who was trying to kill me, but they were too small. He was too strong. My mother knocked him up unconscious with a chair. He fell like a tree and I scurried away. At that moment, my mother made us all dress and pack a small bag before we bolted out the door.”

  “Her own epiphany. The start of a new life.” Dylan hurt for him and his family.

  “Yeah. What I remember was a long bus ride. The landscape changing. I remember sitting on my mother’s lap, she was holding me so tight. And Wes and Lance kept very close. A single unit, that’s what we were. Still are.”

  Dylan willed herself to keep the tears at bay, but it would have been impossible to speak without revealing the emotion in her voice.

  Still lost in his thoughts,
Owen twirled the content of his glass. “She always put us first. She wanted the best for us. In fact, I don’t think there is a sport or an activity we haven’t tried. She always offered us everything she could. We weren’t rich, but the house and our clothes were always clean. Her love is unconditional. I’m a lucky man.”

  His tone hid something else. “But you felt responsible.”

  Now his blue eyes bore into her dark ones, so she continued. “Why do I have the impression that something is nagging at you?”

  Owen blinked before rubbing his hand over his face. “It’s frightening how much you can see sometimes.”

  Dylan grimaced. “It’s the cop in me.”

  “Well, the cop in you is not wrong. Even if I don’t remember that fateful night, there is a part of me feeling guilty for provoking the situation.”

  “You would have preferred she stayed and continued being beaten up by that scum, or risking the well-being of her children?”

  “No! Of course not. But from that moment on, everything had been so difficult for her.”

  “Have you ever talked to her about that? About what happened?”

  “No. It was as if that part of her life and ours never existed. The day one of our lives started when we were far away for good.”

  Dylan nodded, and noticed that both their glasses were empty, so she stretched and grabbed the bottle, refilling them.

  “Owen, I’m grateful for your trust, and rest assured I won’t tell a soul about it. But I don’t see the link between your story and a brothel in Dallas.”

  “It’s because you’re missing a piece. The episode when the bastard reappeared into our lives.”

  Dylan stilled. “No way! I thought you all had disappeared for good. And the way you talked about your father, he didn’t appear like a very smart man.”

  Owen nodded and took a sip. She noticed that this time, guilt and nostalgia had been replaced by anger.

  “For more than twelve years, we had no news from him. Mom had always been careful to cut all ties and made sure we were safe, but out of the blue, one Saturday morning, as Wes and Lance were away, he came to our doorstep.”

  Dylan dreaded to ask the question, but forced it out. “What happened?”

  “I was in my room and heard his voice. And my mother’s. I was so surprised to even remember what he sounded like, I was frozen for a second. I silently slid out of my room. My first instinct was to run downstairs and beat him bloody. But as I approached, I could listen to their conversation. He was accusing her of kidnapping his children and if she didn’t give him money, he would report her to the police and regain custody of me, as I was the only one underage, and put her to jail. My mom broke down in tears, devastated. She begged him to leave us alone, but he was adamant. He wanted the money; she could sell her jewels, she could sell the house, or she could sell her soul, he didn’t care. No payment and she was going to prison. Mom looked at him as he walked out, and then ran to her room. I could hear her muffled sobbing. I wasn’t just angry anymore, I was desperate. So, I ran after him.”

  “You what?” The words were out in surprise.

  “I ran after my father and made him stop the car. I didn’t even know at that time why I did it. I knew that hurting him, threatening him wouldn’t do any good. When he braked and got out, for an instant, I was six and scared again. And at almost eighteen, on the football team, I wasn’t a wimp. When he stood before me, my mouth worked before my brain, and I blurted something stupid.”

  “Owen, just running after him and confronting him, it takes courage. I can’t imagine doing that!”

  “Well, I did, full of hurt and hormones, and I blurted out not to bother my mom ever again, and that I would take care of the payment.”

  Dylan, blown away by the story, exhaled. “How could you make such a proposal? And how much money did he tried to extract from your mother?”

  Owen winced and put his elbows on his knees before meeting her gaze.

  “He wanted a thousand. A thousand a month.”

  “Owen! How could you bargain with him? You were seventeen, how could you even think about finding so much money? There is no way …”

  And then one piece of the puzzle clicked into place, and Dylan lost her breath for a moment. When she turned her head to Owen, now with his eyes on her, she blinked, seeing the truth on his face.

  “Unless you became a serial burglar, there weren’t many options. Maison Amaryllis was one of them. You were living in Dallas at that time, weren’t you?”

  Owen nodded, breaking away from her questioning gaze, his eyes on his hands. Dylan didn’t see the accomplished man and Navy SEAL before her, but the seventeen-year-old teenage boy, full of guilt and ready to protect and save his mother. Whatever the price.

  Instinct and a deep need to comfort the tormented man made her next move easy. She put her glass down and leaned forward to touch him. His hands were rugged and warm against hers, so cold after hearing the story. Dylan traced every line, every scar. His hands were not the ones of the young man who wanted to protect his family anymore. For a long moment, he let her touch and examine them. Clean, strong, worn. Fighter’s hands.

  “What a pair we are. You, the ex-cop who became a hacker, and me, the ex-gigolo who became a SEAL.” His voice was low, with barely a hint of humor.

  “Yeah. One who climbed out of darkness, another who willingly fell into it.”

  “And to whom are you referring to?”

  Dylan brought his hand to her cheek. “I would say both of us, at separate times of our lives. But at this exact moment, I believe you have more light in you.”

  His lips parted, as to refute her words, but Dylan silenced him with her mouth. He froze under her touch, then moved toward her before holding himself back. Only his lips answered her. That damn promise, she thought. But was he completely wrong? What if she reacted the same way as before? Arousal and desire filled her body, as thoughts and annoying doubts filled her head. One was going to win. The one she wanted, she vowed.

  Losing herself in sensation, she slid onto his body, pushing him against the armrest, straddling his thigh. Owen let her do as she wished, and the submission, even for a moment, of that dangerous and powerful man, thrilled her. Her hands trailed down his neck to grab his shirt and pull it over his head. Instead of kissing him again, she tasted his skin. From the corner of her eyes, she saw his hand turn into fist and the surge of desire that pooled between her legs made her bite him lightly. He bowed and groaned, but his hands stood diligently by his side.

  As she rubbed her cheek against his ripped abdomen, Owen inhaled sharply. “You’re asking a lot from a man, Dylan.”

  “Do you want me to stop?”

  Owen hissed between clenched teeth. “I want you to find a solution for me not to trigger a panic attack or bad memories. Quick.”

  Dylan swallowed and nodded. “I want to, but what if I react the same way as before? I don’t want to go back there; I want to move forward. I just don’t know how.”

  Still breathing hard, Owen nodded. “I may have an idea. To help you move forward while easing the edge we’re both on. Do you trust me?”

  She swallowed again, but her mouth was dry as sawdust. “Yes. I trust you. Just promise me something. If you feel uncomfortable at any point, or nauseated … just tell me as soon as it happens. Don’t let it get out of hand.”

  Owen stilled for a moment. “Dylan, what are you not telling me?”

  “Nothing …”

  “Dylan.” The way he said her name made her wince. He wanted the truth, but he wasn’t going to like it. Of that she was certain.

  “The first time I had sex, after what happened to me, the guy didn’t feel well.”

  “Feel well? Be explicit.”

  “He vomited. On me.”

  She might have sprouted a second head; he wouldn’t have a more shocked expression on his face. Surprise that switched to indignation and fury.

  “That’s what you told me earlier. And it happened du
ring sex? Tell me the moron’s name, and he will regret it.”

  Dylan wasn’t going to tell him that the moron was her ex-fiancé, and that the poor man didn’t mean any harm. He was just ill-prepared for what he was about to see. And worse, he had a comparative image of what she looked like before the trauma. She knew her wounds and scars had healed and faded over time, but they had not completely disappeared. They never would.

  “It’s okay, no big deal.”

  “No big deal? Don’t lie to me and tell me it didn’t affect you, that it didn’t traumatize you more. Christ!”

  He raked his fingers through his hair and it took a moment for his jaw to unlock. After a couple of deep breaths, he turned to her. “I don’t know how I will overlook that, but I will. Not because I don’t want to beat that idiot bloody, but because I’d rather focus on you.”