Defiance (Rise of the Iliri Book 3)

by Auryn Hadley

  "That was three years ago." She pushed past him.

  They almost touched. Her shoulder was just inches from his chest as she headed back into the hall. Chance was just glad to know she remembered what she'd written. He was broke, but he wasn't that broke, and if he could make Silk into the game he planned, his core team would end up very wealthy. He'd love to be able to put Destiny Pierce on the list of credits.

  Like a miniature tornado, the dark haired ghost headed through the building on a mission. Chance just followed behind her, a smile playing on his lips. He'd already convinced her. He wasn't sure what had done it, but he could tell. She was going to take the job. When she headed up to his loft, he couldn't help but laugh.

  "Dez." She looked back, and he tossed her a set of keys. Unlocking the door, she stepped in, pausing just beyond. "I'm behind you," he murmured.

  Her shoulders relaxed, and she took a deep breath. "It's so bright in here."

  "What?"

  He'd already had his loft remodeled. The floors were covered in laminate and soft rugs. The kitchen was modern and, while not top of the line, it was more than sufficient. The bathroom was massive and had plenty of room for two, even though he lived alone. The best part was the light. Skylights and high windows kept it feeling airy, not like an old office over an abandoned warehouse.

  "Got any beer?" She was clearly changing the subject.

  He let her. "How old are you, Dez?"

  "Twenty. You?"

  "Twenty-seven. Do you really think I'm going to give you alcohol?"

  She adjusted the piercing through her septum, then shoved her hand into her pocket. Pulling out a brownish-orange bottle, she dropped into a well-padded chair without asking. Tilting her head, daring him to say a damned thing, she opened the top and tossed back two pills before rolling the plastic container between her fingers.

  "I need enough money to keep Vicodin on hand. If I'm busted, you don't know shit about it; I get that. Can't take the risk to your rep and all. Thing is, I'm gonna get drunk, too. I'm gonna get fucked up in just about any way I can, but your damned network will sing." She pulled her eyes from the bottle and onto him, a shocking clarity in the brown depths considering how many drugs she'd probably eaten already. "So, you get me the money and I figure out a way to make it happen – which is illegal and will be done on your network – or you just buy the fucking whiskey and let me steal it."

  He leaned over and snatched the pill bottle from her hands, careful not to touch her. Slowly, he read the label, surprised to see that it was actually prescribed under her name. "Oh, I don't care how fucked up you get, little girl. What I care about is you dying before I get my shit working."

  "I could only be so lucky." The words were under her breath, but he heard.

  "What happened, Dez?"

  She thrust out her hand, demanding the bottle back. "I decided to try something new. Time for a change of pace."

  "Home Depot?" Chance tossed the pills at her then headed to his fridge, pulling out a pair of beers. Twisting the top off one, he passed it over. "I just want enough information to not make your life any harder, ok?"

  "I quit the scene three years ago." She shrugged. "I don't want my name on anything. I just want a damned place to stay and get high."

  He tilted the bottle, taking a sip. "K. I'll give you the right to change your mind about that later, but I'll respect it. What else?"

  "Don't touch me."

  "Haven't yet."

  Slowly, she was starting to relax. Like a wild animal trapped in a cage, knowing she had a way out was all she needed. She wasn't ready to run past him yet, but he could see her eyes soften. They were so large, like a deer's. He just hoped the light never faded out completely. It was already too damned close.

  Dez took a long gulp of the beer, then belched, not even trying to hide it. "Until it's done, you get me anything I need. I promise it will be below your budget."

  "Already figured that." He dropped his head slightly. "I'm not talking work. I'm talking about you. We're about to be roommates."

  "No dress code?"

  "None," he agreed.

  She took another long drink, her eyes turning to the pills in her hand. "Just don't touch me." Her voice quavered on the last word.

  "I'll fire anyone who does."

  She looked up, a glimmer of trust hiding behind her lashes. "Sometimes I scream in my sleep."

  "Should I ignore it or wake you?" He tried to keep it bland, but he couldn't help but wonder what happened to make her so timid. This wasn't the same person who'd written the blogs that had shaped his career.

  "I don't know," she admitted. "No one's ever been around when it happens."

  "Then we'll wing it. What else?"

  "I don't want anyone to know I'm here. That's how they found me, by knowing what game I was working on."

  They. He had no idea who they were, but she'd just told him more than anyone else knew. Chance nodded, accepting that. "Which is why your name tag said Candice?"

  "Yeah. I hated that name, but it was one they had lying around." She tipped the bottle and drained the last of her beer, oddly coherent for someone on as many chemicals as he knew were in her system.

  "I'm guessing that means Bambi's out?" He stood, holding a hand out for the bottle. She gave him a confused look, then tilted the bottom toward him, almost smiling when he avoided her fingers. "Want another?"

  "Not worried about my Vicodin?"

  "Not today. Just finish the damned network before you off yourself?"

  "Promise."

  "So." He tossed the empty bottles and grabbed two more, passing her one before returning to his chair. "You need a phone, I assume?"

  "I own exactly seven shirts, three pairs of jeans, two bras, a single pair of panties, and five blankets. Well, and my laptop, but like I said, that's a piece of shit. All of that is locked in my storage unit."

  And he realized how she'd fallen off the radar so completely. "Which is where you live, right?"

  "It works."

  He leaned toward her. "Look at me." She tried, her gaze flinching from the intensity of his. He nodded, seeing exactly what he'd expected. She could focus when they talked tech, but interacting with people was out. "Pick a name. I'd suggest a game name since the devs won't bat an eye at that. I also need to know your favorite color."

  "Does black count?"

  "No. Pick another."

  She smiled. "White?"

  "Then you're leaving it up to me. Give me the keys and address to your unit and go crawl in my bed."

  That was not at all what she'd expected. Dez's eyes snapped to him, and she shook her head as if to clear her ears. "What?"

  "Pass the fuck out, take a hot bath – I don't care. I'm gonna get your shit and start settling you in. Until we get you a real bed, you're welcome to mine." He pointed at the sofa. "I'll last for a day."

  "You're leaving me here?"

  "Have some place you'd rather be?"

  She twisted in the chair, looking at his apartment. "I mean... with your shit?"

  Chance decided to go out on a limb. "I had no idea you were just a kid, ok? I used to read your blog religiously. I believed in everything you said, creating these grandiose dreams while I worked for my degree. It shaped Silk. Blending the genres, making perfection, and finding a work environment that allowed the developers and the community to work in synergy? Yeah, that's all you. Now that I have you on the team, I'll play by your rules." Chance gestured in a circle over his head, the bottle of beer still in his hands. "It's kinda all yours. Just don't puke on the bed?"

  "I'm not a puker." She dug in her pocket for her keys, bending her body awkwardly in the chair to reach them.

  He caught them when she tossed them over. "Fridge should have something in it you can eat. If you can find any clothes that fit, you're welcome to them."

  She nodded, then changed the subject. "I want a whiteboard. A really big one on the wall." She pointed in the general direction of where she wanted it.


  "Sharpie markers are at the front desk. Use the wall until I get one put up."

  A smile lit her face, the first real one he'd seen, and it changed everything about her. Stoned, avoiding reality, he'd just given her the one thing she needed to keep going. She had a goal and the power to make it happen. Destiny Pierce, the most influential gamer of his youth, had just decided she was going to keep playing for a few more days.

  Chance turned for the door before he said anything to fuck it up. He was no savior. He certainly wasn't the person to put her life back on track, but damned if he didn't want to. Something about the wretch in his apartment made him want to kill whoever had hurt her so bad. He owed her everything, even if she didn't know it.

  They'd found her through the game she'd been working on.

  Those words haunted him. Who had found her, why, and when? What the fuck had they done to her? He made it to his truck before his composure broke. Sitting behind the wheel, he shoved his hands into his hair. He'd always thought being harassed for being a ginger had been bad. The redheaded stepchild jokes had nothing on the pain that poor thing had suffered. He still couldn't believe she was living in a damned storage unit!

  Was. He'd be damned if she went back there. Hell, if the bitch wanted to kill herself, at least she could do it in comfort, right? She'd been a child prodigy and none of them had known it. She'd changed the entire gaming scene, and none of them had known a thing about her. He'd always assumed she was a few years older than him, not a desperate teenager wasting her youth away behind a monitor until it was all gone.

  The upside to all of this was that she wouldn't be spreading rumors about his habits. Dez might not realize it yet, but they'd just reached a very good understanding. He'd be happy to keep her secrets if she kept his. He was pretty sure she'd be willing to agree.

  Chapter 3

  Chance left, not even giving her an idea of when he'd be back. It was just her and a massively large, empty warehouse. Of all the places he left her, it had to be a fucking warehouse! Her skin shivered with the thought. At least this one was different. It was well lit and the debris inside was mostly crumbling building materials, not the signs of other humans.

  The first thing she'd do is have a shower. Not like it was hard to find the bedroom. Off the living room was a side door with weights visible through it. The only other option was the short hallway. Dez followed it into a large room made for a man. Decorated in soft blues and browns, it proved that Chance either had good taste or he paid someone to have it. Maybe he even had a washer and dryer she could borrow. The idea of having truly clean clothes was enough to convince her to start snooping.

  The apartment wasn't small. It was long and narrow, the rooms set up a bit awkwardly because of the shape of the space, but it felt like a home. It felt lived in and unprotected in the same way her mom's house always had. She couldn't help but notice the art on the walls. Much of it was concept art for games. The few pieces that weren't easily recognizable had the same feel as what she remembered of Silk.

  She found the washer tucked behind a pair of folding doors. With a plan in place, she decided to rummage through his drawers. There, she learned that his tastes were completely unsophisticated. T-shirts and jeans were the obvious favorites. She found gym clothes and claimed a tank and pants with a real drawstring. Those would do while her own clothes washed.

  Then she stepped into the bathroom. It was massive: two sinks, a tub that looked like it could hold at least four, and the most amazing shower. Thick frosted glass surrounded a tiled box. The colors were cool and reminded her of an ocean, but tasteful. Dez made sure to lock the door, then stripped before turning on the water, thankful to see that the pressure was fantastic. It had been way too long since she'd had a really good shower. Truck stops and parks just never cared if the water did more than trickle.

  This one made getting clean into a luxury. Dez scrubbed her entire body twice and liberally used his shampoo. It smelled like a man, but she didn't care. He had no conditioner, but her hair wasn't long enough to need it. She did borrow the razor. When she finished, she felt like a real person. She almost felt like a girl again, but she could ignore that. She wasn't going for pretty; she was going for clean.

  Damp, she pulled on his clothes, picked up her mess so that it would be hard to tell she'd been there, then hung the towel back where she'd found it. He had said to borrow what she needed, and she was going to take him at his word. If he didn't mean it, he shouldn't say it. Dez was sick and tired of empty promises. He'd either fire her and kick her ass out, or figure out that what he saw was all he was going to fucking get, and it wasn't necessarily a fairy tale.

  Then she tossed her own clothes into the washer. Even his damned laundry detergent smelled good. Maybe that had something to do with Chance's sex appeal? He was seriously hot, and his red hair helped instead of hurt. If she had to live with someone, she might as well enjoy the view, right? Hopefully, he'd figure out real fast that no touching meant exactly that. She sure wasn't about to fuck him.

  The sun was setting, but there was still no sign of Chance. As the air outside cooled, the building began to settle, and alone, the sound was creepy. The apartment was cozy, but just outside that door was a taste of hell. She looked through the living room window – the one that looked into the main room below – and saw nothing but a mess. It wasn't dark, dank, or cloying. It was just a large room that would soon be a development center. It was her own nightmare waiting to become her dream.

  She was tired of being scared all the time. It was just a damned building, and it hadn't hurt her. It was a thing, and things could be changed. It was also a thing that she had complete control over. She took one deep breath, then Dez left the apartment. Her feet echoed on the stairs, the walls sending the sound back, but she could do this.

  Tucked in the corner was a large shop vac. Two brooms, one large and the other smaller, leaned against a garbage bin. A roll of plastic bags lay on the floor beside it. He needed an area to work, and she needed to do this. She was going to make this building her bitch.

  That's how it started. She just wanted to stop feeling nervous about the fact that her new home was a warehouse, but it quickly became more. As the debris vanished, the potential for office space appeared. With a little searching, she found more cleaning supplies and claimed them all. The old desks weren't bad. They were simple. The style was a bit outdated, but developers were men who wouldn't care. Functionality was all that mattered. Section by section, she cleaned, moved furniture, then cleaned some more.

  It had gotten dark hours ago, but she loved the night. It was when the peace came, so long as she wasn't sleeping. Dez moved to the next section, a dark, secluded corner between the back exit and the apartments that was tucked nicely under Chance's second-floor apartment. Unlike the main room, this spot was cozy and sheltered. She felt drawn to it like a wolf to a den.

  And the massive L-shaped desk pressed against the wall would be perfect. She tugged at it, sliding it out to reach the junk beneath it, and heard a crash from around the corner. Her heart hung, and she froze, waiting for it to beat again. Someone was in the building. A moment later, there was a second bang. It was heavy, whatever made that sound. Was the exit door beside her unlocked? Would there be more people outside? Slowly, she stepped in that direction, praying she wouldn't draw attention.

  A form loomed at the corner, large, bulky, and just there. Her feet moved before her mind could catch up. Dez spun, a shriek the punctuation to her exit, running as hard as she could. Outside, she had to get outside! She had to get away from the men in the warehouse. She couldn't let them touch her, not again, oh god, they couldn't touch her again.

  "Dez!"

  The voice registered in her mind, but she had to go. Hitting the emergency exit hard, she just kept going. Across the concrete, over the gravel, into the grass beyond, she ran and ran fast. It was too open. There was no place to hide. But she couldn't just run blindly. When Dez turned to look behind her, she saw noth
ing.

  With heaving breaths, she slowed and bent over her knees. Her lungs gasped like a fish, seeking oxygen in a world that didn't want to give it, but she tried. She tried so hard, looking for any signs of pursuit. Then the lights over the loading bays came on. A moment later, a man with flaming red hair stepped into view.

  "Dez," he called. "You staying out there or coming back in?"

  "Staying here for a minute, k, thanks."

  She heard his laugh, but it was impressed, not snide. "Mind if I join you?"

  "Do I get a choice?"

  "Yeah, kid. You do. Didn't know you were a sprinter, but I swear I don't need a second performance to believe it."

  Fuck. Chance wasn't going to just pretend like he hadn't seen that. "Might as well c'mon."

  She dropped into the grass. If she was sitting, she wouldn't take off like that again. Damn, why did he have to pay attention to all of her issues? This was why she didn't have friends. Partly because her pride couldn't take the repeated blows, and partly because no one wanted to hang out with a fruit loop. First day at work and her new boss now understood just how nutso she really was.

  He crossed the distance slowly, something large in his arms. With the light behind him, she couldn't make it out, but she knew it was Chance. She'd seen his hair, heard his voice, so the silhouette walking at her was fine. He was safe. He wasn't about to risk Silk just to make an example out of her. She tried to convince herself to believe that, and while her mind did, her heart just wouldn't cooperate. Alternating between aching pauses and quick sprints, if it didn't start behaving, she'd end up passing out.

  He stopped well out of reach. "Catch this."

  He tossed the object at her. It was light and hung in the air for a moment, then flopped into her lap. Soft, dense fur met her fingers. Beneath that was pliable foam. In the dim glow of moonlight, Dez realized the thing in her hands was the most disgusting-looking stuffed animal she'd ever seen. Sickly grey, its face was smushed and evil, the eyes like dead black coals, with withered wings attached to its back.