What the fuck does that mean? He’s done it before. He’s killed before? Who is this son of a bitch, and what does he want with my girl?
Fuck.Fuck.Rayvn.
I scramble for my phone, finding the stupid fucking thing dead. Shit. What is it about this office and my phone being dead? I plug it in as fast as possible, wondering when the last time I even used it was.
Two days ago? Maybe three?
God, I’d fallen into my old ways, too caught up in my own shit to pay attention to anything else. When is the last time I spoke to Rayvn? Fucking hell, Nash. While I wait for my phone to power up, I start the process of looking into whoever sent this message. I need to figure out who has it out bad enough for her that they not only hired me but then threatened me when I refused.
I lose myself in the hunt, tearing his complex coding apart as I ruthlessly search for the person who dared come after my Little Fox.
“Fuck!” I roar, throwing my keyboard across the office. It smashes into the wall and clatters to the floor. Keys go flying, but I pay them no mind as I stare at the information pouring across my screens. This is bad.So fucking bad.
How could I not have looked into him? How could I have been so fucking blinded by the money that I didn’t even think to…Shit.
I barely make it to the trashcan next to my desk before I heave up the meager contents of my stomach. Again and again, I retch as my body tries to purge everything I just saw from my memory. When I’m sure I’m done, and there’s nothing left in my stomach, I shove the trashcan aside and wipe my mouth on my sleeve.
Get it together, Nash. Focus.
My eyes skim all of the files once more, nausea continuing to whirl through my gut. Hacking this guy took an insane amount of time. Whatever firewalls he’s installed are professional but not impenetrable. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this.
Vincent Sutton. 52 years old. Previously the Chief of Police in Denver but was elected the commissioner for the state of Colorado last year. For the last six months, he’s been in and out of court after allegations of sexual assault and rape were filed against him by two women. The lawyer representing the women was none other than Rayvn Porter. Evidence disappeared, and the case was forgotten. Months later, a new case was opened, taking a different angle when new evidence was found. The most recent suit was once again dropped when Rayvn’s clients decided to pull out.
After digging into Sutton’s personal computer files, I discovered how all of that illegal and insane bullshit happened without the public or news channels catching on despite all of the evident foul play.
Blackmail.
So. Much. Blackmail.
Sutton has files on almost everyone, and every single piece of it is highly incriminating. I’m talking; photos of judges cheating on their wives, lieutenants doing drugs, lab technician’s with prostitutes, and jury members beating their children. There is shit oneveryone.
More than that, Sutton also has proof of his own indiscretions. It seems he likes to take photos of the women he assaults—his own little trophies. According to the hidden file on his computer, he’s assaulted 11 women. After digging deeper, I discovered only 10 of them are still alive. One of them, a minor named Irina Pavlova, died in a tragic car accident four months after the photos of him assaulting her were uploaded to his hard drive. She was fifteen, and her autopsy says she was four months pregnant when she died.
It gets worse.
Irina wasn’t an isolated incident. I foundthousandsof records of child pornography saved to his computer. Like I said, sick motherfucking bastard.
If all of that weren’t enough, the one file I found on his computer that resulted in my shattered keyboard, vomiting, and the blackout rage that has taken over my vision, is the one he has onmy woman. More specifically, my woman andme.
Photo after photo of us. In the club, as I finger fucked her on the dancefloor, her panties on display as she gushed for me. The day she fucked herself in her office when I told her to. Our night in the cemetery. The night I fucked her while she was passed out on sleeping pills. The night I tied her up.
I had no idea we, orshemore likely, was being followed. I had no idea there was another camera in her office beside mine or that someone had been in that cemetery with us. I didn’t even realize her blinds were open when we’d been together in her room. I was too distracted byher. Too consumed byher.
Everything that he has photos of is enough to take her down. If he released them, he’d ruin her public appearance and kill her career. They’d shatter what little progress she’s made concerning her insecurities about her sexual interests. They’d break her spirit, and I’ll be damned if I let that happen. I don’t know what his endgame is, but I do know it won’t involve her. No matter what I do, I’ll make sure she stays out of it and safe, even if it means I go down in her place.
I quickly download all of the information to my computer, ensuring I have proof of all that I’ve uncovered just in case he gets wise and deletes his stash. I transfer everything from my computer to a flash drive and then print out hard copies of the evidence. This guy must have another high-level hacker on his team because the amount of shit that disappears in his presence is insane. Their skill rivals mine, if not beats it, and I’m not taking any chance. I need as many verifiable copies of his paper and digital trail as I can get my hands on.
While everything is processing, I check my phone again, only to realize I’d gotten so distracted with hunting for this bastard I lost six hours. I open up my messages and go straight to Ray’s, ignoring everything else. The organ in my chest that hasn’t stopped working overtime since I saw that email, skips a beat and then sinks. She’s texted me over fifty times in the last week, each one more panicked than the last. They started off sweet, and it went progressively downhill after that. I scan through them, feeling like the lowest piece of shit. I’m pretty sure it can’t get any worse until I see the last message that came through only an hour ago.
My Little Fox: I guess I’m going to this party by myself tonight. I wish you would have just had the balls to tell me you were done with me. I get it, my tastes are extreme, and I’m not someone people usually want. I really thought you’d be the exception. I thought you liked me, maybe even more. I guess I was wrong. Have a good life, Wolfey.
Tonight? Fuck. The Halloween party at her friend’s house in Blue River. Shit. It’s already 5, and it starts in three hours. I won’t make it in time, but hopefully, I'll catch her before she leaves. My eyes dart around the room as though I’m searching for answers which is stupid because I already know what I need to do. I can’t stand her up. I have to fix things. I have to tell her everything and make sure she’s okay.
I quickly make sure everything’s transferred before ripping the flash drive from my computer and run from my office. I have a girl to get to and a sick bastard to take down. I just hope I haven’t fucked this up too badly, and she gives me a chance to prove just how wrong she is.
Rayvn Porter’s tastes aren’t too extreme, and she isn’t too much for me. If anything, I’m not enough for her. That doesn’t change the fact that she’s mine, and I’m never letting her go—even if she tries to make me.
Chapter Twenty-Two