Torched: Afterburn (Iron Serpents Motorcycle Club Book 2) Read online

  “Okay, baby,” he agreed. “But just information, don’t do anything crazy.”

  “Why would I do anything crazy?

  “Is that a trick question?”

  She grinned. “Point taken. Don’t worry, I’ll be discrete.”

  “Alright, go get ‘em.” He smacked her ass and watched it stroll away before turning back to see Largo Scully—head of a Denver gang called the Silent Posse—stepping out of his car.

  Scully whistled as he approached. “That’s some piece… Nice work, Torch.”

  Buddha intercepted him before shit got heated from the get-go. “What are you doing here, Scully? Eighty miles is kinda far for an oil change.”

  “I’m not here for a lube job, I was hoping we could talk business.”

  “We haven’t had any in three years,” Torch pointed out. “And I can’t say we miss you or your way of doing business.”

  Scully smirked. “Let’s not forget we made a lot of money from our partnership. That’s why I’m coming to you first, I need guns.”

  Buddha shook his head. “Nope. We’re out of gun-running, man, there’s too much heat right now. And last I checked, you’re the one who got us caught up in the middle of a fucking turf war we had no stake in. If you need guns and you’re coming to us of all people, you’re probably up to the same kind of shit. We’re not interested.”

  “You won’t get dragged into the Posse’s beef again,” Scully argued. “I give you my word.”

  “A lot of good it did us last time,” Mace cut in. “Your word doesn’t mean dick around here.”

  “What are you looking for?” Torch asked, to Buddha’s clear dismay. He wasn’t interested in shaking hands with Largo Scully either, but there was information to be gleaned from knowing just how desperate the guy was.

  “Anything you can get me, full-auto preferably. Fifty percent over street value on all hardware.”

  Yeah, pretty fucking desperate. “What happened to your guy?”

  “I lost my source,” Scully replied with a shrug. “Like I said, I’m not trying to pull you into our shit, but I know the club still has plenty of connections. I’ve got money to spend, take it or leave it.”

  “We’ll leave it,” Buddha answered. “You can see yourself out.”

  Scully gave them a tight-lipped smile and raised his hands. “On my way. The offer stands, think about it.”

  : 4 :

  | LIVIA |

  “Good morning, Mike Gellar’s office,” a cheerful voice on the other end of the line greeted me.

  “Hi there, I’m looking for Mike. Is he in today?” I asked.

  “He’s at lunch right now. Can I take a message?”

  “Do you know where he’s having lunch by any chance?” I pressed.

  “I’m sorry, I’m not at liberty to say. May I help you with something?”

  “No,” I sighed, playing it up. “Ma’am, I know it’s against policy, but I’m his cousin and here in Colorado on a layover. I drove an hour from the airport hoping to surprise him, but only have about another hour before I need to get back. We haven’t seen each other in years. Do you think you might be able to make a teeny-tiny exception just this once? I’d just like to say ‘hi’ and give him a hug. I promise I won’t tell him you were the one who told me.”

  His secretary didn’t say anything, leaving me to think she’d hung up. “Okay,” she finally piped up. “He’s at Aspen Grille on 9th Street. But it’s a business meeting so I really would appreciate if you don’t tell him.”

  Perfect, he’d probably have his laptop. “I won’t. Thank you, it’ll be wonderful to see him again.”

  “Do you need the address?” she asked.

  “No, thanks, I can look it up. Have a nice day.”

  I hung up, opened the car door, and threw my backpack on the passenger seat. Figuring it would be easier to hide in a vehicle than on a bike in this town if I had to do some recon, I’d stopped by the house to grab my computer gear and trade rides.

  After pulling up the cross streets on my phone, it only took ten minutes to get to the restaurant.

  Walking in, I was pleased to see that it was busy enough to blend in but not full of business people. I only counted a handful of laptops, including the one in front of Mike Gellar—easily recognizable from a picture on the town’s website—who was sitting with a gentleman in the back corner. They were both too involved in their conversation to notice me.

  I walked into the partially enclosed bar area and made myself comfortable in a booth with my backpack next to me. Reaching inside, I pulled out my own laptop and got to work. By the time I’d ordered coffee and a sandwich to-go so I wouldn’t look suspicious, I was done setting up.

  Since Buddha claimed Gellar was in the club’s pocket, my goal was to crack his email accounts and look for clues as to why he’d risk getting on their bad side. Breaking into them remotely would have been easy enough to do, but it was a tedious process and I was on a time crunch. On top of lost profits, food spoiled and utility bills still had to be paid. I had plenty of cash stashed away, but knew Torch wouldn’t take it even if offered. The best way to help was just getting the place up and running again.

  I was starting at the top, with the man who’d signed off on the suspension, hoping to kill two birds with one stone by hacking the laptop he more than likely used for both work and personal activities. And the easiest way to do that was by having him connect to an open wifi network, which was exactly what he was using at the moment. Lucky me.

  I found the restaurant’s network and cloned it to create an evil twin hotspot on a different frequency. It was called that because by renaming a new access point to match the original, a person or computer could be tricked into connecting to a hacker’s machine instead. Not only would every keystroke and website Gellar used while connected be routed directly through my laptop, but I could push spyware onto his.

  The next step was getting him to switch over to it since he was already connected. I looked inside the backpack and rummaged around for my wifi jammer. Setting it to the frequency Aspen Grille’s hotspot was running on, I blocked the signal and booted every user off the original network. They would have to either manually re-connect to my access point since it was the only one now visible or—like most of them did these days—the laptops would do it automatically.

  Within seconds, I had access to Gellar’s machine and embedded a remote access trojan—a RAT in tech lingo—into a pop-up that mimicked a software update notification. If that didn’t work, my backup plan was to send a ghost email with the trojan attached and make it look like it came from the mayor.

  I glanced over the half-wall encircling the bar area and watched. Gellar, in his nonexistent wisdom, immediately clicked on the pop-up.

  And that was it, he’d obliviously downloaded malicious code giving me backdoor access to his hard drive, including his files, webcam, and microphone. I’d be able to see and hear everything he did on that computer and capture his passwords. If there was anything of value, I’d find it. It would have to wait until I got home though, I still had to swing by the bar and grab the surveillance footage before bunkering down to comb through it all.

  My sandwich arrived just as I finished covering my tracks by getting rid of the cloned access point and switching off the jammer. I packed up my shit, left cash on the table, and walked out. The entire operation had taken fifteen minutes.

  : : : :

  I walked out of Crow’s Nest with a flash drive containing the security feed from the last two weeks. There was some kind of bazaar happening at an elementary school nearby, so parking spots on Main Street were nonexistent and I’d had to leave my car six blocks up. I grumbled under my breath almost the entire way, irritated at myself for not having switched into more comfortable footwear back at the house. This right here was another reason I preferred the bike for day-to-day transportation; you never had to pray to the parking gods to intercede.

  With two blocks left and a break in traffic from a re
d light up ahead, I decided to cross the street. Wincing through the foot discomfort, I darted across the road and looked back to make sure none of Linwood’s finest were out looking for jaywalkers. It was the petty shit like not using a crosswalk that brought in most of their revenue. The club seemed to handle most of the actual bad guys.

  I didn’t see any cops, but did catch a glimpse of a man wearing a slick gray suit and fedora behind me. He wore sunglasses and the distance between us wasn’t conducive to getting a good look at his face, but I’d also noticed him standing a few feet away from the front door of the bar when I walked out. He’d had his back turned then, but it was the expensive duds that initially caught my attention.

  The hair on the back of my neck stood up.

  Instantly alert and in defense mode, I upped my pace and kept an eye on my immediate surroundings through reflections in store windows. Another quick look over my shoulder revealed he’d crossed the road as well and was closing in. He kept enough of a distance to elude recognition, but it was obvious I was being followed.

  With plenty of people out and about, there were two options: I could get away from him and keep wondering why the fuck somebody was on my tail in the first place, possibly until he found me again for some nefarious reason; or I could lure him away from onlookers and simply ask for an explanation.

  Not one to enjoy wondering, I decided to go with the latter and made a left turn at the next intersection. I took another left into an alley and jogged along, pausing at every back door to look for one that was unlocked. Four businesses ahead, next to a sign on the wall indicating I was behind an antique store, I lucked out.

  I stepped inside, leaving the door cracked open just enough for the man to notice and for a sliver of light to filter inside the darkened interior. From my ankle holster, I pulled out my handy .380 and positioned my shoulder against the door, the gun pointed at the ground in front of me.

  I soon heard faint footsteps approaching and held my breath. They stopped directly on the other side, the light between the door and frame dimmed from being blocked. I mustered all the upper body strength I had and slammed my shoulder against the metal, making immediate contact with whoever was out there.

  I sprang out and pointed my gun at the man as he stumbled backwards. It was only after he regained his balance and held up his hands that I finally got a good look at his face.

  “Goddamn it, Silas!” I barked. “Why the hell are you following me around like a creep?”

  He pulled off his sunglasses and gave me that sly smile of his. “Well hello, Styx, I’m delighted to see you as well. Or are you strictly going by Mrs. Larter now?”

  Fucking Silas. I figured he’d make an out-of-the-blue appearance again, over the years I’d become his first stop for any hacking needs. And not that I could complain because there was usually a ridiculous sum of money on the table, but would it have killed the guy to make a more traditional entrance once in a while?

  Silas played by his own rules—you didn’t go to him, he came to you—but he should have known better than to try sneaking up on me given his first-hand knowledge of my penchant for aggression. After all, he was the one who’d arranged for private training way back when one of my early black hat jobs required physically breaking into a guarded server room.

  To this day, I didn’t have the slightest idea who or what he really was. He had a hint of an accent, but it was so faint I couldn’t really pinpoint whether it was British, Australian, or South African. And much like his nationality, his occupation was also mystery. The most I could ever discern was that he was some sort of fixer or criminal concierge, regularly arranging transactions and dealings for people who wanted to distance themselves from any shady business. Silas seemed to know everybody and everything that happened in the streets. And underground. And along international smuggling routes. He was the very definition of an enigma.

  He was also extremely generous. I was still driving the overpriced Infinity he’d given me a couple years earlier as a “bonus”.

  I tucked my gun back in its holster and crossed my arms. “You still haven’t gotten the hang of minding your own business I see. I haven’t been active in over a year, how did you find me?”

  “Knowing everyone’s business is my business, you know that. Let’s just say I know a little birdie at the Department of Corrections. I must say, you’ve managed to impress me even more. Well done.”

  “I’m glad you find a stint in prison to be impressive,” I said sarcastically.

  “Oh, I had no doubt you’d be able to handle yourself in a federal penitentiary. What impresses me is your loyalty and resilience, not to mention your patience when it came to taking out Mitch Henslow. I do wish I’d put the pieces together earlier, I could have taken care of him for you long ago. Then again, the ability to conceal your past from me of all people just points to how good you are at staying the course. I knew there was something special about you from the moment we met.”

  I groaned at the blatant overkill. “What are you buttering me up for, Silas?”

  “Why can’t you ever take a bloody compliment? You would think it would mean something coming from someone like me.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You mean someone so brilliant and powerful that us mere mortals should kiss the ground he walks on?”

  “Yes, exactly,” he replied with a straight face.

  “Alright, big shot,” I laughed. “Tell me why you’re here.”

  “Why else? I have a job for you.”

  “I might not be the best person for it right now, Silas. It wouldn’t surprise me if the Feds are keeping an eye out, I should probably lay low on anything that could put me in front of a grand jury for a while.”

  He held up his hand to shut me up. “I know you turned over evidence but I’m not concerned. If there’s one thing I’ve always had utmost confidence in, it’s your ability to stay invisible even under heavy surveillance.”

  “I take it you’re also aware of who my husband is?” I added. “I can’t take work that could affect his organization.”

  He waved me off and shook his head. “This client isn’t in any circles that could cross paths with the MC. I had a feeling you’d bring it up and can assure you I did my homework, there’s no crossover. I wouldn’t be requesting your assistance if it weren’t of utter importance. You’d never let innocent people get hurt, now would you?”

  “Appealing to my compassionate side, Silas? That’s hit or miss at best. It depends on the people and you don’t exactly hang out with an innocent crowd.”

  “Ah, but we both know behind your hardened facade lies a sweet little bleeding heart. Have you ever considered why we make such a good team? I strongly suspect it’s because you balance out my lack of one, and appealing to that particular organ should tell you this is serious.”

  I raised a brow and stared at him, intrigued but skeptical. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s the job?”

  “My client is a private weapons developer, local but operating covertly behind an electronics manufacturing front. They’re designing and building armed drones, the extremely portable kind. I’m talking the size of a raven’s wingspan and nearly silent in-flight, with a recoil-muzzled, fifty-round drum. High caliber. They’re also equipped with cameras and heat sensors. All you need is a laptop and joystick to operate one.”

  Jesus, I didn’t even know where to start. “That’s got bad idea written all over it,” I muttered. “Who the hell are they selling these to? Fuck, if they hit the streets here…”

  “Which is exactly why I mentioned the possibility of innocent people being hurt,” he explained. “The drones aren’t intended to stay in the country, FTX is funded by international investors from war zones trying to protect their civilians against guerrilla armies and terrorist cells.”

  “Until they fall into the hands of exactly those people,” I pointed out. “Anywhere.”

  “Well, without the ground equipment and software, the drones themselves are useless. The developer is cu
rrently working on adding an encrypted fail-safe in case the drone and controlling device are both captured.”

  I let out a deep breath, feeling conflicted over potentially enabling fucking fly-by shootings if I took the job. Whatever it was. “There’s no fail-safe against greed,” I reminded him, “but I assume you’re not here to ask my opinion. It sounds like they have an extremely capable tech team, what do you need me for?”

  “About a month ago, a hacker attempted to worm his way into the company’s servers, specifically targeting their design files. Fortunately, he didn’t get far before alarms sounded. They have several layers of encryption to protect against such intrusions and all the servers were taken offline as a precaution.”

  Great, I didn’t understand what the problem was. “It sounds like their security set-up is working exactly the way it’s supposed to. The hacker didn’t get in, right?”

  “It didn’t appear that way until yesterday, when the CEO received an email containing copies of several FTX financial documents. The sender is threatening to release the records, as well as emails, investor names, call logs, and all sorts of other sensitive information ascertained from their very own network. As you can imagine, this sort of breach could be quite damaging.”

  “So good, old-fashioned blackmail, not a ransomware attack?” I asked. “What are the demands?”

  He shook his head. “It’s not ransomware, none of their computers have been locked. And there hasn’t been a demand yet. An hour ago, the hacker sent more documents, at the moment he’s just taunting them with what he has. He’s using a throwaway email account and both threats were sent using unsecured wifi hotspots with no surveillance cameras in range. The design schematics don’t seem to be part of the arsenal though, which suggests this is more about money or morals than the drones themselves.”

  I frowned. “There’ll be a demand at some point, nobody hacks a company like that just to play mind games for fun and the press would already know about it if your guy was a whistleblower. What are their IT people saying?”