Page 4 of Trapped In Wonderland

You picked the wrong night to mess with this club, motherfucker.

When Oracle was first informed of the network breach about an hour ago, she asked for my assistance. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who did their homework, and she knew full well of my background in cyber security. With my client’s identity at risk, I jumped straight into the problem.

“Would you just tell me what the hell is going on?” A frustrated voice demands just outside the door.

I’d recognize that rich baritone anywhere because my body automatically responds to it in the most embarrassing way possible. Even in my current crisis management mode, the passionate Spanish rhythm in his speech makes my thighs instinctively squeeze together to ease the delicious tingles between my legs.

Sigh.

This job hasn’t gone the way I hoped. If, like before, Raul only sees me as the nerdy tech specialist from our last joint mission, he’ll only remember me as the girl who failed to protect his cousin’s identity. I can only hope all those night calls spent earning his trust and becoming actual friends have bought me the benefit of the doubt in his eyes.

I have some explaining to do for changing the plan on him tonight. But this current issue I’m dealing with is another thing all together. How was I supposed to know some fucking hacker would infiltrate the super private sex club run by a goddamned mafia?

Knowing who owns Club Wonderland, I did a thorough check on their enemies. But it’s almost impossible to predict an attack like this. But here we are. What’s important right now is to contain the breach and figure out who’s behind it.

But first, I have to brief Raul.

I push off from the bench where my laptop sits and almost immediately freeze as I see the rest of the furniture I’ve parked myself on in the past half hour. The other end has a phallic-looking thing attached to some kind of mechanism. Earlier, I moved through the room like I had blinders on. I didn’t pay attention to what’s in here, the bizarrely interesting things around me. Obviously sexual in nature, but they look dated. My information thirsty mind wants to explore the museum-like room, but duty calls.

Raul walks in with a huff like an angry bull entering an arena. Man, I thought he’d look silly in the costume, but it just makes him look hotter and more dangerous. He stops short when he sees me.

“Who are you? Where’s my cousin?”

Again, the timber of Raul’s Spanish accent tickles my ears and makes my nipples pucker and scrape against my bra. Even now in the middle of a crisis, he makes me want to beg for a chance to wrestle his full six-three, two-fifty pound muscular body onto the ground, just so I can finally find out if every bit of him is deliciously proportional.

Though, I’m sure he doesn’t have the same dirty thoughts running through his mind. I’ve never been as grateful for my mask as I am now, because I’m sure my idiotic infatuation is clear on my face.

“Princessa isn’t in this room, but she is safe,” I answer, also reminding him of the name protocol.

“I need to make sure with my own eyes,” he says, looking from me to Oracle standing by the door.

“I understand, but we can’t take you to her right now,” I tell him. “She’s in scene.”

Steps echo in the hall, and Oracle excuses herself to speak to the person outside, leaving Raul’s attention solely on me.

His eyes narrow on me. “Who are you?”

I blink at the question again. Isn’t my cat mask obvious?

“I’m Kitty,” I say, trying not to roll my eyes.

“You’re Kitty?” surprise colors his tone as he scans me from head to toe.

I’m not even going to justify his question with an answer, besides we have bigger problems. “A hacker calling themselves Fox has infiltrated the club’s closed security network and demands five hundred million dollars in crypto.”

“In exchange for what?” Raul asks. “Doesn’t matter. We need to extract Princessa now. Her safety is our priority, not this club.”

“Hold your horses.” I show him my computer screen. “It’s now our priority because of this.”

It takes Raul mere seconds studying the boxes before realization dawns on his face.

“Why are there videos? I thought there aren’t cameras in here,” he says, his voice rising.

“The club only has outdoor security cameras. Someone—presumably the hacker or their accomplice — has smuggled in these hidden cameras unbeknownst to the club’s security team. We can’t possibly know how long they’ve been up and recording the activities in Wonderland.” I lower my voice so only he can hear. “But if they get a hold of tonight’s recordings…”

Raul’s gaze sharpens. He knows what the implications are. “But she wears a mask.”

“Yes, but it’s still a risk. Fox claims they can uncover anyone’s identity, hence the demands,” I say.

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