Page 62 of Hard Luck (Blackstone House)

“What else?”

“That’s it, I swear.”

I shook my head sadly. “Then you were set up, because he doesn’t owe money to anyone.”

And he wasn’t my boyfriend either, but I wasn’t about to get into that with this prick.

“Like I said, I was just hired to do a job.”

“It never occurred to you at any point that it might be a bad idea?”

The only person winning in this was Mag, because he took his twenty percent commission whether the sale was completed or not. T-Rex shrugged, but not very successfully because his arms were stretched pretty tight.

“I need the username and password for your Amber Road account.”

“No way, man.”

“Woman,” I corrected. “And I hope you don’t need the bathroom any time soon.”

I rose and headed for the door. It hadn’t quite closed behind me when he called out.

“Anarchy37. That’s my username. Just let me take a piss, okay?”

Tempting though it was to watch urine trickle down his leg, he’d been reasonably compliant, and I wanted to foster that spirit of cooperation.

“Password?”

“M-a-r-v-e-l-1-2-3 with a capital M.”

“That’s a terrible password.”

“Screw you, lady.”

“Do you want to use the bathroom or not?”

“Sorry, I’m sorry, okay?”

“If these details check out, I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. You can hold it until then.”

Good thing Echo barely slept. While I navigated my way through the real world, she was more comfortable existing digitally. At Blackstone House, she’d been happiest tucked away in her little room in the basement, surrounded by computers, and even now, she didn’t go outside much. Strange that she liked to travel the world, only to experience most of it through the windows of a hotel room or rented villa. Chase, her Man Friday, made sure she ate, and he also ran whatever errands were required.

No, he wasn’t her boyfriend, just a close friend and employee, chosen because he was very, very gay. It was he who answered the phone when I called.

“Is Alexa there?”

When we formed the Choir, we’d agreed to drop our real names in favour of nicknames in order to protect our privacy. Not among ourselves—we had no secrets—but because we often interacted with outsiders. It was easier to avoid slipping up if we stuck with the same names all the time.

But I’d known Alexa for over a decade, and when it was just the two of us or Chase, we often reverted to our old ways.

“Her shoulders were aching, so I convinced her to get a massage.”

“How’s that going?”

“She’s hating every single second.”

“Go put her out of her misery. I have an urgent job for her.”

“Life or death?”

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