Page 10 of Damaged

“All quiet, sir,” says Brock, taking off his snowy ski mask to reveal a short beard and mean, square jaw. He’s my lead security man. He’s been with me since I first founded Aquarius Systems.

I’ve grown my business into what many now consider to be the best network security company in the world. The Department of Defense spends nearly a billion dollars on our products alone. We secure network transmissions from cameras on predator drones to the email network for the Pentagon. It’s slowly all becoming Aquarius.

“Who took third shift?” I ask.

“Dmitri.”

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow, Brock.”

“See you tomorrow, sir.”

That was another reason I had to take this apartment—it was easy to secure. Brock gets into my private elevator, and once the doors close, I pour myself a generous glass of scotch. I go over my plan in my head.

That’s the only place it exists. No whiteboards or cork boards with crisscrossing strings tied to thumbtacks. That would be far too risky to leave any evidence behind like that. I was being blackmailed into doing this. But my blackmailer would pay in time.

Executing this plan will increase my standing in The Jacksonian Society—a smoky men’s only club in New York. They prefer to go by The Society.

A dramatic name. It’s old men with turkey necks and halitosis breath playing clubhouse if you ask me. But they’re powerful, and I’d like to harness their connections.

I can’t think of the plan for very long.

Long black eyelashes cloud my vision. Big dark eyes behind them. I see Sophia’s face. Her plump cheeks. Her sharp canines that she’s a little shy of because she tilts her head down the tiniest bit when she smiles. Her hair, black as obsidian and no less glossy.

The personal profile I had completed on Sophia said she was straight-edge, somewhat extroverted, and all around a positive person. I find it interesting because tonight she had arazor’sedge to her.

I don’t think my investigator got it wrong. Maybe she was stressed at the end of a long day. Or all my escapades in the bedroom have really gotten to her.

This apartment has six bedrooms. The next time I have a woman here, I’ll fuck her somewhere else so Ms. Simms can get her beauty sleep.

That’s just being smart, not polite.

I knew Sophia lived below me before tonight. She’s good friends with the girlfriend of a buddy of mine, Alex Blackwell.

It was a strange coincidence that Sophia should be so close. Then again, Manhattan has an uncanny ability to feel like a small town sometimes. I don’t think of it as a bad omen.

Simple happenstance isn’t going to unnerve me.

I go to my study to catch up on work, and an hour passes. And speak of the devil, Alex Blackwell calls me close to midnight.

“Hello?”

He cuts straight to business. “Did you buy it?”

“I sign the paperwork tomorrow morning.”

“So, it’s not too late to talk you out of it?”

I say nothing for a moment. “No, Alex. You can’t talk me out of it.”

“Fine. Just know that I’ve worked with some guys from The Society before. They’re not the kind of people you want to disappoint.”

I think about telling him the truth—that I’m buying time until I can rig the deck in my favor, but even with friends, I keep my cards close to my chest.

“Relax. This will all be over soon, and we’ll be sipping scotch on the other side.”

“Fine. Just be careful. But look, I’m calling about something else…”

I perk up, sensing the uncertainty in Alex’s voice.

---