Page 2 of Dangerously Deceptive

“Why me, though?” I ask, struggling to see why I’m here.

“I know nothing about how to cover up a crime. You, on the other hand, are an expert and come highly recommended. I need you to help me get in and get out, undetected. Not only do I want to walk away from this without ending up in jail, I also want to walk away with my life. So that when I’m free of the Reapers, I will have something left to live for. A life of my own,” she explains, and fuck, I don’t even try to convince myself I’m not going to help this girl.

For the first time since she walked in here, I can tell she is being truthful. She wants a life, but the only way to get this is to earn her freedom. If I can help her do that, then I sure as hell have to try.

“We better get to work then. We need a plan, and we need one fast. From the research I did before I met you, the target likes routine a little more than you realise. He definitely does like to change things up, and never comes over to Ireland at the same time every month, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t follow a pattern. He actually follows the same routine every four months. So, whatever he did four months ago is what he will be doing this month. Meaning, if he sticks to his pattern, he will be here in Ireland in around three days’ time, and he will be staying for just one night, two at the most. Luckily, this is when he usually chooses a lady friend to entertain. He only does that every second month, so if we aren’t ready for him this time around, it will be two months until we get another chance,” I state, as I watch Shayla’s mouth flop open like a fish. She sits there just staring at me, no doubt stunned I was able to locate a pattern in what appears to be a random schedule. But this is exactly what working with computers is all about. Reading the code and finding the patterns hidden within so that I can then write new code, or create backdoor access that allows me to hack any system. There’s a reason I am one of the best hackers in the world, and being able to see objectively is one of those reasons.

Shayla sits there, frozen, just staring at me. So, I ask her a question, determined to draw her back into the room. “So, shall we get to work?”

When Kellan finally agreed to help me, I was so over the fucking moon, I think I almost died. The way his eyes assessed mine, as he tried to unravel all the secrets I work very hard to keep hidden, I became anxious. I need those secrets to remain hidden, not just from him, but from everyone. They are the reason I agreed to this insane task. I know I’m risking a lot, but the reward is so much greater than even Kellan knows. Can you put a price on freedom? I certainly don’t think so, which is why I’ve been working, or should I say shaking my ass, to get enough money to hire Kellan.

When you ask around for the best person in our industry, the one who can keep anyone out of jail, cover up any crime. The name Odin is always the one that people recommend. The God of wisdom, power, and never-ending knowledge. I knew I needed him to help me, but I had no idea if he would help me. He’s very selective over the cases he takes, obviously only choosing ones that he knows he can do with ease, or without ending up in a police cell. Which is why I lied and said I was a patched member, nobody fucking denies them anything. Although, it took a lot of discussion over the dark web for him to trust a Reaper enough to agree to this meeting.

When I walked into this room and first saw Kellan, I have to admit I was momentarily startled. Guys who spend all their time on their computers are supposed to be small and geeky, but he is far from that. His lean, muscular body looks like that of a swimmer, with arms and legs that are firm and slightly larger than expected. His body looks hard, full of sexy ridges and lines. He’s basically almost six feet of sheer muscle and strength, but that isn’t his best feature by a long way. His face, despite having a slight baby face look to it, can only be described as beautiful. He has one dimple that appears when he smiles his lopsided grin. And his bright blue eyes sparkle full of mischief. His dark hair flops around and curls slightly at the ends, making it just long enough to run my fingers through. And it looks so shiny that I really do want to. To cut a long story short, he is fucking gorgeous. Probably the most handsome man I have ever seen, but that doesn’t mean a lot given I was raised by assholes and abusive pricks. My standards aren’t all that high.

“Shayla, I know we have most of the plan down, but the final part, getting the memory stick, is where I am falling short of ideas,” Kellan says, breaking our companionable silence.

He’s lying on the bed, eating a spring roll, as I curl up on this shitty excuse for a sofa, enveloped in Kellan’s warm hoodie, while I tuck into some beef in black bean sauce. Kellan ordered takeout around an hour ago, after complaining that plotting made him hungry. I had been here over three hours, and we were trying to hash out the last few remaining parts of the job. This final part was the only bit I had no answer to, and I really hoped Kellan’s magic brain would have an answer.

“This is the bit I struggled with. Nobody knows what the memory stick looks like, so getting a fake would be massive pot luck, and taking it without leaving one in return would instantly make it clear what was stolen, forcing him to lock down, and literally everyone would be a suspect. I want to be long gone, a distant memory, by the time he finds out what I stole.” My words sound just as hopeless as Kellan’s, if not worse. After all, I’m the one who is risking time in prison, or maybe even death, if I get caught. I need to make this work, I just need to think a bit more.

Kellan and I fall back into our silence as he sits up in bed and begins clicking away on his laptop. In the short space of time since I’ve met Kellan, I already know you are better off not interrupting him when he has that intense, smouldering look on his face. Not only does he look fucking breathtaking, he’s also plotting hard, and that’s exactly what I need. So I do my best not to disturb him, but as my phone rings loudly from in my bag, I do an awful job at not distracting him.

The ringing seems to get louder, yet as I dig through my bag, I get no closer to finding the phone. Then all of a sudden, the bright light from the lit screen becomes visible, and the name Pres flashes all over my screen. I want to ignore it, but years of training are too hard to overcome. So, I quickly scoop up the phone and run into the bathroom and lock the door before sliding down with my back against it to the floor. I have no idea what this phone call is about, but I’m really not ready for Kellan to see who I become when the MC gets involved.

“Hello,” I say tentatively as I answer the call on my phone.

“Where the fuck are you, bitch? Jamieson says you’ve been gone for well over three hours, and you never gave a destination when you checked out. Why would you break all my rules, you little bitch? Do you fucking well think you’re better than my rules? Well…do you? Answer me, you cunt,” he shouts, his voice sounding like I put him on speakerphone, when in real life I would never do that. The less people who know about how I’m really treated, the better.

Taking a big deep breath, I politely begin to reply. “Sorry, Dad. I thought I talked about it with you yesterday. It’s my first time meeting Odin, the guy who is going to help me with the Whitlock job.”

I can hear his huffing and grumbling on the other end of the phone, as he takes a moment to remember us having the conversation. We did, but his drug- and alcohol-fuelled brain is making any kind of recollection pretty fucking difficult.

Bang. Bang. “Shay, are you okay?” Kellan shouts after banging on the door. He obviously noticed that it isn’t entirely normal for a girl to have to run to the bathroom and lock herself away, just to be able to talk to the lunatic on the other side.

“Yeah, I’ll be out in a minute,” I call, trying my best to cover over the microphone on the mobile, to try and make sure my father doesn’t hear any more. He was very unhappy that I felt I needed to hire someone other than a Reaper to help me with the job. Apparently, there’s a Reaper for everything, there are even a few not so awful ones, but none of them are clever enough to pull off this job, and he knows that.

“Who the fuck was that, bitch? Where the fuck are you? Don’t make me have the boys come hunt you down, as that will not be well-received here at the club. But you know the rules, and it’s getting very fucking close to curfew. Don’t be late, whore,” he says, before he hangs up the phone.

Great, now Kellan knows I’m hiding something else and I have a very angry biker at home, who, by the time I get back to the compound, will have had a few more drinks. Then bam…my night just got a whole lot fucking worse. I’m starting to think that no matter how bad an option jail or death is, failure and living at that compound is no longer an option. I’ve wanted to leave since I was twelve, now I know I will finally get the chance. I will do whatever it takes to get away, I need to. Not just for my sanity but for my life. Those men, they call themselves my dad or my uncles, but really they are monsters, and I need to get as far away from them as I can.

Before he hung up the phone, along with the awful names he made sure to call me, he was also quick to point out how close it is to my curfew. Don’t even get me started with the fact that I’m a nineteen-year-old who still has a curfew, but it’s just yet another way for the Reapers to control me. We both know I’m not going to make it home by curfew now. Even if I broke every speed limit and blasted my way across town, it still wouldn’t work. So, now we both know there is a punishment in my future, and I need to put that out of my mind. Fear of when it will happen, or what it will be, is often worse than the actual thing. I need to work this problem out with Kellan, so I can go home.

Throwing the phone in my bag. I splash water on my face before reapplying some of my make-up. The problem is that my eye make-up had run, even though I told myself I wasn’t crying, a few stray tears must have broken free. I don’t know whether it’s from hearing my own dad call me a whore and a bitch, or the threat of punishment. Or it could be that Kellan and I can’t figure out this damn plan, putting me at risk. Or maybe it’s just a combination of the whole fucking situation, all rolled into one. I have so much stress coursing through my body, my stomach is in knots, and my hands are clammy with sweat. Not to mention how accelerated my breathing is, or how quickly my heart is racing. It feels like it’s going to burst right out of my chest.

Finally, when I look a little more like before, I open the door. Kellan is sitting on the corner edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He looks frustrated, until his head raises to match mine. Rushing to his feet, he takes a few steps towards me before putting his arm around me gently and leading me to the bed. He sits me against the headboard, with my legs stretching down the mattress. As he covers my body with the gaudy flowery bedspread, he strides to the other side. When I place my bag on the floor beside the bed, he freezes.

“Do you want anything to drink?” he asks tentatively, his rough voice trying to sound soft.

“Erm, I think I will just stick to water, please. If that's okay with you?” I mumble.

Reaching for two bottles of water, he places one on his bedside table as he climbs into the bed to match my pose, he hands over the second bottle. I take a sip before placing it on my own bedside table. We sit there in silence for a bit, but I can tell Kellan doesn’t do well with quiet or being still. His leg is bobbing up and down, and he slaps his hand against his knee. I can’t take too much more of it.

“Why would it bother me if you drank water instead of having a drink?” Kellan asks and I let out the breath I didn’t realise I was holding. I almost want to chuckle, this is definitely one of the easier questions he could ask.

“Sometimes I have to work in the bar at the compound. If a biker offers to buy you a drink, even if you have a million good excuses, you do not turn them down. It’s a big offence to them. So I have learnt to make it look like I drink, but I spit it out when nobody's looking. If not, I would be permanently pissed, and that makes me more vulnerable.”

The more I explain, the more Kellan nods his head, like he understands. I give him a small smile which he returns with that cocky, lopsided, one-dimpled grin of his. Fuck, that is a panty-melting smile right there.

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