Page 12 of Sypher

“Only when I don’t understand the logistics.”

“Sypher is a pain in the ass. Plain and simple. Montana hates the kid. Shithead is always sticking his nose in shit that doesn’t concern him. Montana’s only teaching him a lesson.”

“But—”

Walking away, Payne shouted, “Leave it alone, Prospect!”

I wished it were that simple, but it wasn’t.

It never would be for me.

Unbeknownst to all of the brothers, I harbored a small, yet persistent compulsion that I had not revealed to them. It wasn’t anything alarming, merely a series of minor inconveniences, like a quiet, persistent need to fix and make things better. Especially when that need involved a particular infuriating individual.

I knew I was a glutton for punishment, but fuck it, I couldn’t help myself. There wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for him.

Even if it meant saving him from himself.

Forgoing my original plan to stay upstairs, I proceeded down the stairs, casting furtive glances behind me at intervals to make certain my progress went unobserved. They prohibited me from accessing the mailroom because I was only a prospect, and notyet a full patched or branded brother. That was one of the first things that the brothers drilled into me.

I wasn’t stupid. I knew what they did down there. I didn’t care, but they had Sypher down there and I wanted to make sure he was okay.

Reaching into my pocket, I retrieved the small, plastic remote, its smooth surface cool against my fingertips, aimed it at the security camera’s menacing red blinking light in the corner and pressed the button. With my back pressed against the cold, damp wall, I watched the red light vanish into the sudden darkness. Rushing down the long hall, the fluorescent lights hummed overhead as I entered the mailroom and saw Sypher sprawled on the small bed, his hands tucked under his head, gazing at the ceiling.

“You shouldn’t have come down here. I’m fine.”

“You are in the Soulless Sinners’ mailroom. You are not fine.”

“Won’t be in here long. So it doesn’t matter.”

“Montana gave me your laptop. He wants me to break in and tell him what’s on it.”

“Good luck with that.”

“How are you even here? I thought you were still at MIT.”

“I was. Now I’m here.”

“Why?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He sighed then rolled over, turning his back on me.

Shaking my head, I whispered, “You still with her?”

“If you mean Taylor, then yes.”

And just like before, I turned and walked away from him, the silence heavy in the air, leaving our unspoken words hanging between us.

He was right.

I shouldn’t have come.

After locking up my small office, I stepped out into the twilight, the cool evening air a welcome change from the stuffy clubhouse, and headed home to my apartment. It was a short walk home, yet by the time I unlocked my front door and entered, all I desired was to collapse onto my bed and banish the thought of him from my mind.

Throwing my clothes aside, I fell onto the bed, the mattress sinking beneath me, and lay there in the absolute darkness, a gnawing fear twisting in my gut while I thought about his well-being. Logically, I knew he was fine, but this was Sypher—I could practically feel the chaotic energy radiating from his mind all the way from the clubhouse.

Imprisoned within the confines of the Soulless Sinners’ clubhouse was the individual widely regarded as the most talented and dangerous hacker the world had ever known. Rather than attending one of his classes or engaging in frivolous activities on his computer, Sypher wasted away in a desolate hole, completely devoid of any mental stimulation.

I wasn’t sure Montana fully grasped the serious consequences and implications of assigning Sypher to the mailroom. Unlike most people, Sypher exhibited a distinct personality and approach to life that made him stand out from the crowd. His mind processed information in an unusual way, demanding consistent external input to keep it stimulated and prevent stagnation. Deprived of it, a profound and debilitating depression would eventually engulf Sypher and destroy him.

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