Page 77 of Sypher

Shouting from the main room got my attention as I clearly heard Montana spewing vile threats, “Who the fuck are you and what the fuck are you doing in my clubhouse!”

Moaning, I closed my eyes trying to drown him out when my door burst open.

“Intern, get your ass out front. The fucking FEDs are here, and Montana is losing his shit. What the fuck did you do?” Payne asked, while I slowly stood.

“Nothing,” I replied, walking around my desk. “I haven’t done anything.”

“Well, you did something.” The big man huffed when I walked past him. The closer I got to the main gathering room, the more I heard Montana’s venomous words, each syllable dripping with spite. If brownie points were his goal, his approach was about as subtle as a slap in the face.

“Get the fuck out of my clubhouse before I shove my boot so far up your fucking ass, you’ll be able to taste my leather sole!”

“Threaten me again, Mr. Stone, and I will arrest you for obstruction of justice.”

“I’d like to fucking see you try it,” Montana sneered.

“Warrant is legit, Montana,” Fury noted, handing the document back to the FED. “We can’t stop him.”

“The fuck I can’t!”

“Boss,” Mercy whispered. “Don’t do this. Let them take the kid, and we’ll get the club attorney on it fast. Intern will be out on bail in a few hours. You don’t want to tangle with the FEDs.”

“They ain’t taking him.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Fury replied, standing firm, squaring his shoulders for a fight as three more federal agents walked into the clubhouse.

Walking right over to the head agent, I took a deep breath and calmly asked, “I’m Dante Sharp. May I please know the charges I’m being accused of?”

The agent wasted no time turning me around, as he reached for my wrists and quickly placed cold metal cuffs on them. “Dante Sharp, you are under arrest for unauthorized access, data theft, and cyber espionage in accordance with the Computer Fraud and Abuse Act of 1986. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you can’t afford one, one will be provided for you. Do you understand these rights as I have read them?”

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Montana roared. “Kid didn’t hack shit.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Stone.” Another agent smiled. “This kid hacked the Hoover Building last night and wasn’t very smart about it either. Left a trail of breadcrumbs that led us straight to him. But don’t worry. We’ll be back for the rest of you soon enough.”

The air crackled with tension as Mercy and Malice lunged to restrain Montana, who was on the verge of killing the motherfucker.

Looking at Payne, I barely had enough time to shout as the federal agent gripped my upper arm tightly and yanked me forcefully out of the clubhouse. “Call Danny!”

After shoving me into the back of an unmarked dark cruiser, I quickly turned and looked out the back window just as Malice walked out of the clubhouse and stood there with a scowl on his face as two agents jumped into the backseat with me, while another slid into the front passenger seat. The arresting agent sat behind the wheel.

Something wasn’t right.

There were too many agents in the vehicle for what I was being accused of. I wasn’t a serial killer or a known terrorist. Yet, there they were, crowding me into the middle of the back seat as if I was some hardened criminal. With no choice, I turned back around and faced forward, sighing as I tried to make sense of everything.

I didn’t hack into anything, and surely not the fucking Hoover Building. I wasn’t stupid or fucking smart enough to do that shit. I mean, yeah, technically I could do it but fuck, I liked my freedom too damn much.

Saying nothing, I watched as the cruiser sped toward downtown when I realized we were going in the wrong direction. Looking out the side windows, I said, “Uh, guys, you’re going the wrong way.”

“Shut up,” the large fucker next to me growled.

“I’m being serious,” I added. “The federal building is the other way.”

“I said shut up,” the man sneered, looking at me.

Gulping, I asked, “You’re not taking me to the federal building, are you?”

“No, Mr. Sharp, we are not,” the driver admitted. “There is someone who would like to talk to you.”

“Who?”

---