Page 1 of Web of Lies
Prologue
Riley
Who would've thought itwould end this way? The job was supposed to be a simple hack to steal data from a local government department and sell it on the dark web to the highest bidder. Nothing big. Nothing special. It's something I've done countless times before with no issues. So, the last thing I expected was to get caught.
The door to the rundown apartment flies open, the hinges ripping from the wall as the wood crashes into the brick. A group of men dressed in black from head to toe, with their faces hidden behind masks, rushes into the room, their firearms raised. The beams from the flashlights attached to their machine guns sweep across the dim space. The only other source of light comes from the array of computer screens running the scan to decrypt the data we gained access to.
"Get down on the ground, now. Hands up where I can see them," one man calls out, his deep voice laced with a threatening growl.
My chair scrapes against the floor as I slide out of it and scoot toward the wall, raising my hands while keeping my head down.My heart pounds in my chest. Panic bubbles up in my stomach as the taste of bile rises in my throat. I swallow once, forcing it back down.
This is bad. This isfuckingbad.
There's no way they could have tracked us here through the malware. Any IP address they could have found would have been a decoy that is nonexistent or leads out of the country. I've spent years honing my skills, countless sleepless nights perfecting the art of staying hidden and anonymous. If I weren't the one who created it, even I wouldn't be able to trace myself. So, how the fuck did they find us?
At the sound of heavy footsteps, I dare to look up and find a man strolling into the room. He appears to be about forty years old, with black hair streaked with gray and sharp features concealed by a five o'clock shadow. Over his casual business clothes, he wears a bulletproof vest. He stops in the center of the room, surrounded by his men. His gaze moves across the scene before him.
"Who's in charge of your attack?" he asks, but no one responds. Keeping my head down, I scoot closer to the wall, pulling my legs up to my chest. I peek through my bangs and see my peers doing the same: cowering on the ground with their hands up. "If that person doesn't come forward," he says, "we'll kill all of you."
My eyes widen in horror, and for a split second, the world around me comes to a halt. My heart skips a beat, then slams against my ribs. I swallow the lump crawling up my throat. My body moves on its own, and my arm shoots up. We shouldn't be traceable, I know that, but I don't trust those men for a second. I've witnessed a few raids from the sidelines, and I've seen how some of these men like to treat suspects as if they're disposable. And I will not stand by and let someone die because of me.
"You?" the man asks. Within seconds, strong hands grab my arms, lift me, and drag me toward him. "You're the one who created the code to access our system?"
"Yes," I grit out, meeting his piercing gaze. Adrenaline pumps through my veins, hot as fire. But I put on a strong facade. Admittedly, this situation frightens me, but I won't show it because that's what they want.
His gaze flicks up and down as he examines me, a subtle smirk playing on his lips. "Good." His attention shifts between my colleagues and me. "Take her away, and arrest everyone else."
"Wait, no!" I shout without thinking. My eyes widen as I watch the men move. One by one, they grab the people I’ve worked with and gotten to know over the last couple of months. We're not friends, but we've been a team, working toward the same goal of exposing the city's corruption and oppression. The sharp snap of zip ties cuts through the air as the men shove everyone out the door while another group clears the room, gathering our laptops and hard drives.
"I have no use for them," the man says, drawing my attention back to him. "You, on the other hand." He steps closer, lifts a hand to my face, and tucks a loose strand of my copper hair behind my ear. "I'd like to have a word with you." His hand lingers, his rough fingertips brushing against my cheek. A cold shiver runs down my spine, nausea curls in my stomach, and I flinch away. "Take her to the car."
Following the order, the men holding my arms drag me out of the apartment and down the stairs. Once outside, under the cover of night, they throw me into a black van parked right outside the building.
They climb in after me and sit on either side of me. With a quick glance, I scan the dark interior of the car. It's nothing fancy and contains only the necessities. No clutter, no distractions. My gaze flickers toward the open sliding door, then to the mensitting beside me. If I leaped out, I wouldn't get far. They would either shoot me or catch me in a matter of seconds. So, running is out of the question. That leaves me with only one option: stay put and see what they want from me.
Soon after, the man climbs in and takes the seat directly across from me. The one by my side slams the door shut, the impact echoing much like a prison cell door closing. A moment later, someone slides into the driver's seat. The engine roars to life, and the car eases forward.
My attention shifts to the man sitting in front of me, his arms crossed over his chest. His gaze meets mine, sending a shiver down my spine. His deep brown eyes study me as an uncomfortable silence fills the van.
"What do you want from me?" I finally ask, breaking the silence.
"How old are you?" he asks.
"None of your business." I snort. The man's face morphs into an unreadable expression as all emotion drains from it. He reaches for the laptop on the seat beside him and flips it open. Several clicks later, he speaks again.
"Riley Hayes. Born in June 1999. Mother died in a car accident in 2008. Father, Graham Hayes, was arrested in 2017 and sentenced to ten years in prison for a cyberattack on a large investment firm and draining funds from multiple private accounts." I fall silent, balling my hands into fists and narrowing my eyes at him. His voice is calm and detached as he reads my personal information to me, as if I'm just another case.
"Who the hell are you?" I snap. "And if you already know everything about me, why the raid?"
"My name is Jackson Philips. I'm in charge of a program that aims to stop crime where the city's hands are tied."
"So, you're a bounty hunter, and tracking down criminals is your hobby?" I raise an eyebrow.
"Partly." He lets out a breathy, amused laugh.
"Then what's your deal? Why are you wasting your time on a small hacker group when there are far worse ones in the city?"
"It's not as easy as you might think," Jackson says with a hint of a chuckle. "Your small group could be stopped before you become important to the underworld."
