Page 53 of Scars He Gave Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 2)

She straightens and crosses her arms. “What happened to his face?”

We have a thousand more important things to discuss than Evgeni’s backstory, but I can’t do what I want to do with her standing at my desk, and what she needs done will only take me about forty seconds. And she damn well knows it.

Which makes me wonder why she hasn’t asked me what else I’m working on. Why Peyton hasn’t asked for a progress report on whatever project he thinks I’ve been assigned. If I didn’t already know there’s something fishy in the pond water, these facts alone would have my pole jumping.

It’s also why I’m glad I’ve started pulling away. If I can figure out how to stop the attacks and build a framework to protect the network, I’ll have proven my worth to Tomas and his network of contacts, and I can use them to start my business. No more working for a fickle tech prodigy like Peyton. No more selling my soul and my work to whatever shady bidder needs it, to whichever client decides they want me to get dolled up in high heels and heavy makeup just so they can ask me about my “personal life” because it scratches some weird itch of theirs.

If this all works out the way I think it can, I’ll be able to choose. I’ll be free.

I wait for Leila to walk back into her office then open the program I’m using to render Flash Bomb useless. Normally, I would look over my shoulder, check for someone lingering, at least smell the perfume or cologne of a person standing over my shoulder, but it isn’t until I see Evgeni with his sad smile-and-a-half staring at my desk that I realize I’m being watched.

Shit. I slam the laptop closed. Evgeni doesn’t react. He just blinks and retreats into his own head, like he turned on the screensaver that goes over his eyeballs.

Hardly two seconds later, Leila is back out of her office and pulling me up by the arm. I jerk free. “What is it today with people treating me like a rag doll?”

She doesn’t reply. But I follow her into the conference room.

Only when we’re alone does she slam the door shut and spin to face me. “What the fuck are you doing?”

There’s an urgency in her voice that triggers my alarms. A desperation that tells me she knows exactly what I was doing. Exactly what it means and why I shouldn’t be doing it.

Leila knows more about Flash Bomb than she’s letting on.

I decide to lie. “I just stumbled on this program in a network I’m freelancing on. I wanted to check it out.” I can’t tell if she knows I’m lying because she’s turned away from me now and is looking out the slender window that runs along the frame of the door.

“Oh. Okay.” I see her smiling in her reflection, although it looks more like she’s constipated. “Well, you know how Peyton feels about moonlighting and bringing the work in with you.” It’s a very boss-lady tone, almost condescending.

“Right. I’ll be careful.”

“Tell me about it.” She clears her throat and fans her face with her hand. “The program, I mean.”

Her neck is blotchy with red circles on her skin and she has a sheen of sweat on her forehead. Gold medalist at the Liar Olympics in action, ladies and gentlemen. “It’s just a virus. But it’s so unique. I mean really good programming. Because its behavior relies on mine.”

“How so?” Her hand is going about ninety miles an hour now.

“It’s happy to just do what it’s intended for. Disrupt processes, delete information, change parameters for searches. Little annoying stuff that isn’t a big deal unless it’s all lined up.”

She swallows hard and continues fanning as a bead of sweat rolls from her hairline, over her temple to her chin.

“And if I try to trace its origin, it appears to change. If I try to reroute it to a vault, it releases a new chain of commands.”

I’m dragging this out deliberately so I can watch her as I speak. But it’s so obvious: I’m not telling her anything she doesn’t already know.

Goddammit. Of all the people I didn’t want to be involved, Leila’s at the top of the list.

Something very bad is happening at Sentinel.

“I’ve beat it twice, but it’s either regenerating itself or I’m fighting the creator himself.”

Before she can stop it, Leila blurts out, “Himself?”

I cock an eyebrow. She’s a horrible liar and we both know it. And when her shoulders sag, I know I’ve won. She’s going to tell me.

I pounce before she can backtrack. “Why in the hell is Sentinel helping the Italian Mafia take down legitimate Russian businesses?”

There’s no way she doesn’t know what I’m talking about. She gazes out the window now. The street below is bustling with people trying to get in and out of buildings, buying coffee, shopping at the boutique store across the street. But I doubt she’s seeing anything but her own deception.

“How do you know that?”

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