Love and Wargames: A Bad Boy Hacker Romance (11 page)

Chapter 11

Boxcar

Los Angeles

Present Day

“I don’t deserve this.”

I tighten my arms around her, feeling her soft skin glide along my fingertips. One minute. We couldn’t go one minute post-coitus without her flight instincts kicking in. I fill my lungs with her scent, determined to never forget that flowery aroma ever again. “Don’t deserve what?” I ask her.

She raises her head off my chest and I see the emotions practically bleeding from her eyes. “I don’t—
You
don’t deserve this. You deserve better.”

I grin. “Shut the hell up, Caleb.”

“I’m serious, Box.”

“And so I am.” I shake my head, pushing this crap away. “This idea you have in your head — this
belief
that you being human is somehow selfish — is bat-shit
insane
.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is. Caleb, you’ve been a civilian for what — almost two years? The war is over for you. You’re home. You can be happy. You can start a new life. You can have sex and experience normal things without feeling like shit. I know I have.”

She pauses and pushes off the mattress, her face twisting into a foul expression. “Oh, really?”

“Yes.”

“So, you’ve been living a life full of
experiences
since we separated, huh?”

And here we go.

I exhale a sharp breath. “Oh, come on, Cal. Don’t turn that into something. You know what I mean—”

“Have you?”

“Haven’t
you
?” I fire back.

She pauses, gently tripping over her perfectly pink tongue. “I asked you first, Boxcar. How many women have you hooked up with?”

I fall on my hands and rub the heat rising in my cheeks before combing my fingers through my hair. “Caleb…” I heave a frustrated sigh. “It
really
doesn’t matter to me if you’ve been with other men—”

“Boxcar.”

And there’s the tone; that rage-fueled growl from the back of her throat. It’s the sexiest thing in the world unless it’s directed at you. Then, it’s downright scary.

“I don’t know—” I spit out, stalling. I close my eyes, searching my head for the perfect response to get me out of admitting to my epic dry-spell but the truth is all I have. Then again, I’ve never been able to muster any sort of superior cognitive function after an orgasm — especially not one I shot down Caleb Fawn’s throat.

She sighs with annoyance. “Don’t forget to carry the one, Box…”

Panic rises in my chest. “Like, one or two—”

“One
or
two?”

“I don’t really keep track,” I lie, avoiding her eyes. I can feel them firing daggers at me but I
really
don’t want to admit the truth. I don’t want to admit that I haven’t gotten laid in almost two years because I’m so hung up on her that the idea of being near another woman makes my skin crawl.

Caleb slides off the bed but by the time I realize she’s moving, she’s already out of my reach. “Wait, Caleb…”

She bends over to grab her shirt off the floor. “You should go.”

I stand up and step closer to her. “Now, hold on. Go ahead, Caleb. Your turn.”

“My
turn
?”

“Yeah,” I say. “How many men have been in this bed since we separated?”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes so far back I think she might lose them. “I don’t know.”

I stare at her, refusing to blink as she pulls her shirt over her head. It wasn’t my intention to compare notches on our bedposts but she’s the one that started this.
“Caleb…”

“I don’t have to answer that—”

“Oh, but
I
did?”

Her jaw flexes and red clouds fill her cheekbones. She’s pissed and that’s fine but this double standard shit isn’t going to fly. “I don’t know,” she says again, bending down to scoop her pants off the floor.

“Five?” I ask. “Six? Eight? Twelve?”

Her hands shake with anger as she tries to step into her pants but they’re inside out. “Zero.” She says it so quietly, I can barely hear it.

“I’m sorry—” I cup my ear and lean forward.
“One more time.”

“Zero!” She tosses the tangled up pants to the floor. “There. Are you happy? It’s zero.” I stay quiet, guilt stabbing at me as her face falls. “That part of myself, I…” She shakes her head. “I gave up the idea that I could have a meaningful relationship a long time ago, Box — but it’s real nice to know that you had no trouble bouncing back.”

Fuck.

“I didn’t, actually.” Desperation oozes off my voice but I don’t care anymore. She deserves the truth and I’m an asshole for not telling it in the first place. “I lied before. It hasn’t been one or two…”

She looks at me and she knows I’m not lying but the anger doesn’t leave her forehead. “This was a mistake, Box.”

“Caleb, come on. Don’t go there yet…”

She picks up her pants again. This time, her hands are solid as rocks as she steps inside of them to cover herself up. “Thanks for stopping by and letting me know about what’s going on—”

“Dammit, Cal—”

“You can see yourself out.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck—

“Caleb, please. Don’t walk out on us again—”

She stops.
“Again?”

“Yes,
again
.” I hop out of the bed and grab my jeans off the floor. “Honey, I don’t know if you’ve been keeping track since the beginning but
I have
and
every single time
we’ve separated — it was all
your
bright idea.”

“Oh, that is
bullshit
.” She points a finger at me. “Don’t put that on me. You’re as much to blame as I am.”

“I beg to differ,” I say, zipping my fly. “I’m all-in, Caleb. I always have been. It’s
you
that lives with one foot off the bed. Also, you have absolutely no right to be upset even if I had been with anyone else and the only reason why you
are
upset right now is because you are latching onto the
first possible excuse
you can find to run away again.” Her expression changes but it’s not enough to shut me up. “You know what? Maybe I was wrong. Maybe we are still out in the damn desert. Feels awfully familiar in here.”

“Why are you still here?”

“Good fucking question.” I throw my shirt on and step into my shoes before grabbing my jacket off the floor. “I’m out.”

She stands still with her arms crossed over her chest like a damn wall. This conversation is officially over.
We’re
officially over. Again.

“What’s my password?” she asks quickly.

Another dagger stabs my chest as I pull open the door. “It’s
I love you
,” I answer with my head down. I bend over to pick up my bag. “One word, all caps.”

I close the door behind me, leaving her there. Part of me wishes I’d looked back in time to see her reaction but it wouldn’t have made a difference anyway. They’re just words, after all, and words are about as meaningless to Caleb Fawn as wings on a catfish. Just no fucking point.

I step outside and instantly cough as smog and city stench invade my system.

Los Angeles.

What a
fucking
dump.

I’m not sure what I expected was going to happen today but sex with my estranged wife was definitely not on the docket. I absolutely assumed my chances of getting inside of her again were next to nothing. There was a greater chance of my plane getting taken down by a kaiju monster over St. Louis than I was of ever fucking Caleb Fawn again but here I am. My dick isn’t even dry yet and I’m already on the street outside.

Fuck it. I did what I came here to do. I told her about the Hart twins. I told her about Snake Eyes gunning for Fox. I told her to watch her back and I don’t need her to watch mine anymore. I played my part. No guilt. No regrets. No nothing. She’s on her own now — as she always intended.

Magic bullet? What a fucking crock of shit. There are plenty of reasons why Caleb and I don’t work and her ridiculous fear of death isn’t one of them. Being with me should make her feel better about it, not worse. I should make her feel safe and warm and—

Unless, of course, I don’t.

Suspicions confirmed. Caleb needs a big, manly hero to make her happy,
not
some nerd with a laptop. Don’t need a scrawny human shield like me helping her out. Nope. Not needed. I get it. I do, but—

I kick an abandoned can on the sidewalk but the aluminum clanging sound isn’t nearly as satisfying as I hoped it’d be. I pause and look around, ready to side-eye anyone that targets me for littering or some bullshit but no one even looks up from their feet or their phone. Not that I’m complaining. I prefer it when strangers mind their own goddamn business.

I hail a cab and an address slips off my lips. There’s only one friend I have in this city and his place just so happens to be vacant.

Fox’s house — or should I say
Roxie Robert’s house
, as I’m pretty sure she paid for it — sits in the Hollywood Hills, nestled down in the valley between two pop stars and some old film director who’s way passed his prime but keeps churning out crap year after year like he’s still got it but no one has the heart to tell him to pack it in. Hell, I’ll do it. I’ll shout it from the porch across the street. It might make me feel better, although it goes against my whole
strangers should mind their own goddamn business
philosophy.

The cab drops me off and as I stare at the solid, black gate in front of me, I start to feel a little nostalgic. Once upon a time, impenetrable fortresses like these used to be my weekend projects. I’m not sure why I got into it in the first place. Boredom, probably. I was a sixteen-year-old early high school graduate with nothing to do and my minimum wage parents didn’t have time to entertain me between the five different jobs they worked to give a crap about what I did with my time. I couldn’t afford higher education — even with scholarships — but I had to find something productive to do with myself.

So, I started picking locks.

It started with the bathroom door. Then it was the front door. Then it was the neighbor’s front door. Then it snowballed all the way into a pair of handcuffs in the back of a police car. I picked those, too. After that, it was security systems. A lot of them.

I didn’t steal anything. I wasn’t a thief
yet.
I just liked the idea of being somewhere I wasn’t supposed to be. I liked penetrating walls that weren’t meant to be overcome and experiencing the deep satisfaction of doing it so much that I didn’t care about consequences once I got in.

Hmm.

My fascination with Caleb Fawn suddenly makes a whole lot more sense.

I scale the black gate and sit on the edge, being extra careful not to pierce my damn ballsack on the spires at the top. There’s a security camera here and, luckily, it’s the same crappy brand peddled out to rich people for five-hundred percent over the value of its parts. I shake my head. And people call
me
a thief.

I reach into the bottom of my bag for a small screwdriver and pop off the back of the camera to expose the wires. This brand has an exploit that the manufacturer themselves aren’t even aware of. If you cross the blue and red wires and then short it out, it’ll take down every single camera on the network and they won’t turn back on until the unit itself is replaced — or in this case, until I fix it. I’m not about to completely disable my best friend’s security system.

What am I — an asshole?

The cameras shut down and I crack a smile as I hop the rest of the way over the fence. I don’t bother checking for witnesses. I honestly don’t care and it’s not like the owners won’t vouch for me or anything. I travel the rest of the way up the drive and I marvel at the perfect landscaping for a few seconds until I reach the front door where yet another hurdle presents itself, this one in the form of a numerical panel with a key card slot.

It’s a model CX-22B, by the looks of it — No, I take that back. It’s the 22C. Either way, it’s easy to crack with the right tools.

Damn, Fox. Paranoid much? Eh, I guess he has every reason in the world to protect himself and Dani. I highly doubt most people around here have to worry about an underground organization of assassins trying to bust their doors down.

I pull out my laptop, along with a “key” of my own invention from the pocket on the side. I don’t have a cutesy name for it. It’s a USB-powered skeleton key, basically. I slide the key card into the slot and plug the cable into my laptop. A few keystrokes later and my program gets to work, brute-forcing its way through as many key combinations as possible.

The CX-22C requires a six-digit code, meaning there are one million possible combinations and it automatically sounds an alarm if you miss it more than three times in a row — making it the preferred system over the 22B. I programmed my skeleton key to override that function but I still might be here a few minutes.

Finally, it lands on one-two-two-four-zero-seven and a green light shines to unlock it, along with disabling any alarm system the place might have.

I twist the doorknob but it doesn’t budge.

Oh. Of course. Some people still use actual keys.

I pull out my lockpick and knock out the final hurdle before I even break a sweat.

As I step inside, my phone rings. My lips curl as I reach into my pocket and see his number staring back at me. I step into his house and kick the door closed. “Your security sucks, man,” I answer, holding the phone against my ear.

“You know, I would have given you the code,” Fox says.

“My way is more fun,” I chuckle, glancing around the foyer. My eyes fall on various movie poster hanging off the walls inside frames that probably cost more than my rent back east. Dani stares back at me from every one. Damn, she’s pretty. Natural blonde hair — although, I hear she keeps it black nowadays. Bright, blue eyes. Fox is one lucky bastard but I’ll never tell him that. He’ll get too smug. “How did you know I was here?”