I couldn't disagree with her. There had been a lot of hackers calling themselves hacktivists all over the news in the past few years. Taking down federal websites, turning the internet back on in Egypt when the government shut it down, releasing the names of KKK members, trolling organizations until they caved into whatever demands the hackers were making. They were powerful in ways I didn't understand but knew enough to respect.

“How long would that take?”

“No way to tell,” she said, typing until my screen went black and some site opened up a forum called 'info exchange'. “Could be minutes. Could be days. But it's worth a try.”

I had to agree since it was all we really had to go on.

So she set to work, digging out the occasional USB, unlocking certain files, adding them to the post she was creating. Crime reports of beaten and raped women with descriptions of their attacker, detailing a very specific scar he had running across his chest. She found a shirtless picture of Lex and posted it beside the reports, scar on full display. Then she opened the USB that made her pale, unlocking a folder saying simply 'faces' - and uploaded half a dozen shots of women with their faces brutalized.

She ended the post explaining her situation. Who she was (a nickname. Not her real name). That she had been working on her case for ten years. That she was compromised and there was a price on her head. Leaving out the part about me. Detailing how many more incriminating files she had on the topic. Then giving instructions for anyone to contact her.

Which was, apparently, through some kind of coded chat that she was going to leave open on my laptop to keep an eye on.

“Now we wait,” she said, settling the laptop on the coffee table and reaching for her cold coffee. She was silent for a minute, contemplating the black TV. “How long do you think I have?”

“What?” I asked, turning to look at her.

“Before Lex finally decides to come fetch me. How long?”

That was a good question. One I had been considering myself. He didn't seem like he was in a rush when he told me of the deal. And maybe that was because he wanted me to get worried about Shoot. The more time that passed, the more chance of him getting himself into trouble. If Lex made me sweat it, maybe I would be more willing to hand over Alex.

At least, that was all I could come up with anyway.

Nothing else made sense.

“Not more than a few more days I'd guess,” I admitted. “Three tops.”

Alex simply nodded. No hysterics. No reaction whatsoever.

“Did you happen to pick me up...”

At this, I sighed, reaching into my front pocket and pulling out a baggy with white powder. “This is the good shit. Strong. A third of this could make a non-user OD.” I handed it to her. “Ain't never bought drugs before,” I admitted, looking down at the baggy.

“Well, at least it was for a good cause,” she tried lightening the mood.

“Doll, you dying... that ain't a good cause.”

She looked away from me, taking the smack and slipping it into her boot, ripping the lining slightly away from the ankle to push the baggie between the lining and the leather. Easy access, but hidden.

“Alex,” I called, watching her look blankly across the room.

“What?” she asked, her voice distant.

“Look at me.”

She exhaled sharply and turned her head. And there was just... nothing there. No sadness. No horror. Again, just her grim resignation to her fate.

“Come here,” I said, stretching an arm across the back of the couch.

“What?” she asked, brows drawing together.

“Come over here,” I repeated.

“Why?” she asked, but her body had turned slightly. Even without knowing why, her body wanted to be closer to mine.

“Because I am going to show you one of the many reasons you should be upset about not being alive to keep experiencing.” Her eyes held mine, seeing my intentions, and weighing whether or not she was going to submit herself to them. “Seventy-two hours, doll,” I went on. “We could both be dead. The fuck we wasting time for?”

Her eyes slanted to the laptop for a second, seeing no activity, then letting her eyes fall on mine. I saw it before she did. In the quickening and shallow-ing of her breath. In her slightly parted lips. In her heavy lidded eyes.

She swallowed, wet her lips, then closed the space between us.

Eight

Alex

I knew what he meant. The second he told me to go to him, I knew. It was in his voice. Lower. Deeper. Almost soft. And it sent a ripple of desire through my system.

The question was... did I want to go to him? Knowing that it wouldn't be another kiss. Knowing his fingers would slide up my thigh, find the sweet spot, work it. Knowing that it wouldn't stop there. That within the next hour, I would know what it felt like to have him inside of me.

And did my libido want that? Hell freaking yeah.

But did I?

I had about thirty seconds to decide, with a clear and rational mind, if it was incredibly twisted and stupid... or the best decision I could make.

To go out with a bang, as it were.

I'd had sex before. Once when I was sixteen. With one of the older kids living at the group home. I don't know why really. I wasn't ready. I barely had a grasp on the concept of sex, let alone the possible physical and emotional repercussions. I long since learned to blame the grief, the loss of everything I knew, the need to feel alive again.

Danny he had been tall and strong with dark hair and piercing green eyes. From the moment I walked into the common room, his eyes were on mine. I learned later that it was because he banged all the new chicks provided they were halfway decent looking. But at the time, I had thought I was special.

Then he started hanging around me, talking sweet, using kid gloves as if sensing (more likely, having known from previous experience) how fragile I was.

A couple days later, I fell onto my back in his bed. He stripped us both, slipped on a condom that had come in a camouflage wrapper that boasted “Don't let them see you coming!”, and slammed inside me. As most would expect (though I was wholly clueless), it hurt like a bitch. But was thankfully over in under five minutes.

I found out later that while he was fucking me, his buddies were stealing my shit.

A few days later, I was moved to a foster house.

I didn't have sex again until I was nineteen. Though I did have the unfortunate repeat occurrence of fending off at least three of my foster fathers and then pretending I didn't notice the fourth one would come in and jerk off while watching me 'sleep'.

The guy when I was nineteen was names Glenn and was someone who had taken time out of his life to sit me down and teach me all the things about computers and hacking that I hadn't already picked up- the skills that would allow me to make a living of it. And gather better information on Lex.

I guess it could be said that I fucked him out of gratitude. I had nothing else to offer.

And he was nice enough. Twenty-five, a little short, kinda pudgy, with pasty white skin and big black-rimmed glasses. He could have been cute had he put any kind of effort into his appearance or wardrobe. There was none of the rough hands and frantic stabbing of a cock that my first partner provided me with. Glenn had hot hands, always just shy of truly clammy. But they always touched me softly, hesitantly. And his cock had only ever seemed half-hard when he got it inside me, slid around for a few minutes, made a choking sound in his throat, and came.