Page 16 of One Last Rainy Day
Sean speaks up to console Fatty as he pulls out his keys. “That was fucking stupid, man. You were so close.”
Fatty’s reply has me perking up as he opens Tyler’s passenger door. “It wasn’t like that.She messaged me.”
I thought as much, and now I have more work to do. Another undertaking to add to my list and, more importantly, arogue birdto hunt.
Chapter Eight
SIPPING MY MORNINGbrew, I eye the Nasdaq feed scrolling at the bottom of my third screen. Satisfied with our portfolio’s progress, I type in my last few commands on a new program I designed and fire it off. In seconds, a symphony of characters begins to populate in green across my second monitor. Grin spreading at the sight of it, I mentally pat myself on the back. In the last few hours—due to some digging on our crate discovery—I unintentionally ensnared a local fly whose vibration landed heavily on my web. This had me following him into a chatroom where he made an inquiry. From there, I located his IP address and sent an update for his VPN program. Within a minute, the fly clicked on the bait that I had disguised in the software he believes keeps his web activity hidden but, in reality, gives me access to every single fucking click and command he’s ever made.
Homeland Security is a myth. We aren’t protected, we’re wired, and our behaviors are observed and collected as data to help orchestrate the strategy on how best to manipulate the masses.
The scariest part? It’s fucking working.
It’s no longer necessary for the CIA to run government experiments using hallucinogens to practice mind control. All they have to do in the present is invent trapdoors within the global technology used by the masses in the day-to-day.
Ironically, the one thing we need protection from is any side of governmentwe ourselvesare electing to power.
Suspicions confirmed after a few minutes of digging and observation, I decide to monitor this fly closely in the coming weeks—which only adds to my growing task list of things to be dealt with sooner than later. Interference at this point isn’t possible due to the ever-increasing list I’m compiling by the day regarding the club and my plans for our future targets. But when the premonition hits hard again, I decide this particular fly will have to take priority at some point.
I log out after tapping into the fly’s bank account to alert me when any bulk purchases are made, or any large sums are withdrawn.
My main priority for the moment is to help Tyler uncover Roman’s motivation to lure Cecelia here.
A change of heart regarding the relationship with his only heir doesn’t seem likely, nor does his regard for her financial future since he’s allowed her to live impoverished her whole fucking life. Her forgiveness or desire for any relationship seems unlikely after so many years apart.
Then there’s the psychology on Roman’s side.
The first factor being his age. Aging men with icy hearts tend to start thawing when reminders of mortality begin to loom. His regret regarding his only child could be the key.
Tyler and I have hashed out this logic in the weeks Cecelia has been here and remain skeptical. Especially since Roman’s still relatively young and hasn’t had any recent health scares.
And for an arrogant, callous, selfish fuck like him, I’m not convinced his motive has anything at all to do with Cecelia. Neither is Tyler.
There’s more to this.
Something vital we’re missing and have been missing. This is why we’re hellbent on making sure the picture we’ve been painting by numbers over the years to reflect an accurate representation of Roman isn’t off by a single digit.
No doubt, Cecelia’s just as confused as we are on Roman’s motives—eight years too late—but money has always been the greatest of motivators.
The solution is in the problem—thewhy.
In order to get it, we need to tap that fucking house, especially if he’s going to be sleeping there on the regular. Though her presence is a serious interference—and after failing to come up with a definitive motive—Sean’s part ink-, part cock-induced plan might have some merit to it.
My hopes are sitting on all my brothers at this point, both in ink and blood.
Both are disappointing me as of late, and I’m losing faith.
Though this plan can’t be rushed, I’ll be damned if I don’t figure out how to try to expedite the process to suit my timeline. As far as I can see, I’m the only fucking one it’s paining—on all fronts—to keep our current speed.
When my phone rumbles, my hopes are dashed that Tobias has returned my text when I seeTATIEfilling the screen, and I reluctantly answer.
*
Entering the lobby of the garage—after dealing with my aunt for the better part of my day—I’m thankful it’s well afterclose, which gives me the privacy I need without raising other birds’ suspicions. Heading toward my toolbox in the commercial bay, I stop when I spot Cecelia spread out on the couch, book lifted and obstructing her view of me. It’s clear she hadn’t heard my approach due to the earbuds she’s wearing and the way she’s sprawled out. Cheeks flushed, chest heaving, it’s then I get why. Whatever she’s reading has her fucking aroused, and I suspect seconds away from rubbing one out. Tempted to sit back and watch it happen for the ability to further fuck with her, my annoyance with her invasion wins and has me stalking toward her.
Cecelia catches sight of me as I near and jackknives, pulling her earbuds out as she sputters an explanation as to why she’s here. “I’m n-not alone. I mean, I am rightnow. S-Sean just went to grab a pack of cigarettes and beers with the guys.”
Eyeing the print size of the book to avoid looking at her, I realize the garage isn’t the only one of my safe havens she’s invaded recently.
