Chapter Six - Kiara
There better be something on his stupid phone. Flipping my hoodie over my head, I knuckle down at my computer with my huge mug of coffee planted beside me. It’s a good thing I got out of his penthouse in the nick of time. I still can’t believe I pulled the stunt off. Dad would be pissed and terrified if he found out how far I took it. But I can’t let him go down. I just can’t. He’s my security blanket and not having him around is non-negotiable.
I’m not able to go searching for love or sympathy from my absentee mother any time soon.
I feel the clock ticking like a bomb strapped to my back. Maybe there’s a chance Akim finds out I hacked him—then what? Or that I drugged him. Way worse. But I’m not keen on facing him again, unless it’s to get my father out of jail.
Scrolling through the data, I’m surprised that I can’t find much. When I say much, there’s nothing listed in his list of apps either. He doesn’t even have banking apps that I can hack into. Not even my father knows about my superior hacking abilities; it’s an invaluable skill that I keep to myself.
At first it started off as an innocent way to check into my university database, but I locked it up accidentally. Honestly, I stumbled upon it, but once I learned a few more skills and how to unblock passcodes—which is what I mainly do, then I was hooked.
It’s not something I want to do all the time. I just do it when I need to. And this is a need-to-do situation. Akim’s phone is reading clean, and I don’t get it. There’s nothing I can see that’s incriminating.
Frowning and distressed, I recheck what I’m seeing from the extracted data on screen. Monday. No text messages. That’s bullshit. You can’t tell me a man of his caliber and with all the clubs and bars he owns that he hasn’t sent a text message to somebody. Tuesday. A message to the guy I saw him at Sky Lever with. I think if I remember right, his name was Boris. And there’s some other guy’s name here too. A Luka. All it asks him about is club sandwiches and fries for lunch, which is of no help to me. I do remember his apartment complex, but I was so freaked out, I didn’t take down the apartment number or how to get in.
No. You can’t go back to his place. Then you’ve got a death wish and would definitely be caught.
The rest of his week’s text messages are the same. Sipping on my now lukewarm coffee, I try to think what else would make a man like him tick. Power. Status. Corruption. None of those things are elements I can tap into, other than a little harmless—now harmful hacking. Women. That’s the only vice it can work with. If he’s in the Bratva and it’s as bad as the Chicago tabloids portray it to be, then he’s likely to be greedy, ruthless, probably violent, and drunk with all the power anybody could ever want. Not to mention reputation, so my theory goes back to women. I drink my coffee too fast, spluttering like the klutz I can sometimes be.
“Shit!” I tap on my lip, the touch reminding me of Akim’s experienced mouth connecting with mine. He knew what he was doing, and it scared me. I’ve never been kissed that way, and it’s got me wondering how many women he’s bedded. If he was so quick to take me home, then he must do it all the time.
Boy. What a place. I’m out of my league and depth with a man like him. Not for me. I will have to wait for all the computer geeks like me to catch up and mature. Sucking on my scorched lip, I keep scrolling to the photo section of his phone, rifling through them. Bingo. He’s kept some. The first one makes me want to barf. He’s standing beside a long-legged model with aquamarine eyes and a sparkly dress that barely covers her hoo-ha. Figures.
That’s why he probably asked if you’re a model.
Rolling my eyes, I keep scrolling through pictures, finding some of a couple of buildings. Sitting up in my chair, I think I might be onto something and collect the location information.
“Come on. This is beyond boring. Show me something,” I mutter, growing more and more anxious. I did all that to get this piecemeal information and now there’s nothing I can work with, except some stupid photos of him with a statuesque model.
The locations are his own bars I find out, and when I bring up the pages on Google to confirm, I’m confronted by his pictures, a swirl of wild emotions chewing me up.
He knows how to wear a suit, that’s for sure, but there’s a vulnerability I witnessed first-hand last night. A human soul, not a dictator. His charming personality is layered by so much darkness that I can’t reconcile it, however. I got to see it, but he didn’t let me take it too far. It’s just enough for me to scratch the surface.
My phone beeps, jerking me back to the fact I’ve been staring at his picture for seconds too long. It’s a friend of mine from school, but I don’t answer. I don’t have the time to play around. I keep checking the other building in the photo, and it looks like it’s a before picture of a second club he owns. Not helpful, because I’m sure as hell not going to cosplay as a model again. Thinking of models, I keep going back and forth through his texts, tempted to Google the model. I know she’s one because I recognize her face on some Chicago billboard downtown, and it’s grossing me out that she picked him.
Then I find something I can work with. A series of letters and symbols that instantly tell me it’s a code for something. There’s a funny word included in the message that I don’t understand, and I think it’s Russian. Excitedly, I accidentally tip the edge of my coffee cup, close to its contents spilling over my keyboard. It’s a close enough call to spike my pulse. I get it together, moving my mug away from the computer and start again, looking up the Russian site online.
Fucking hell. This is a Bratva database. I’m in! I’ve got limited time in their mainframe before somebody finds out there’s been a breach and shuts the system down. I’ve gotta find evidence quickly. I’m hoping this is somehow connected to Akim’s personal profile, but if it’s the entire Bratva network, it’s a huge coup.
The tips of my finger run hot as I shakily type in the details. I double-check. Triple-check. Just to make sure I’ve got everything in order. Yes. I’ve typed it in right. Proceeding, I watch as the screen turns completely blue. Clapping a hand over my mouth, I drop my cramped leg down to the floor. Shit. What if they have some sophisticated hardware that shuts down my shit completely? What if they infect other computers with viruses or whatever?
I run through the worst possible scenarios in a matter of microseconds, my silly fears unrealized as all Akim’s emails load on the screen. His desktop loads too, and I’m automatically in his profile like I hoped, and I see that it’s linked to the entire network.
“You are good, Kiara. You are so freaking good,” I commend myself, my heart fueled by adrenaline. The hard tick of the clock strikes. Working fast, I click my mouse around, thinking about the best approach to collect dirt. I had success with the photos, so I head over to them, and hit the jackpot. Bills. The folder stands out to me because surely Akim would have an accounting team to specifically handle bills.
Opening the folder, I get the shock of my life. This isn’t anything to do with bills, that’s for sure. In it, a woman is naked on her back with stocking suspenders on and a cock ramming into her from the back. “What the hell?” I watch aimlessly for a few seconds as the woman moans loudly.
“Akim. Yes! You’re such a bad, bad boy. I like it like this.”
“You do. Tell me how much?” he growls as I watch him slap her ass, his hips driving forward, the hard V cut of his abdominals in view enough for me to see. A flush of heat takes over my body as I feel myself becoming aroused. He moves so good, and she’s crying out. Maybe I should have stayed—I snap out of it, quickly, downloading the incriminating evidence to my own files, checking for other things. I find an email about the shipping docks and pick those details up as well. The screen makes a noise, fading to gray, indicating my time is up.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Not yet. I want the details of those emails, but I don’t have everything loaded. I sit back with my heart in my mouth not knowing what’s going to happen next. The screen flickers a time or two and reboots. But a couple of seconds later it flashes back on, right where I left it, as if I didn’t just hack into a dangerous Bratva man’s screen at all.
Bewildered by what I’ve done, I push my gamer chair back, standing up to get more air in my lungs. Shit. I really did it again. I found something! I can nail this guy to the cross.
Now we’ve got leverage. No, it won’t stand up in the court of law, but in the court of the Bratva, I don’t think Akim Utkin wants a sex tape leaked about him. I check if the emails went through in time, and with luck being on my side, I find out they did.
On the couch, I take my encrypted decoder and slide the chip of it into my cell phone, relieved.
Still reeling from the images of Akim, my body aching with a need to watch. Do I want to see? The sound of his flesh pounding the model from the back has me hot. I don’t want to be hot. I want to be cold and indifferent about the monster. This isn’t the way I want to think about the dark-haired man with a Scorpion tattoo at all. He put my father in jail, but soon enough I find my hand gravitating to the top of my waistband and slipping inside to pleasure myself.
I have to look at the evidence anyway. To know what I can pin him on. One look. Not for long. Just so I can see…. First, I let the decoder do its work, bringing up the forbidden video that he obviously didn’t want anyone to find. I lock in on the face of the model he was banging, bringing up a name via facial recognition. I was right about her being one. Tatiana Angove. I peer closer at her credentials. She’s been on the cover of Vogue and numerous other fashion magazines I don’t give a shit about. Jealous feelings spark inside me as I keep reading. She’s only two years older than me as well.
I guess Akim can get any woman he wants. Do I want him? I look around my apartment not wanting to be seen, but there’s no one here. Paranoia sets in as I dare to open the video, panting. Immediately the noise of moaning starts as I watch him. He’s big… and it’s thick. Wow. He’s so dominant, holding her hips that way. God. Can he do that for me? Sighing, a deep ache throbs between my legs as I indulge, watching as he slaps her ass, and it vibrates under his touch.
I take my hand out of my pants, breathless and disturbed by my own actions. I can’t. Akim has my father in jail being beaten up. I can’t want this man. Jealousy of not being her runs through me, and I shut the video down.
Quickly, I bring up the more important evidence and emails. It’s probably better if I look at them on my computer, but I can’t bring myself back in case something shuts down or I’m found out. Instead, I peer at my phone, expanding the emails in question so I can see better.
Monday, 5 th March.
The job is done regarding MJ. Should be enough for the search of his office to go ahead. I’ll tip off the cops.
The email is coming from that guy Boris. His name is at the top of the page, and I assume when they say MJ, they’re referring to my father. A reply was sent from Akim the same afternoon.
Good. Cops on payroll have been secured also. Good job.
I fucking knew it. The dirty… but very sexy, hot asshole. Tapping my teeth, feeling unsafe, I look up at my locked door. It’s exactly like Asher said. We don’t stand a chance against the Bratva.
But I’ve got enough. Enough to twist his arm and have him help my father out of jail. And the email proves he has the resources to do so. But God, what about his other big resource?
I could have been that woman after Sky Lever. I want to be her. Punching the back of the couch, I get up to distract myself with a cold shower, vowing to scrub Akim Utkin clean from my brain.