Chapter 19 Bane
Bane
The rising sun pushes through the crack in the curtains covering the window. I’ve sat in the corner of Slade’s bedroom all night while she slept.
Her sleep was restless, and she groaned as if she were in pain, sounding like a mortally wounded animal.
I didn’t dare touch her, although I desperately wanted to.
I didn’t want her to wake and find me here, like a stalker obsessing over her. And frankly, I didn’t trust myself if I did touch her, because more than anything, I wanted to haul her into my arms and never let go.
Matt Knight.
The name is seared in my brain.
Is that her husband? And why in the ever-loving-fuck is her husband not with her, protecting her, standing beside her to help her fight the demons in her mind?
Slade rolls over onto her side. She faces me, her body burrowed under the blankets, her beautiful, delicate features marred with a look of pain, even in her sleep.
Slade is an early riser, and I suspect that if she finds me here and discovers that I violated her privacy when I used my master key to watch her sleep, then the tentative progress I’ve made with her will be erased.
But I just need a few more minutes watching her. To protect her any way that I can.
“You look like shit.”
I grunt at Digits’ very true comment as I crest the stairs to his tower. “You don’t look like Miss Universe yourself.”
He shoves his hands through his dark curls—something it looks like he’s done for a good portion of the night based on how they’re standing up. “I was working, you dick. What’s your excuse?”
I ignore his question and straddle a chair. “When was the last time you showered?”
Digits has a tendency to get lost in his work, sometimes not leaving his isolated tower and all his toys and equipment for days if we don’t yank him out.
His wall of computers and monitors hum as they work.
It’s dark up here, with the only light coming from his monitors, and it’s goddamn hot as hell.
I’m already breaking a bead just sitting in the chair.
“Digits, when was the last time you showered?” I ask again because he’s lost in something, hunched over his keyboard, pecking madly away and muttering to himself.
“Yesterday,” he answers absently. “Maybe the day before.” He pounds harder on the keys. “Take that, you little bitch! Ha!”
He swivels in his chair to face me. “Finally cracked the voicemail. It was harder than getting into the feds’ servers.”
I straighten, feeling a buzz of energy from the adrenaline that’s tapped right into my bloodstream. “Are you shitting me?”
“Which part? That I got into the voicemail or that it was harder than hacking the feds?” He drums his fingers on his thigh, amped up on the adrenaline pumping through his veins.
I push out of the chair and walk to his bank of computer equipment, and heat emanates as I get closer. I pull out my phone and text Ash, telling him to get his ass up here. Army and Pix are out, but I can’t wait for them.
“What did Slade say in the voicemail?”
Digits takes his glasses off and cleans them with his shirt. “Dude, I haven’t listened to it yet.” He regards me. “Are you okay?”
I feel like I might be having a heart attack. Sweat coats my skin, but I feel cold and clammy. My heart is pounding way too fast, like I just mainlined coke.
“I just need to know what Slade said in the voicemail.”
Dread fills me about what it might be, though. Do I want confirmation that this Matt Knight guy is her husband? Do I want to hear her leave him a message, telling him that she misses him? That she loves him?
Digits had told us he pulled a file together on Matt Knight, but wouldn’t give the details because he wanted to package everything together first, as if this were some sales pitch presentation. It was the reason I came up here; to make him give me what he had compiled so far.
Ash’s boots thunder on the steps as he races up them. His face is thick with scruff, and his eyes are tired. It looks like he also had a sleepless night after witnessing what Slade went through.
“Okay, now that the band’s all here.” Digits bounces his knee and swivels back to the bank of monitors and computer equipment. “Meet Matt Knight.”
He types a few keys, and the wall of monitors fills with the image of a man in his thirties, with a wide smile and kind brown eyes. He has a full head of thick blonde hair and is lean.
“That’s…” I swallow to wet my parched throat. “That’s Slade’s husband?”
“Guy’s single. No marriage certificate with his name on it,” Digits says, and instantly my body relaxes.
“No signs that he’s had a common-law partner, either.
He’s an accountant from Manchester, England, who has lived in Toledo, Ohio, for the past ten years.
” Digits looks at the screen, then at us.
“He’s also dead; drowned in a ferry accident a couple of months ago on Lake Erie with some of his friends and a bunch of other unfortunate souls. ”
“So why did Slade call him?” Ash frowns.
“And why the hell was his voicemail so hard to break into?” I demand.
“All good questions. For the first one, we’ll find out soon when we listen.
For the second one, it was hard to find a backdoor vulnerability to exploit in the carrier’s VoIP packet structure, so it took a long time.
Then I had to navigate multiple firewalls, plus a ten-digit PIN, which I had to access a hidden subroutine—”
“Digits,” I bark.
“Fine.” He half-scowls, half-pouts. “It took more time than normal to hack in, which tells me there are extra levels of security with this particular inbox.”
“Before we address that, why is a dead man’s voicemail inbox still active if he’s been dead for months?” Ash asks.
“I do have an answer for that: the bill had been prepaid.”
Ash scowls. “And the level of security on this inbox… Is it normal for his phone carrier?”
Digits stifles a yawn and stretches his arms above his head. “At first guess, no. I have to dig more into that to confirm, though.”
“Play the voicemail,” I order gruffly, trying to keep my face expressionless and my body from going rigid.
Digits twists his head to look at me again. His eyes are bloodshot and tired, probably the mirror to my own. “Dude, are you actually okay?”
I wipe the back of my hand across my beaded forehead. “It’s hotter than Hades’ asshole up here; how the hell do you handle it?”
He grins. “Your hell is my heaven.”
“Okay, Prince of Hackness.” He cackles at my gritted reply. “Play the goddamn voicemail.”
Ash steps closer and squeezes the back of my neck to calm my agitation because I’m one second away from punching Digits. “Do it, Digits.”
He looks unconcerned at my expression of violence and turns back to his keyboard. After a few clicks, Slade’s voice plays over the speakers.
“Hey.”
I know I’m a bastard, because hearing how her voice is still emotionless when she called Matt Knight makes me feel better. Shaking off the thought, I listen closely.
“God, I hate this stupid-ass recording. I arrived at where I was headed but my plan didn’t quite go off as I had intended.
I’m fine, though. It might make me a drama queen, but I really wish I could hear your actual voice.
I miss you. I hope heaven is as beautiful as you.
” She pauses for a beat, then adds, “Tell the other angels I say hi.”
The recording ends.
“Play it again,” I order Digits.
He does, another five times, then the three of us look at each other.
I have more questions now than I did before, but I go with the obvious ones first. “Does Slade have any connection to Matt Knight or any of his friends who died with him? And why did she leave a voicemail for a dead man who’d never get it?”
“No, to your first question, Bane.” Digits drums his fingers, antsy like always whenever he’s been interrupted while working.
“But I haven’t had time to delve deeper, so something might still pop up.
For question number two”—he smirks up at me—“haven’t you watched movies where they leave messages for their loved one to keep a connection and call just to hear their loved one’s voice on the recording? ”
“Stop saying loved one’s.” The words are out before I can stop them.
The thought of the man still illuminated all over Digits’ monitors, loving Slade and her loving him, is making me want to destroy probably close to a million dollars’ worth of equipment and tech.
“You said Slade has no known connection to him,” I say more calmly to remind Digits instead of admitting to the volatile rage that is swirling within me.
I don’t like the odd look he’s giving me, but he doesn’t say anything. Smart man.
Tension ripples off Ash as he stands beside me. “The message could be in code. Can we tell if anyone calls in to access the voicemails?”
“Yeah, sure, I can plant a program that would notify me if someone did,” Digits reassures.
I rub my jaw, considering. “If the message is code, that means—”
“We have no way of decoding it without some clue of what coding method they used or the decryption key.”
Ash is even tenser now. “It also means that this is another check in the box that Slade has government training.”
“Or access to someone who has,” I add.
“You’re both missing another likely candidate for an option.
” Digits swivels from side-to-side in his chair.
“Tyla took Slade to Houston to escape MC life, a life that’s wrapped up in the criminal side of things.
But after Slade ran away from Tyla, she could have returned to the life.
” He uses air quotes. “Living and working in the criminal underworld, Slade would need all these things, too—the training to protect herself, the covert means of communicating. It’s everything we do. ”
“Fuck,” Ash mutters and tilts his head back.
“Does it matter?” Digits asks. “Does it change if we help Slade if she is connected to some law enforcement authority?”
“No,” I answer before Ash can. “But it would help to know what we’re dealing with.”
“Then ask her.” He looks at us like we’re children and he’s the exasperated adult trying to help us navigate something so fucking obvious.
“Then we have to admit that I purposefully riled her up to fight me so we could watch and study her like she’s some lab rat, and that we’re monitoring her phone. I’m supposed to be building her trust, not making her more suspicious.”
Digits snorts.
“He’s got a point, Digits,” Ash says.
“You don’t think she doesn't suspect we’re monitoring her phone?” he asks with that exasperated look again. “She was raised in our world; we’re holding her here against her will…and let her keep her phone.”
The asshole is trying to bait me, but I’m too tired and still worked up over Slade’s spiral and the thought of losing her where she’s trapped inside her mental hell. “What’s our next steps?”
“We keep doing what we’re doing,” Ash answers immediately. “Digits, you keep digging, but get some fucking sleep and take a shower.”
Digits looks insulted but sniffs his armpits and grimaces.
Ash turns to me. “You keep working with Slade. As much as I wish it were me or her brothers who were the ones who could help her feel something again, for whatever reason, it’s you, and you also help ground her.”
“And what about getting Slade some help with the PTSD or trauma or whatever the fuck she’s dealing with?” Digits presses.
“She won’t talk about it; it causes her to spiral right now.” Somehow, I know this to be true. “She needs more time to actually feel something again and remain in control while she does.”
“Sort of like ‘practice makes perfect’?” Digits quirks his brow at me.
“Yeah.” I rub my face in exhaustion and worry. “I’ll research with Army to learn more so I can help her the best I can without accidentally triggering her.” I turn to Ash. “Should we get Army to request Len to help us dig into Slade?”
“Not yet.” His face is grave. “I think it might come down to calling in a favor, not only with Len, but with some of our other allies as well.”
Digits is pensive. He likely knows the answer, but he asks, “For what?”
I swallow against the sudden lump in my throat as my heart pounds wildly. “For saving Slade.”
Later, I look back, realizing just how true this foreboding statement was.