Chapter 16 Iris
IRIS
Istare at the login screen for the NSA’s classified archive system, cursor blinking in the username field.
Three years. That’s how long I’ve avoided this breach.
My fingers hover over the keyboard, trembling slightly. The encrypted partition containing my parents’ accident investigation is protected by seven layers of military-grade security. I built half of those layers myself during my time with the agency.
They never expected me to come back.
My phone buzzes with another text from Alexi. I ignore it, focusing on the code scrolling across my secondary monitor. The backdoor I’m constructing needs to be perfect—untraceable. One wrong move and I’ll have federal agents at my door within hours.
“You’re really doing this.” Maya’s voice comes from behind me.
I don’t turn around. “I need to know.”
“You’ve needed to know for years. Why now?”
Because I’m sleeping with a man whose family might have murdered them. Because I need proof before this goes any further.
I don’t say that out loud.
“Because I’m ready.”
The backdoor completes. I route it through seventeen proxy servers across nine countries, each connection bouncing through systems I’ve already compromised over the years. The NSA will see the breach—eventually. But they won’t find me.
I hope.
My hand trembles as I hit enter.
The system accepts my credentials. Old login information I memorized before they purged my access. Except I’d made sure certain accounts never got purged, buried so deep in their infrastructure that no one knew they existed.
The accident file loads.
June 14th, 2019. Providence, Rhode Island. Vehicle malfunction resulting in fatal collision.
I’ve read the public report a hundred times. But this—this is the classified version.
I open the first document. Initial investigation notes. My breath catches as I scan the details.
Vehicle examination reveals inconsistencies with the reported mechanical failure. Brake lines show evidence of tampering. Further investigation required.
My pulse races. Evidence of tampering. Not mechanical failure.
I open the next file. The follow-up investigation.
Case reassigned to Special Agent Morrison. The original investigator transferred.
That’s wrong. Investigations don’t get reassigned unless—
I dig deeper, pulling up Morrison’s background. Former CIA. Connections to—
My screen flickers.
“Shit.” I watch as my connection starts to destabilize. Someone’s noticed the breach.
I download everything I can grab, letting my automated scrubbers cover my tracks while files transfer to encrypted storage. The NSA’s countermeasures are hunting me, but I’m faster.
For now.
The connection dies thirty seconds before they would’ve traced my location.
I lean back, heart hammering, staring at the downloaded files.
Twelve documents. Investigation notes. Witness statements. And one name that appears in three separate files, always in the margins, always redacted in the public version.
Not Ivanov.
Volkov.
I click through the downloaded files, hands trembling as pieces fall into place.
Project Nightshade appears in the third document. Then the fifth. Then again, in Morrison’s transfer orders.
The same classified project I breached four days ago.
My stomach drops.
I pull up the witness statements. Mrs. Kimi from the corner store. Officer Ramirez, who arrived first on the scene. Both mention a black sedan leaving the area minutes before the crash.
Both statements were later “revised” to remove that detail.
I cross-reference the timeline with Nightshade’s operational calendar—data I grabbed during my accidental breach. June 2019 shows increased activity in the Northeast corridor. Asset deployment. Threat neutralization protocols.
My parents weren’t killed by the Russian mafia.
They were killed by our own government.
My phone buzzes. Alexi again.
Tired of waiting, detka. Tell me you’re coming over.
I swipe the notification away, pulling up Morrison’s communication logs. The encryption is military-grade, but I’ve broken worse.
The first decrypted message makes my blood run cold.
Mitchells confirmed as a security risk. Recommend immediate action before information reaches foreign intelligence.
My father worked in defense contracting. Low-level clearance. Nothing that should’ve made him a target unless—
I dig deeper into his personnel file.
He’d discovered something. Flagged an anomaly in weapons shipments that didn’t match official records. Started asking questions.
Questions about Project Nightshade.
My phone buzzes three times in rapid succession.
You’re ignoring me.
Bad idea.
I can see you’re online. Whatever you’re doing, stop.
I silence my phone completely.
The final document in Morrison’s file lists names. Project Nightshade operatives. Agents involved in “containment operations.”
I scan the list, looking for anything that might—
Volkov, Kiril. Status: Active. Current assignment: Asset protection, Boston area.
Not Ivanov. Volkov.
Different organization entirely.
I’ve spent years hacking the wrong family, convinced the Ivanov brothers killed my parents when they had nothing to do with it.
Years of hacking and chasing the Ivanov family while the real killers operated under a completely different banner.
My laptop screen blurs as tears burn my eyes.
My screen goes black.
Then Alexi’s face fills the monitor.
“Fuck.” I reach for the keyboard to kill the connection, but he’s locked me out of my own system.
“Going somewhere, detka?” He’s shirtless, camera angled to show his bare chest and the hand wrapped around his cock. Already hard. “I’ve been waiting two hours.”
My throat goes dry despite everything I just discovered. Despite the evidence of government murder still open in my background windows.
My thighs squeeze together involuntarily.
“I’m busy.” My voice comes out breathier than intended.
“You need to be busy bouncing on my cock.” He strokes himself slowly, deliberately. “Not whatever the fuck you’re doing that’s more important than me.”
I watch his hand move along his length, remembering how he felt inside me.
“Alexi—”
“Don’t.” His eyes darken on screen. “Don’t make excuses. Get in your car and drive to my place. Or I’ll come there and fuck you in front of your roommate.”
Heat pools low in my belly. Wrong. This is so wrong on multiple levels.
“I need to finish—”
“The only thing you need to finish is me.” He stands, giving me a full view of his naked body. “Thirty minutes, Iris. Or I’m coming to get you.”
My fingers dig into my desk edge.
“You can’t just—”
“Twenty-nine minutes now.” His free hand grips the base of his cock. “And for every minute you’re late, that’s another hour I’m keeping you in my bed.”
I should refuse and explain what I found in the files.
But my body remembers his hands, his mouth, the way he made me come apart.
“This isn’t—”
“Twenty-eight minutes.”
“Fuck it.”
I pull the plug on my computer, watching the screens go dark. All that evidence. All those files prove I’ve wasted years chasing the wrong enemy.
I can’t think about it right now.
I grab my hoodie off the back of my chair, shove my phone in the pocket, and head for the door.
“Where are you going?” Maya calls from the living room.
“Out.”
I don’t wait for her response.
The drive to Beacon Hill takes eighteen minutes. I spend every second trying not to think about Morrison’s files, about Project Nightshade, about how monumentally I’ve fucked up my entire vendetta.
Alexi’s building looms ahead.
I park in the underground garage, using the access code he texted me last week. The elevator ride feels endless.
Twenty-seven minutes since his ultimatum.
The penthouse door opens before I can knock.
Alexi stands there completely naked, cock still hard and jutting from his hips. No shame. No hesitation.
“Good girl.” His voice drops an octave. “One minute to spare.”
I open my mouth to respond, but he steps aside, gesturing me in.
The door clicks shut behind me.
“On your knees.”
My breath catches. I should protest. Should maintain some dignity.
Instead, I drop to the hardwood floor, hoodie still on, phone digging into my hip.
I just want to feel. Want to stop thinking about how stupid I’ve been, how wrong, how completely I’ve misdirected years of my life.
“Look at me.” Alexi fists his cock, stroking once. “Eyes up, detka.”
I lift my gaze to meet his. Those sharp green eyes bore into me, seeing too much.
“Open.”
My lips part automatically.
He steps closer, the head of his cock brushing my mouth. Pre-cum smears across my bottom lip.
“You avoided me all day.” His free hand tangles in my hair. “Now you’re going to make up for it.”
I wrap my lips around him, tasting salt and skin as he slides deeper. My hand finds its way into my pants, fingers slipping beneath my underwear to find myself already wet.
“That’s it.” His grip tightens in my hair. “Touch yourself while you suck my cock like the desperate little hacker you are.”
I moan around him, the vibration making his hips jerk forward. My fingers circle my clit as I take him deeper, relaxing my throat the way I learned from—
I don’t want to think. Just want to feel.
“Fuck, look at you.” He rocks into my mouth, controlled thrusts that make my eyes water. “You break so easily for me.”
My fingers push inside myself, matching the rhythm of his movements. The stretch feels empty compared to what I really want.
“You’ve been ignoring my texts all day.” His voice roughens. “Making me wait while you do whatever the fuck you were doing.”
I hollow my cheeks, sucking harder as my thumb finds my clit. The dual sensation sends heat coursing through my body.
“Thought you could just— Jesus Christ—” His cock swells against my tongue. “Thought you could avoid me?”
I work him faster, fingers pumping in and out while my other hand grips his thigh for balance. His breathing turns ragged above me.
“Iris—”
I feel him getting close, the tension coiling through his muscles. My own orgasm builds as I touch myself, lost in the degradation of kneeling before him.
“Fuck.” He yanks my hair, pulling me off his cock with a wet pop. “Get up.”
Before I can protest, he hauls me to my feet and slams me against the wall. My hoodie rides up as he rips my pants and underwear down to my knees.
“Alexi—”
He lifts me, my legs wrapping around his waist automatically. The head of his cock presses against my entrance.
“You want to ignore me?” He slams inside in one brutal thrust. “I’ll give you something you can’t fucking ignore.”
I cry out as he fills me completely, the angle so deep it borders on pain. He doesn’t wait, doesn’t let me adjust. Just fucks me hard against the wall, each thrust driving the air from my lungs.
My nails dig into his shoulders as he pounds into me, each thrust forcing broken gasps from my throat. The wall is cold against my back, a harsh contrast to the heat of his skin.
“You feel that?” His breath scorches my neck. “Feel how hard you make me?”
I can’t form words. My body responds with a clench around him that makes him groan.
“Spent all day thinking about this cunt.” He shifts his angle, hitting somewhere inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyelids. “About filling you up again.”
“Alexi—” His name comes out desperate, needy.
“Say it.” His teeth graze my throat. “Say you missed this.”
I should lie. Should maintain some scrap of dignity.
“I missed it.” The admission tears from me as he drives deeper. “Missed you inside me.”
“Fuck yes.” His fingers dig into my ass, spreading me wider as he picks up his pace. “My good little hacker. Breaking into systems all day, but I’m the one who breaks you.”
The filth pouring from his mouth shouldn’t turn me on this much. But my body tightens around him, chasing the edge of a cliff.
“Touch yourself.” It’s not a request. “I want to feel you come on my cock before I breed you.”
My hand slides between us, finding my clit. The added stimulation makes me whimper.
“That’s it, detka.” He watches my face with those sharp green eyes. “Show me how desperate you are.”
My fingers move in frantic circles as he continues his relentless rhythm. The dual sensation builds too fast, too intense.
“I can feel you getting close.” His voice drops lower. “Your pussy gets so tight when you’re about to come.”
“Don’t stop.” I’m begging now, past caring. “Please don’t stop.”
“Never.” He adjusts his grip, somehow driving even deeper. “Going to fuck you until you forget every system you’ve ever hacked. Until the only code you remember is how to come for me.”
My orgasm slams into me without warning. I cry out, body convulsing around him as pleasure whites out everything else—Morrison’s files, Project Nightshade, years of wasted revenge.
Just this. Just him. Just us.