Chapter 8
eight
-Brynn-
I don’t waste time, I go straight to retrieve my car, then back to my apartment to change so I can start the job Ares gave me.
I can be a bitch when I want to, look like a total homeless person if I’m not in the mood to fix up, but I can also pull off one of those mind-blowing transitions you see on TikTok lately and turn myself into a princess.
That’s exactly what I’m doing, to make my next job a hell of a lot easier.
A sexy woman can get under a man’s shirt …
or pants… with nothing more than the snap of her fingers.
And I see no point in keeping that advantage all to myself.
So, I freshen up a little, put on some makeup to enhance my already long lashes, straighten my hair, and let it slide down my back, then slip into a pair of leather tights and a golden top that puts my assets on display.
And when I say assets, I mean my tits. My face usually could be mistaken for innocent, but tonight I’m doing my best not to look like that.
Mostly because I can’t fake the attitude to match that.
Nice boys always seem to be into bad girls.
Just within limits, so I won’t draw too much attention.
I grab a purse, my leather jacket, and a pair of heels that don’t make me look like a bounty hunter, more like a body hunter… definitely like someone who looks like she’s out for a good lay.
I take a look at the picture of the man Ares sent me again, and start working my way through the bars.
The first one’s a bust. I even showed the picture to the bartender and slipped him a twenty just to take a look, promising more if he came through. Unfortunately, the same routine plays out at three bars—before I feel the phone buzz in my pocket.
It’s a text from Ares.
***
That’s it—just a question mark. Damn this man.
Nothing yet.
I reply, keeping my eyes on the phone while I order a drink at bar number four, ready to get friendly with the barman and crack open a conversation.
Tic Toc
My screen lights up with his message, and I feel the words literally.
I don’t have a lot of time to do this, so I repeat the same procedure with the barman while scanning the place. Still nothing.
I move on to the next, my hope diminishing with every new stop. At least here, the barman recognizes him but doesn’t recall seeing him around lately. I slip him at twenty along with my number—just in case the guy shows up.
I really hope I’m not getting a dick pic tonight. I internally smile, heading to the next bar. I have like fifteen more on my list, and I’m hoping to hit them all before morning.
Nothing here either, my frustration’s screaming through the rooftop.
On to the next, I don’t even slow down, just walk and go straight to the bar.
Impatience gnawing at me. I’ve kind of lost my charm for tonight, but the guy behind the bar flashes me a large smile while wiping a glass with a towel.
“What can I get you?” he asks, his deep blue eyes and that loose strand of dark hair falling across his face telling me he could get me a lot of things—hopefully an orgasm—even though the real chances of that are slim.
At least I manage to slip back into a much more seductive attitude, showing the picture along while sliding a twenty-dollar bill across the bar—which he pushes back on the counter.
“How about your number in return for the favor?” he asks, and if I weren’t here on business, I might’ve been given him a little more than my number right now.
I’m not really great with men, but I’m not shy either. If I like something, I give it a try. Not that it happens very often. And when it does, it usually crashes and burns.
“How do I know you’ll actually deliver?” I ask, showing him the picture once again.
“I always deliver,” he says with a smile, reaching for a shelf of liquor behind him.
He grabs a bottle of vodka and pours some of it into a shaker, followed by a few other liquors I don’t recognize.
“So, is your computer broken? Lose data from your phone?” he asks as he still works on the drink, and I realize he knows who I’m searching for.
He really knows the guy since he mentioned computers.
“He’s a friend of a friend, and I need a favor,” I answer, not quite sure if I should admit that I’m sort of bounty-hunting his ass.
“Here, try this. I think it’s something you’d like,” he slides a glass toward me, filled with whatever he just mixed in that shaker and a few slices of lime.
I’ve been tracking his movements all along, so there’s no way he spiked the drink. I’m extra careful when it comes to stuff like that, and I clocked every single move he made. Besides, I don’t want to seem defensive, so I take a sip. It’s actually good. He’s right, I like it.
“This is actually delicious,” I smile, trying to seem a little more innocent than I really am. “What’s it called?” I ask, wanting to make a mental note of my new favorite drink.
“Well, what’s your name?” He arches an eyebrow. I’m pretty sure this is a line he uses on every girl, but at this point, I don’t even care.
“Brynn.”
“It’s called a Brynn,” he says, spinning a bottle on one finger right before flicking it back into place with practiced ease.
The man is good with his hands—that’s always good to know.
I chuckle at the thought, but as much as I’d like to flirt a little with him, I need to find that damn hacker. “So, is he around?” I ask, keeping it light.
He looks at his watch. “He should’ve been around by now, but I haven’t seen him today.”
Fuck. He probably skipped town already.
“Maybe stick around… see if he turns up,” he says with a wide grin, and I’m pretty sure he could keep me entertained for the night. But as much as I hate to refuse his offer, I really have to get this job done.
“I can’t. I really need to get a hold of him.
It’s urgent.” I say, my voice just worried enough to earn some sympathy.
“You did ask for my number, so here it is.” I slip a note with my phone number to him.
I find this a lot sexier than dictating it.
“Think you could call me if he shows up…without telling him? My friend says he’s really jumpy, so I’ve got to be discreet. ”
He studies me for a second, probably debating if he should trust me, so I hit him with the Bambi eyes.
Works like a charm every time. “I’ll keep an eye out if it means seeing you again,” he whispers back while I dig into my pockets for that twenty, just to pay for my drink.
But he pushes my hand away again. “On the house,” he says with a wink, then heads off to serve a customer who just waved him over.
I check my watch. It’s almost midnight. So, I rush to the next bar, but just when I’m ready to run the same play, my phone lights up. It’s a number I don’t recognize.
God, please don’t let it be a dick pic.
Or maybe let it, depending on who’s sending it.
Looks like the message is from the right person—though not a dick pic.
A Brynn is waiting for you at the bar—along with the man you’re looking for.
Josh.
This is better than the dick pic.
I get back in the car and go straight back to the bar I just left.
Josh, a.k.a the cute bartender, winks at me as I walk up to the bar, where a Brynn on ice is waiting for me. This time, I didn’t get to check if it’s spiked, but the guy seems well versed in women, and honestly, he doesn’t need to pull something like that to get laid.
“I’m starting to think this is my favorite bar,” I smile, taking the drink as he nods toward the other end of the bar, where the guy in the picture is nursing a beer.
He hasn’t noticed me, probably thanks to the growing crowd, so I down the drink in one go, earning an impressed look from Josh, then walk straight to the far end of the bar where I slide onto a stool next to Mr. Hacker.
“Can I get a… house special?” I say loud enough to get 404’s attention, raising a hand while smiling for Josh again, who I literally just saw five seconds ago. He barely holds back a laugh as he starts mixing another Brynn.
That seems to catch 404’s attention. “Didn’t know they had a house special.”
“Well, I come here a lot. It’s just something I like,” I throw him a large smile, the kind that makes it clear I’m interested.
“Really? I come here all the time as well. Never seen you around and pretty sure I would’ve noticed,” he says with a dark look, trying way too hard to give out the badass vibe. Seems like everyone’s pretending to be someone else tonight.
He runs a hand through his whirlwind of ginger hair, trying to fix it—like that’s going to distract from the tragic plaid shirt. But when he rolls up a sleeve and something really catches my eye—the tattoo from my photo. The one I found going through Elias’s stuff.
I can’t even hide the shock on my face as I swallow the knot in my throat, still trying to tell if it’s the same tattoo. But there’s no mistaking it. It’s an orb in a magician’s hand, with the words: I conjure with commands.
Of course he does. He’s a hacker. Why the hell didn’t I figure that out sooner?
“You okay?” he asks, noticing something’s off with me.
“Yeah, I’m sorry, I’ve got low blood sugar. It kicks in at the worst possible moments.” I try to explain away my erratic behavior.
And I hit the jackpot because this is something he can relate to.
“Here,” he pulls out a hand of candies from his right pocket.
“I get the same thing,” he adds, holding out his open palm to me.
“Swear they’re not from the bar. I just got them from the store across the street,” he chuckles as I pop one of the candies into my mouth and play with it between my teeth a little.
That definitely gets his blood pumping—and it’s not from the sugar rush.
From there on, we fall into one of those surface-level conversations, about likes and dislikes, while I gradually try to steer him to the real subject of my interest.
Of course, it’s not long before Ares sends me another:
***
And I reply with…
“Still working on it.”