6. Chapter 4
Zoe
With a single press of the Enter key, you can change someone’s life.
Turn it upside down. Destroy it...
It takes so little.
And it leaves nothing but ruins in its wake.
This key is directly beneath my fingertip. Twenty-eight hours spent in front of the screens. Without sleep. Eyes locked on the target. Everything has led to this precise moment.
Once, I begged for mercy. They ignored it. No one listened to my pleas back then. The only response was the laughter of my tormentors.
That memory is like a signpost for my actions.
I hear their laughter in my head. Like nothing has changed at all. Like they’re still standing over me. It’s getting louder and louder. Ringing in my ears, blocking out everything else.
I can’t listen to it anymore!
Not even my eyelids twitch as my middle finger falls onto the keyboard. Click.
Rows of numbers start moving across the screen. In one window, the sequence of numbers decreases, counting down to something magical. A new window pops up next to it with a confirmation. And then another, and another.
“What the fuck?” A muffled man’s voice calls out in the background.
The corners of my mouth turn up in a smile. It grows with every second.
“Gotcha,” I whisper.
My attention shifts to the left-hand monitor, displaying a live feed from Nathaniel’s laptop camera.
He’s pale as a sheet. With a quick blink, he tries to banish the image, his lips parting in a gasp of surprise. Or, to put it another way, dumbfounded by his own vision.
On the screen, his balance is melting away, the six-figure sum disappearing by the second.
“What the fuck!” he yells over and over again.
Poor little boy.
Nathaniel was doing pretty well for a kid raised in foster care. The initial state of his bank account proves it. He should also be glad that he’s the first and least significant pawn in my scheme of revenge.
He wasn’t the worst. Didn’t hit. Wasn’t the cruelest.
Still, he was one of them.
And now it’s time for him to pay for it.
The current events are a mystery to Nathaniel. He can’t take his eyes off the screen.
Click, click, click. Without warning, he hammers away at the keyboard in a panic, working to grasp the issue and bring it to an end.
But it’s already too late. No transfer he supposedly just made from his account can be reversed. I took care of every detail. Locked every door behind me.
“Shit, shit, shit… This can’t be true. What the hell is going on?”
“Karma’s kissing your ass,” I say, though he can’t hear me.
Watching the panic spread across his face, seeing him pull at his hair, is satisfying. That’s an understatement.
It’s like a fucking orgasm. And he hasn’t even laid a finger on me.
Accompanied by his curses, I glance at the central monitor. Ten. Nine. Eight…
The last few dollars fly out of his account like birds from a cage.
Two. One. Zero!
A beautiful, fat zero is Nathaniel Braws’s new account balance. He’s now officially bankrupt.
A piercing scream shatters the silence of the apartment. His scream. But from my throat bursts an uncontrollable laugh. A madman’s laughter.
When I calm down, I look at him again. He’s staring straight into the lens. His chocolate-brown eyes hold a quiet, gnawing sadness. Tears are streaming down his cheeks.
I take in every detail of this sight. Hopefully, I’ll remember it for the rest of my life.
“What did you do? Are you happy? I’m a dead man! They’re going to kill me,” he gasps in a choked voice.
“Don’t worry, Nathaniel. You’ve just become the philanthropist of the year. All those orphanages and foundations will be grateful to you. It’s not my fault you washed mafia money. And maybe there’s still hope you’ll get out of this unscathed. Or almost unscathed. Good luck.”
With a few more clicks, I disconnect his computer. Turn off all the monitors and enjoy my first win.
With a newfound lightness, I get up and fling myself onto the bed. The smile won’t leave my face.
It’ll be more difficult with the next person than it was with Nathaniel. Who cares? No one’s taking this moment away from me.
My eyelids droop and, overflowing with satisfaction, I let myself sleep through those twenty-eight hours.
Ash’s words haunt me in my sleep. They buzz in my ear like an annoying fly. I run away and hide in the abandoned rooms of some temple, but every time, her words catch up to me. They find me anyway.
You're childish… You're childish…
Actually, she told me that my actions were childish. My twisted mind sees it completely differently.
And even if I wanted to deny out loud that I’m not like that, I can’t.
I feel childish. I feel… bland.
That’s why, when I wake up, the first thing that comes to mind is that it’s time for a transformation.
With a quick change, I rush out the door to the drugstore, my mind racing.
An hour later, in a small bathroom, bent over the shower tray, I rinse my hair as graphite-colored water flows down into the drain.
My heart is pounding. My attention is so absorbed by the transformation that the thought of future regret doesn’t cross my mind. I won’t regret it. No question.
The graphite-colored water finally shifts to a light gray until it eventually runs clear.
Standing in front of the mirror, excitement and nerves swirl inside me. The fogged-up glass doesn’t immediately reveal what I’ve done. I count to three and wipe the damp surface with one hand.
This is… something completely new.
But I don’t let doubt shake me. I tackle the hardest part.
A dark strand falls over my bare feet and the floor.
My gaze shifts downward. The contrast of the hair against the cream-colored floor looks good. A faint smile appears on my face.
I grab another strand, then another, and another.
Snip, snip, snip.
Locks of hair that no one but me has touched in nearly ten years fall one by one. They form a carpet at my feet.
I tousle the remaining hair, now almost dry, and look at the person in the mirror.
She seems to have the same face, and yet she looks different. The woman on the other side now has black hair, not the chestnut-brown of the past. Jet-black waves. Shorter. Sharper.
More mine.
She holds the promise of mystery and maturity. Her new hairstyle makes her look gorgeous and alluring.
That’s not me.
And yet…
I like what I see.
In a flash, I jump into the shower and shave all the strategic spots.
There’s one thing left.
My virginity. The last remnant of the girl I used to be.
And it’s high time to get rid of that baggage.
Today, I’m playing the hunter, and I’ll do it on my own terms.
Wrapped in a towel, I rush into the bedroom. I put on a playlist of sexy songs to get into the party mood and drown out my inner fear.
My first experience will be as I expect it to be. But that doesn’t change the fact that my stomach is doing backflips.
Let’s get this over with.
Swaying my hips to the beat of “Me and My Demons,” I slip on a red dress. It hugs everything I want to be alluring, ending halfway down my thighs. It’ll be perfect with suede ankle boots and a leather jacket. Sexy and edgy.
Screw you, Ash, I want to say. You and Ryker. Eli and Theo too.
As soon as his name crosses my mind, I recall our chat after he came with the news of Charles Baker’s death. Ash’s father, not mine.
His soothing words were like balm to my wounded soul. The warmth of his hand as he stroked my back, my head… Goosebumps rose on my skin then, just as they do now. At the mere thought of that man.
That evening, when I raised my tear-stained face and looked into those blue eyes, a jolt ran through my body.
In a single second, I stopped thinking. Stopped breathing too.
For the first time in my life, I felt a kind of connection with this strange man.
I was about to jump into his lap and kiss him when he opened his damned mouth.
“Be careful, or you’ll fall in love with me, Zozo.”
That one line, like a cold splash of water, washed away the warm comfort of my delusion.
I shake my head, desperate to get rid of unwanted thoughts. This isn’t the time to be thinking about Eli Montgomery.
The clock by the bed shows it’s already past 9:00 p.m. I put on a little makeup and spritz some perfume. From the bottom of the drawer, I pull out a blood-red lipstick. With care, I glide it across my lips.
Good enough to tempt the devil himself.
My phone beeps. It’s the Uber driver I ordered in the meantime. Grabbing my purse, I rush out of the apartment.
A moment later, we’re driving east through the city streets. The driver keeps glancing at me in the rearview mirror. It’s clear he’s more than interested in what’s hidden beneath the neckline of my dress. He smiles suggestively when I say I want to dance and have a good time tonight.
“I know exactly what you need,” he says, winking.
Glancing out the window, I pretend not to see it. Still, I agree with his idea. I’ve read a few glowing reviews about the Maximus club, and I’m curious how much truth there’s to them.
Thank God the driver doesn’t say another word until we arrive. We park almost by the entrance, where a line of at least thirty people is snaking its way in. The sight leaves me speechless.
Apparently, I’m not the only one who has read the positive comments. My excitement wanes a bit.
“See that bouncer in the red shirt?” the driver asks, turning my way.
I look out the window and, sure enough, at the front of the line, there are two bouncers checking IDs. One of them, the size of a small elephant, is wearing a red shirt.
“Yeah,” I confirm.
“Tell him Max sent you. He’ll let you in ahead of the queue.”
“Really?”
The driver gives a crooked smile and nods. At least this time, he’s looking me straight in the eye.
“That’s very kind of you. Thank you.”
“No problem. Have fun, little one.”
I get out and head straight for the man in the red shirt. The driver’s gaze stays with me the whole time. Tonight’s mission doesn’t allow me to look back.
The girls standing in line, dressed in skimpy dresses and tight skirts, snort as I walk past. One gossips about me to her friend, not bothering to lower her voice.
It doesn’t matter. Let them talk.