sixteen -Brynn-
sixteen
-Brynn-
Ares disarms three separate security systems before we enter through a side door that looks like it would break under the smallest wind. In reality, it’s reinforced steel put there to keep people from going in.
My leg hurts, but I refuse to limp. I just follow Ares, who walks a few steps in front of me, leading the way. His broad shoulders are blocking most of my view, leaving me with nothing but to admire every shift beneath his t-shirt, every impossible movement of this perfect war machine.
“You moved him here?” I ask, breaking the silence as we approach a heavy metal door at the end of the corridor.
“He needed more space for his damn computers. More servers… whatever.” He types another code into a keypad. “And I needed him somewhere secure. A place from where not even he can escape.” The door slides open into what looks like the nerve center of a small intelligence agency.
Three walls are filled with monitors, and the blinking lights from the servers create a strange tune in the dimly lit room.
404 sits in the center, his fingers running across multiple keyboards, even though I can see he’s clenching his teeth as he moves the arm Ares shot.
I swear he’s following more than a dozen screens at a time.
His eyes are wide, fixed on numbers that make no sense to me, but I can see two other guys and the woman nervously pivoting around him like he’s the center of their universe.
The same ones from the warehouse. These must be the hackers Ares got when 404 ran away.
“You found something,” Ares states rather than asks, walking to stand behind 404’s chair.
404 nods rapidly, the distress in his eyes visible in Ares’s presence.
“The SSL connection that was registered to MD Cyber Security Systems. I tracked it back through seven different shell companies, each one more obscure than the last.” He pulls up a diagram on his center monitor, showing a complex web of connections.
“But they funnel back to this holding corporation.” He taps a name highlighted in red at the bottom of the screen: Morrigan Enterprises.
“So I dug deeper,” 404 goes on, his voice growing more confident as we are now in his territory.
“Financial records, property holdings, tax filings… all of them hidden by someone who knows their shit. But not enough to avoid leaving a trail.” There’s a hint of pride in his voice as he speaks.
The kind of pride that guarantees he’ll live, no matter how badly he betrayed Ares.
“Everything leads back to one person, Nathaniel Whitlock.”
The name means nothing to me, but Ares’ jaw locks tight, and I can hear a hiss leaving his lips.
“Who’s Nathaniel Whitlock?” I ask, studying his face for a reaction.
“Fuck,” Ares mutters, and I can feel the venom in his words as his eyes glint with that darkness that defines him. “One of the Observers.”
I freeze at the mention of the Observers. The strange freaks that watched me as I fought, bled, and killed my way through the game.
“Whitlock is old money with new ambitions,” Ares explains, pacing the length of the room, like he’s trying to put pieces of a grand puzzle together.
“Wealthy businessman, deeply embedded in political circles. He has his sights set on a Senate seat in the upcoming election.” He stops, turning to face me. “This fucking complicates things.”
“Complicates but doesn't make them impossible, right?” I ask, trying to make sure we’re still on the same team, because I don’t give a shit who this guy is, I’m not giving up.
“Nothing is impossible to me,” he groans, like this is something I should’ve known by now.
A lesson I keep refusing to listen to. “Besides, I was expecting something like this. It had to be someone with enough resources to break into my system, and who has use for the people I’m gathering for the game. ”
Ares looks at 404, still typing on the keyboard, digging things up.
“I just didn’t expect Whitlock specifically,” Ares’ mouth twists.
“He’s more geek than mobster. A classical politician who runs with his tail between his legs rather than taking on a real man’s fight.
” He leans over 404's shoulder, examining the data on the screens. “He prefers watching from the shadows. That’s why he never registered as a Valiant in any of the Kharon games. Because he definitely had the money to do it.”
404 clears his throat. “There’s more,” he types rapidly, hacking into Whitlock's emails. “He’s hosting a party at his compound next week. Heavy security with an exclusive guest list.”
“You didn’t have to hack him to dig that up. I received an invitation,” Ares says, deep in thought. “Didn’t plan to attend—”
“But now we’re going,” I cut him off, leaving no room for negotiation this time. I need to get there. I need to see the bastard for myself.
Ares smiles, feeling the fire in my voice. “Yes, now we’re going. It’s our best chance to get him during the party. The place will be crawling with people. His compound is a fortress. Getting in any other way would require noise on a normal day, maybe even burning the whole block down.”
“And you prefer subtlety?” I almost laugh, not bothering to hide the sarcasm.
His eyes lock onto mine, and I can tell I pissed him off. “I prefer to know what I’m dealing with. He might not be alone, and I don’t want to alert anyone else who could be involved.”
404 looks at us, then quickly returns his attention to his screens, clearly taken aback by the tension between us. Because in the end, his life depends on me keeping Ares under control, and I’m only partially succeeding.
Ares turns to 404. “Send everything you have on Whitlock to my secure server. Floor plans of the compound, if you can get them. Plus anything else we could use. Just make sure you’re not being watched this time,” he punctuates the words, as if to remind 404 of his slip-up.
“Also, get a few of my men onto that invite list. Just in case we find something and need a way to get him out.”
“Already working on it,” 404 says, his fingers running even faster across the keyboards.
Ares steps closer to me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body. “You were right, we’ve got work to do,” he says, his voice gaining a dangerous edge. “I will protect you no matter what, but you need training for any eventuality.”
“I’ll be ready,” I smile, actually feeling better than ever despite my injured leg. “When do we get back to it?”
“Now.”
*****
Day one after 404’s breakthrough, and my leg is still screaming with each movement.
But Ares shows no mercy, and I wouldn’t want him to.
“Again,” he commands after I miss a block and his fist stops an inch away from my ribs.
“Your weight distribution is fucking wrong again,” he says, moving behind me.
His hands find my hips, adjusting them with no gentleness.
“Like this,” he says, and I can feel his breath warm on my neck along with the frustration in his voice.
Mistakes get you killed. We both know that.
I correct my stance, ignoring the heat, the desperation pooling where his fingers pressed against my skin. Only five seconds of contact were enough to get me vibrating under his touch. I can’t stop wondering how is this possible when a man’s touch used to have no effect on me?
“Better,” he says, too close to my ear for the sake of this training. “Again.”
We repeat the sequence. Strike, block, counter, move. Over and over again, until my muscles burn and my legs threaten to buckle.
Only then does he call an end to the session, his eyes never leaving me as I go to get my water bottle.
Day three, and a pattern has formed. Mornings and afternoons for combat training, evenings for stealth and strategy between calls, and whatever different tasks Ares still needs to do to keep things running.
While nights… well, nights are for what Ares likes to call my continued punishments.
Somehow, those only make me want to piss him off a little every day.
The more I do, the more my legs give out each morning when I get out of bed.
Though my leg improves each day, the pain where previously it felt like sharp stabs now resembles a persistent ache that I can manage a lot better.
“Your center of gravity,” he instructs, one hand splayed across my abdomen as I balance on my healing leg. “Feel it. Own it.” His touch lingers longer than necessary, his thumb brushing just beneath my breast, and over his mark as he withdraws.
I retaliate during sparring, landing a solid hit in the center of his abdomen, right on his solar plexus. His eyes flash with anger, then approval, before he sweeps my legs out from under me, following me down the mat, careful not to land directly on me.
For a moment, we lie there. My back pressed to the floor, his weight partially on top of me. Our breathing synchronizes, our chests rising and falling in the same rhythm, making his eyes darken as he looks down at me. That tells me exactly how the night will end—over the edge of his bed.
Day five brings new challenges. Ares shows me a set of practice locks, studying my every move as I manage to unlock them much faster than he would’ve expected. I did have some training of my own before I got a job at his bar.
Still, he isn’t totally pleased. “Too slow,” he says, standing over me. “If there was real security, you would have been taken by now. I’m not sure you would charm your way into their beds as you did with me.”
Ouch, that stung.
He does that from time to time, the bitterness of my betrayal still vivid in his mind.
“Then stop breathing down my neck,” I glare up at him without indulging him in a fight about how I tricked him to get information on Kharon. Besides, it’s not entirely my fault he fell for me.
I don’t tell him that, though. I’m not sure I’ll be able to handle what comes next.
“There will be more pressure on you than me breathing down your neck if this is something you have to do in a real mission,” he mutters, knowing I’m not saying everything I have on my mind.
But he’s right, and I hate him for it. If this were real, I would have to hurry. So, I refocus, feeling the subtle clicks of the mechanism giving way under my fingers. When the final lock opens, I don’t acknowledge his nod of approval.
I’m trying to be good, but I can’t be that good.
Later, we work on silent movement. A very difficult task, given my healing leg. Ares created an obstacle course of items that would make noise if disturbed. Then he turned off the lights.
In the darkness, I move around by feel and memory, placing each foot carefully enough to complete my mission without any sound. I don’t even know what I fear most. Fucking things up during a mission. Or fucking things up right now and hearing that disapproving tsk out of him.
“Better,” he says when I complete it without a sound. “Now with me chasing you.”
The exercise becomes a predator-prey scenario, with Ares stalking me through the dark training room.
I feel his presence more than hear him, but the weight of his gaze doesn’t leave me, and when his hand closes around my wrist, I’m already turning into the hold, using the momentum against him.
We fight in silence, like someone is really watching us.
He eventually pins me. He always does. But at least I make him work for it. The night ends with my wrists bound by his belt and his whole setup crumbling beside us as he fucks me senseless in every corner of the training room.
Day six, and we focus on memorization. Floor plans, security rotations, exit strategies.
He quizzes me without stopping, asking for perfect recall, punishing me with a spank every time I mess up. And that’s a lot. On purpose.
“Three guard rotations at the east entrance,” I repeat as his fingers run straight up my inner thigh. He’s deliberately trying to distract me, and right now, I’m doing my best not to let it work.
“And if the primary exit is compromised?” he asks, his touch moving higher.
I force my brain to function through the haze of mind-blowing arousal. “Secondary exit through the kitchen service corridor, third through the cellar if necessary.”
His fingers slip under the edge of my shorts, finding how difficult it is for me to focus. I’m already wet.
“Good girl,” he praises, since I can still focus in such difficult moments. Though his words make things a hundred times harder... and that only ends up with him being hard.
*****
By the final day, my leg supports my weight without any problem. The training sessions have grown more intense, but shorter, aiming to improve my movements rather than exhaust me. By now, Ares and I move together with a dangerous synchronization.
“You're as ready as can be,” he says when our final sparring match ends in a draw. That’s the closest I’ve come to beating him.
I wipe my brow, still refusing to accept how much I need his approval. “I was ready before I started this training.”
He smiles, seeing right through my pretense. “Were you?” he asks, his fingers brushing against the scar on my healing leg. “This says otherwise.”
“That was an accident,” I hiss, holding my ground.
“An accident that saved your life.” His eyes look onto mine. “Don’t go there,” he warns, just like every time I bring up what happened in Kharon. The way he broke all of his rules to protect me.
I never said thank you for that. Deep down, I know I’m too proud and too stubborn to do it. But I am grateful for it.
“Let’s grab something to eat, I’m starving,” I smile, moving the conversation into a whole new direction.
Ares seems to approve. “Yeah, you’re not the best version of yourself when you’re hungry,” he taunts. “Let’s go. Tomorrow we play.”