NICK HOPPER SITS in a parking lot, the adjacent restaurant’s free Wi-Fi sending a weak but usable signal to his laptop even after the hours pass and the interior lights go out. He starts with a few simple searches, tracking down the Internet DNA of one Jess Reilly, Internet superstar. There is the face that someone shows, the makeup that smears a pretty fa?ade over their online presence—then there is the truth behind the makeup. The un-Photoshopped images, the fat body behind the close-cropped Facebook profile pic, the lease that sits in the glove box of the Porsche. He finds the makeup easy enough, the camgirl’s location too clearly displayed, a P.O. box as easily found as clicking on the “Contact Me” tab of her website. She can’t be that stupid, can’t be that stupid and still be alive and online. Some psycho, some version of the man he has just left, would have tracked her down by now. Corrupted that sweet smile in ways that keep single women up at night.
Nick’s heard the stories about the man who signs his paychecks. He’s been at Renza Development for two years, his start date a couple of months before the man was sent away. The rumors had swirled during his initial weeks of employment, rumors backed up by the courtroom drama that was broadcasted on truTV for the whole world to see. The man is seriously fucked up. Two years later and Nick can still picture the chick, Katie something-or-other. The girl’s face had looked like that of a stroke victim, the right side unresponsive when she spoke, the testifying doctor stating that it was a result of tissue damage. She sat on the stand and revealed that the damage was done with his fists, his belt, and—at one point—the toes of his dress shoes.
He closes his eyes to the memory and types on. Peels back the fa?ade of Jess Reilly and digs deeper. Her cover is impressive, going five or six levels deeper than is necessary. He slurps a Big Gulp and breaks a few more federal rules involving privacy. Focusing on her website, skirting past the private registration and moving closer, the scent of her fills his car as he hacks his way closer to the brunette’s truth.
It isn’t a quick process. Someone with skill had set her up. But he finds a few holes. Pushes them wide open and crawls in. And finally, hours later, he has an address. A long way from her fake Iowa address. An even longer way from Marcus Renza’s Miami mansion. Maybe Mr. Renza won’t go there. He can’t, right? He is under house arrest. For now at least. Nick writes down the address with a reluctant hand. Then he starts the car and heads back to the mansion.
CHAPTER 49
HackOffMyBigCock: hey killer
“EASY THERE.” I stick out my tongue and lean over, open up the drawer that contains my outfits of the schoolgirl variety. “You in the mood for green or red plaid?”
HackOffMyBigCock: just get naked. skip the outfit.
I pause, stockings already in hand, surprised. We’ve chatted for three years, and he’s about worn through every schoolgirl outfit I have. Straight nudity is a new thing. “What—your prep school girlfriend dump you?”
HackOffMyBigCock: keep laughing. Ill find a new fetish. Maybe turn into a furry freak. Make you spend some of that cash on some big ass costumes.
I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t have enough closet space for furry fans. And I’m sweating my ass off as it is. I can’t imagine being under these lights in a twenty-pound kangaroo outfit.”
HackOffMyBigCock: fuck kangaroo. I wanna fuck polar bear ass. youd be a sexy polar bear.
I laugh, spinning on my knees till my back is to him, and unclip my bra, glancing over my shoulder at the cam, and give him a teasing smile.
HackOffMyBigCock: turn around. Let me see em.
Mike is the only person on this earth who knows about my wealth. I’m pretty sure there is very little about me he doesn’t know. I didn’t think he knew about Jeremy. Didn’t think he had made that level of invasion into my habits. Guess I was wrong on that front. But, my love life notwithstanding, the bigger deal is that he knows who I really am. Knows my family history, my address, my banking info. Even knows about that night in Georgia. Knows that I left with blood on my hands. He’s the one who orchestrated the money transfer to Annie’s family. I trust him explicitly. I don’t have much of a choice. He, for a long time, was my lifeline to the world. He provided me my false identity, my Internet access, my firewall that (he guarantees) is impenetrable. And, that night in Georgia? I’m pretty sure he committed enough felonies to earn a jail cell right next to mine. He knows and protects me in a way that Jeremy will never be able to, is my friend in a way that no one else covers. Yet I’ve never seen him. Only memorized the sound of his voice. The grate of his chuckle when he laughs. The hiss of his breath when I bring him to orgasm. It is a strange relationship. He gives me so much and I pay him with the unemotional gift of cash. It doesn’t really seem fair, but he hasn’t complained yet so I keep my mouth shut and appreciate it.
I obey his directive and turn, covering my breasts initially before sliding my hands lower, uncovering inch by inch of skin, my breath quickening a bit.
HackOffMyBigCock: fuck bb. my cock is so hard.
“Show me it.” A futile request, yet one I always throw out. He never shows me his cam. I lean back on the bed and pull my panties off, now fully naked before him.
HackOffMyBigCock: give me camera control
“Please,” I growl.
HackOffMyBigCock: pretty please u gorgeous fucking woman
“That’ll work.” I grin. I lean forward, waiting, then clicking when a box pops up, asking for remote access. I’m pretty certain he has a way to get around my permission’s control, but I appreciate his not going there. The extra step of granting him access makes me feel like I have some semblance of control. I click on the permissions box and then lean back, watching the screen as it pans out, my cameras working without touch, zooming and focusing as he takes control of our session.
HackOffMyBigCock: lie on ur side. then open those legs for me.
“Do you want me to touch myself?” I watch the screen and wait for his response.
HackOffMyBigCock: no. use a toy. 1 of your small vibrators. Hold it gently on your clit. Turn slightly so I can see your *.
I angle my body toward one of the cams, keeping my knees bent and my sex open. I grab a toy and turn it to low, lying down on the bed and running it gently over my clit, whisper soft. My body instantly responses, lubricating my inner walls, my clit standing at attention and straining for more contact. I close my eyes. “Turn on your mic.”
There is an electronic beep, and I hear his breath, the sounds of a life somewhere else, far from me and my apartment of solitude.
“Hey there.”