Bleeding Edge: Elliot Security (Elliot Security Series Book 2) by Evie Mitchell (short story to read .txt) 📗

“Angry is a weak word for what I’m feeling.” He stepped away, letting me go, as he began to pace.

“I’m fucking furious. I want to kill him. I want to fly over today−now. I want to call some friends who owe me favours and have certain skills and get on a plane and go and raid their property. I want to force him to eat dirt for days, no, months. I want him to die from a million cuts. I want to wash his filth from the face of the earth, knowing he’ll never so much as set eyes on you again. Knowing that once he’s finally dead, you can live the life you want. Not one controlled by a maggot who doesn’t deserve even a thought from you.”

I reached out, fingers wrapping around his forearm. “Luc?”

He immediately stopped, turning back to me, his free arm coming up to cover my hand with his.

“We’ll get him, Em. I promise.”

I looked at him. This man who felt so much.

“We need to work on our other cases.” The words were soft. I was asking him to let it go for now. We’re both too raw, too angry. The emotions were pouring out, and I feared I could never rebuild the walls he was so determined to break.

“Right.” His mouth quirked a little, the flames in his eyes calming.

“You good?”

He nodded. “We’ll talk more tonight.”

We left the room, our hands clasped. I didn’t let go.

Chapter Thirty-One

Emmie

Moving my things took an embarrassingly short amount of time. Most of my furniture was deemed, by Addie, as being ready for the junk pile. As such, that is where it ended up. My protests were met with a furious dismissal from Addie.

“When this is over,” Jarrett told me, as he and Luc tossed my couch in the donations pile. “You’re getting a new apartment and that Scandi three-seater I know you’ve been eyeing off for months.”

The rest was boxed efficiently by a team of friends who’d rapidly assembled. Pax brought Jetta, who’d brought pizza. Within two hours bare walls and clean floors were all that remained in my once packed apartment.

At Luc’s, they took my stuff to the room across the hall from the master. A guest room with its own ensuite, my furniture, the items I’d been allowed to keep, were unpacked and quickly assembled. My bed and mattress sat in the middle of the room, one bedside table and a lamp at the ready. My clothes were picked over by a clucking, judgmental Jarrett, and hung in the wardrobe or folded into a spare set of drawers.

My comics were placed in the built-in bookshelves in Luc’s study, my herbs on his kitchen windowsill.

A reverent Luc and Pax carefully positioned my TV in the living room, his smaller one moved to the downstairs basement/rumpus room.

The move was of little inconvenience to myself. My main job appeared to be vetoing any decisions Addie made regarding my junk pile and trying to not feel like a too-stupid-to-live heroine in a B-grade horror film. I had little success with either option.

Things I’d learnt in the last two hours? Luc was a pig. His house overflowed with clothes, instruments, and papers. Addie had tasked herself with cleaning, wrinkling her nose and making comments every time she found another dirty sock in a strange place.

How did socks end up on top of the fridge?

Kel and Jetta had gone grocery shopping. They’d emptied my fridge and cupboards and still felt I wasn’t equipped to be moving in with a hungry, hungry male. As such, Luc’s house now overflowed with food and beer.

I had a headache building when the team finally decided to call it a night. Hugs, backslaps, and handshakes were dished out, as we walked them to the door for a send-off.

Kel pulled me in tight, the last to exit. “I’ve put sanitary items in all three bathrooms. And condoms. Just in case.” With that parting gem, she quickly let me go, winked, and closed the door.

Death by kindness.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Emmie

Morning saw me in the kitchen pouring coffee for Jack, Luc, and Sawyer. It appeared that, despite my best efforts, Luc had decided to inconvenience people. Unbeknownst to me, Jack had pulled the first shift last night, patrolling the streets and Luc’s yard. His tired face grinned at me over a bowl of cereal.

“Don’t look so glum, I do my best work at night.” He winked. I rolled my eyes in response as Sawyer sat tapping on the laptop next to me.

I didn’t own anything that could be considered smart technology. My mobile was analogue, able to receive only text messages and phone calls− no photos or emojis to be seen. My TV had zero connectivity, and I didn’t own a laptop. Netflix was a foreign entity.

Fear had led me to separate private and business. I was good at my job. I knew it, they knew it. But my private life needed to stay private and to achieve that I required complete freedom from the possibility technology could be used to find me.

Referred to as the Internet of Things or IOT, it was the idea that smart devices— things like phones, computers, vehicles, buildings, and other items— could eventually be sensed and controlled remotely in a way that would result in improved efficiency, accuracy, and economic benefits. So imagine a doctor is an expert surgeon in America. IOT meant one day he may be able to log on to a computer or other system and perform surgery using a robot in the UK. Or, say I’m at work and suddenly realise I’ve left my bathroom light on. I could open my app and turn it off. Brilliant.

The problem with this is it doesn’t take into account nefarious purposes and peoples’ general lack of security awareness. When you go online it’s like you’re inviting people into your lounge room. You enable geolocation, I can find you. You use online banking, I can see your bank in your browser history.