SUMMARY â When Batu put a hit on you, Braxton did the only thing that made sense to himâhe made you and your hacking his problem. Suddenly you had a handler and a âwork wifeâ and âwork husbandâ joke started to circulate.
WORD COUNT â 12,487
âOff the Booksâ (Braxton x fem!Reader)
SUMMARY â Desperate hitman looking for a petsitter. Enter: youâthe woman who will slowly turn into Braxton's greatest headache.
WORD COUNT â 5,548
âNo Honor Among Thieves (Or Assassins)â (Braxton x Original Female Character)Â (Part 1/9)
SUMMARY â What happens when another killer steals your kill? With Braxton involved, probably just chaos. And insults. Now the two are stuck in the worldâs most violent will-they-wonât-they. Spoiler: They will. Probably after someone gets shot. Again. Featuring: medically questionable wound-stitching as a form of foreplay and Braxâs inability to shut up, even when bleeding out.
WORD COUNT â 3,061
âBlood Loss & Brotherly Love: A Survival Guideâ (Braxton x Original Female Character)Â (Part 2/9)
SUMMARY â Continuation of âNo Honor Among Thievesâ. Look, hereâs the thing about waking up with no gun, no phone, and a bullet wound stitched like it was too good of a job for someone who hated your gutsâat some point or another, you had to do a little bit of self-reflection. But Braxton would rather crawl through broken glass.
WORD COUNT â 3,272
âBlood Sugarâ (Braxton x Original Female Character)Â (Part 3/9)
SUMMARY â Continuation of âNo Honor Among Thievesâ. While tracing an old contract, Christian uncovers that Braxton unknowingly eliminated one of the Brotherhoodâs enemies years ago. With Justineâs assistance, they begin unravelling the truth behind Echoâs allegiance to the Brotherhood.
WORD COUNT â 2,080
âWelcome (Back) To Fight Clubâ (Braxton x Original Female Character) (Part 4/9)
SUMMARY â Continuation of âNo Honor Among Thievesâ. Braxton told himself that newfound obsession wasnât personal. That it was just about unfinished business. Pride. Closure. Whatever. But the wonderingâŚJesus Christ, the wondering.Â
When all the jobs were done and tied up in a bow, and he was alone with his head again, the wondering and thinking about Echo clawed at the back of his head like a demonic possession.
WORD COUNT â 4,006
âNo Grave Can Hold Her Downâ (Braxton x Original Female Character) (Part 5/9)
SUMMARY â Continuation of âNo Honor Among Thievesâ.Â
See, Braxton knew everything about getting trained to be a super-soldier from the ripe age of seven. It wasnât the only thing that left him profoundly fucked up. But what in the world must have happened to her to leave her like this?
WORD COUNT â 2,035
âHoney, I Escaped the Murder Cultâ (Braxton x Original Female Character) (Part 6/9)
SUMMARY â Continuation of âNo Honor Among Thievesâ.
Braxton strongly suspected Echo didnât trust him or his methods just yet, but he had no problem with showing offâand proving her wrong. He talked like a man born to lie and knew how to vanish without a trace. Well, maybe not like Echo. Her methods were still a mystery to him. But he knew enough to get paid the big bucks he did, so. There was that.
WORD COUNT â 2,035
âNothinâ Personalâ (Braxton x Original Female Character) (Part 7/9)
SUMMARY â Continuation of âNo Honor Among Thievesâ.
Braxton handled the car like heâd stolen it from a war zoneâwhich, coincidentally, he had done many times before. But the way he drove was smooth, fast, and with the muscle memory of a guy who regularly drove an armored convoy through a desert under fire. Not much rattled him in general.Â
Except, maybe, that woman in the passenger seat right there.
WORD COUNT â 2,729
âApocalypse (With Extra Bang)â (Braxton x Original Female Character) (Part 8/9)
SUMMARY â Continuation of âNo Honor Among Thievesâ.
âTry it,â she said. âSee where I dump your body.â
Braxton grinned, sinking even lower in the seat. âNah, not a ditch, thatâs predictable. Youâd get creativeâfeed me to a coyote, maybe.â
She smirked. Again. âYou get more annoying? I leave you to scorpions. For lunch.â
A laugh rumbled in his chest, dulled with lack of sleep, but real. âSo, ditch it is.â
WORD COUNT â 2,468
âCollateral Affectionâ (Braxton x Original Female Character) (Part 9/9)
SUMMARY â Continuation of âNo Honor Among Thievesâ.
Braxton comes to a world-shattering conclusion that maybe, somehow, he deserves to have a life.
WORD COUNT â 2,121
âAnd Then We Were Twoâ (Frank Castle x fem!Reader)
Part 1/2
Part 2/2
SUMMARY â Years ago, Frank Castle pulled a broken girl out of hell. Now, sheâs standing in front of him againâblood on her hands and a hit list in her pocket.
WORD COUNT â 7,118
âYou Steal It, You Feed Itâ (Frank Castle x fem!Reader)
SUMMARY â Frank decided to retire in an inconspicuous apartment somewhere in Brooklyn. Well, as much as a man like him even could. Normally, he minded his business at all times. Except tonight.Â
Tonight, he actually was busy. Had business. But no, there you were, crouched on the fire escape at asshat oâclock in the goddamn morning, right in his wayâwith a duffel bag, bolt cutters, and a look on your face like you were about to commit a felony no matter what.
WORD COUNT â 5,310
âAnother Lifeâ (Frank Castle x fem!Reader)
SUMMARY â A guy walks into a bar and runs into the girl who would take no shit in high school. Heâs a walking armory of trauma, she immediately reminds him of the most embarrassing haircut he ever had. Theyâre probably not going to talk about their feelings, but the banter might be decent.
WORD COUNT â 4,446
âTemporary Troubleâ (Shane Walsh x fem!Reader)
SUMMARY â  It would be the summer of Deputy Walsh learning shit the hard way. First, never piss off people who got access to your lunch order. Secondâthe prettier the package, the sharper the tongue.Â
You, the newest temp at the precinct, were stuck dealing with Shaneâs attitude, while Shane ultimately couldnât decide if he wanted to strangle you or drag you somewhere private.
WORD COUNT â 8,534
âHighway To Nowhereâ (Shane Walsh x fem!Reader)
SUMMARY â  Shane Walsh was supposed to be the villain. And I said: bet.  Â
The the wrong person lived, the wrong secrets got buried, and then you showed upâwith a sharp mouth, and no patience for self-loathing. Â Â
Canon-divergent Season 2. Emotional carnage, redemption arcs, and everyone's tired, including you.
WORD COUNT â 17,315
âNo Rest for the Livingâ (Shane Walsh x fem!Reader)
SUMMARY â Â The dead donât stay dead, and somehow thatâs not the strangest thing Shane Walsh has to deal with these days. Right in the middle of the apocalypse, he runs into a woman that can make corpses obey. Which, truth be told, is just one more headache Shane really didnât need.
WORD COUNT â 16,002
âTo the Boneâ (Shane Walsh x fem!Reader)
SUMMARY â Â Sometime in the not-so-distant future, Shane Walsh made it to GBI. As he rolled into a sleepy Georgia town to hunt down a serial killer, the last person he wanted to deal with was you, the local coronerâa brilliant, if quirky, woman who much preferred the dead to the living.
WORD COUNT â 11,489
âLoose CannonsâA Seriesâ (Dixon fem!Reader)
Part 1âRobin Hood (Shane Walsh x fem!Reader)
SUMMARY â When youâthe sharpshooting cousin of the Dixon brothersâjoin the Atlanta camp, tensions arise and changes creep in.Â
Daryl begins to step out of Merleâs shadow, and Merle struggles with the possibility of redemption. Shane sees another Dixon as a threat, Rickâas an opportunity. Now, survival isnât just about the walkers.
WORD COUNT â 3,282
Part 2âUnlikely Survivor
WORD COUNT â 1,380
Part 3âPeace Offering
WORD COUNT â 4,735
Part 4âAinât Dead Yet
WORD COUNT â 4,190
Part 5âNo Such Thing as Luck
WORD COUNT â 3,104
Part 6âNothing Left to Bury
WORD COUNT â 5,966
Part 7âDead Quiet
WORD COUNT â 2,459
Part 8âThe Devil Donât Knock Twice
WORD COUNT â 2,685
Part 9âDust in the Rearview
WORD COUNT â 4,375
Part 10â Close Enough to Kill
WORD COUNT â 4,720
Part 11âTrouble You Keep
WORD COUNT â 7,339
âDogs That Biteâ (Grady Travis x fem!Reader)
SUMMARY â Grady might have been foul-mouthed, but now he finally met his match. You, the new medic in camp, turned out to be way worse. More importantly, you didnât give a damn about his tough-guy act and were determined to save him no matter what.
WORD COUNT â 8,384
âThe Sun Will Riseâ (Grady Travis x fem!Reader)
SUMMARY â Against all odds and his own expectations Grady Travis survived the war. What came after was, thankfully, not quite the unhappy ending he expected after all.
WORD COUNT â 9,264
Decided to make a taglist. Please let me know if youâd like to be tagged.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Not a question but I just read temporary trouble???? Oh my god??? Fantastic. Give me one million of them right now. Your write Shane amazingly and im gonna scream into the abyss now queen. Not even joking I am obsessed.
I'm so happy you liked it that much, and of course happy that I managed to write Shane exactly as he is. I don't get much 'mail' here so every time I do it literally makes me want to jump up and down screaming "Mom, I'm a writer!" (or something normal like that) đĽ°đĽ°đĽ°
Thank you for the compliments!! đđ
Remember when joining fandom as a younger person meant lurking for a bit and figuring out the vibe and etiquette instead of coming in on day one and calling people weirdos for liking weirdo shit in the weirdo factory.
can't help but notice that the people who disliked Punisher One Last Kill are mostly men with "podcaster" or "critic" in bio... they wouldn't get it. punisher is for the girls anyway
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
I'm so sick of people posting in Jon Bernthal's tag solely to shit on his fans. And it's always the same person who create one insanely inaccurate copy+paste post linking it again and again, and for what?
Hi! First of all, thank you for sending me down Jon Bernthal rabbit hole. Love your Fury fics for him and have just watched both Accountant movies
May I request something domestic with Brax and mercenary!reader? Like a rare moment of normalcy or maybe even redaer meeting Chris... Whatever you like most! I just want to see this teddy bear (no, he's a dog) of a man in some cozy situation
Hey! Sooo I guess you're welcome? I regret nothing đĽ°đĽ°đĽ° Also here's 10k words of backstory for your request, but there is some fluff and domesticity sprinkled in, I promise! Hope you like it, that request really inspired the ridiculous in me.
âGhost Protocolâ (Braxton x fem!Reader)
SUMMARY â When Batu put a hit on you, Braxton did the only thing that made sense to himâhe made you and your hacking his problem. Suddenly you had a handler and a "work wife" and "work husband" joke started to circulate.
AUTHORâS NOTE â One of these days, I'll learn the definition of 'fluff' and won't cut to credits so abruptly. I tried my very best here. Hope this story is not too crack-y or whatever the term is, though it probably is quite ridiculous in places. That can't be helped, unless you replace me with AI I guess (please don't, I love writing even when I hate it). As always any mistakes here are mine, English is not my first language and I'm prone to repetitions.
WORD COUNT â 12,487
Masterlist
Taglist
Braxton stood in the center of the clientâs living room, rolling his shoulders and taking one more critical look around. The space was a showroom for ego and reeked of new moneyâfloor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the bay, pristine kitchen, and a white leather sectional that looked like it would stain if you looked at it wrong. Then, in the very center of it, a slab of marble serving as a coffee table with a single, perfectly placed art book. Never opened.Â
âAlright, team, how we doinâ?â Braxton checked his earpiece. âRico, howâs that red wire, blue wire lookinâ?â
âDunno know, Brax, this thingâs two shades of fucked up,â Rico muttered, yanking at a bundle of cables. âWho puts silk wallpaper in a place theyâre gonna do wiring?â
âSame guy who thinks a panic room behind a fake Warhol makes him clever.â
âHow you know is fake?â Levan grumbled, brow furrowed in concentration.
Braxton didnât. He opted not to answer.
He crossed to the window instead and watched for a moment as Levanâthe giant whoâd defected from some paramilitary group Braxton never asked aboutâmounted a second camera in the crown molding.Â
âHow âbout it, Legs, you gettinâ the feed yet?â Braxton asked, smirking slightly since he already knew the nickname had pissed you off twice alreadyâand that was only today.
The comm in his ear crackled with static, then he heard the faint sound of keyboard clatter from wherever you had set up shop this week. If Braxton had to guess, it was probably some windowless room with seven monitors and a signal jammer propped at every doorway.
âCâmon, genius, talk to me.â
âStop calling me that,â you replied.
âBut you are a genius, donât be so modest.â
âYou know damn well what I meant.â
Braxton looked straight into the camera and grinned. He couldnât see you, in fact he had no idea what you looked like, but he imagined you were rolling your eyes right about now.Â
âYeah, yeah, you in or not?âÂ
You scoffed, offended at the very question. âYes. And this guyâs security system is a joke. A toddler could breach it with a second gen iPad.â
âWhatever you say, darlinâ.â
âI am saying it. Itâs a joke. He didnât even change his router password from âadmin adminâ.â
âDonât doubt your expertise, Legs,â Braxton said, moving to examine a wall panel. He ran his fingers along the seam, feeling for inconsistencies. âGuy paid six figures for that system. Probably bragged about it at his country club too.â
You groaned, right in his ear. âSix figures for a system and the man thinks âpassword123â for the camera control is gonna cut it.â
âSo Iâm guessinâ you got the cameras, sweetheart?â
âIâm in the cameras, the AC, the smart toiletsâyes, he has those, and yes, theyâre as ridiculous as you think. Also, that is not my name either.â
âDamn it, girl, no one can say that shit, what is that even? Psyduck?â
âPsithyrus,â you corrected.
âYeah, that.â Braxton walked back to the kitchen. âWhat the fuck is it even?â
âGoogle it.âÂ
âNah.â
âThen consider it my stripper name. The concept should be more familiar.â
âHeh!â Braxton let out a humorless huff and checked the space between the fridge and the counter for any suspicious wiring. Then he opened that fridge and helped himself to an overpriced bottle of water. âYeah, yeah, real funny.â
âYou wonât start callinâ me by my name, might just flush that idiotic toilet under you repeatedly.â
âTempting.â Despite himself, Braxton smiled. Just a little. âYou do that to me, Legs, and weâre gonna have words. Real ones. Face to face.â
Back in the living room, Levan let out a long sigh. âWe also hear you,â he informed them, his accent getting heavier with annoyance.
âYeah, yeah, youâll live, big guy.â Braxton turned his attention to Rico. âKid, you find that access panel or not? Christ, weâre gonna be here all night.â
âYeah, I found it,â Rico winced, âbut I ainât never seen a mess like this. Guyâs got his ethernet running parallel with the AC ducts. No shielding. Itâs like heâs askinâ us to steal his data.â
Braxton snorted. âYeah, probably hired his cousin who watched a YouTube video.â He moved to the window again, scanning the street below one more time. âLegs, you got all that?â
Braxton couldnât see it, but he knew you were rolling your eyes even harder. He learned to look for those moments and exploit them.
âYep.â You sighed. âThe guyâs five minutes away, by the way. Want me to stall him?âÂ
âShit.â Braxton turned away from the window, already moving towards the front door, gun in hand. âStall him? Whatâre you gonna do, hack his Tesla and drive him in circles?â
Braxton could hear the smirk in your voice. Or maybe he was just imagining it.Â
âIâm already in his car. Matter of fact, Iâve read all the texts from his mistress, too.â
âYeah?â Braxton mounted the silencer quickly, ignoring the look Levan gave him for it. âAnythinâ good?â
âDepends how sick your taste is.â You paused for effect. âThat ladyâs good, though. Gives a whole different direction to that master and servantââ
âNope.â Braxton winced. âChanged my mind. Never tell me anythinâ ever again.â
You laughed for real this time and goddamn, Braxton felt somewhat proud. Even if he paid for it with the mental image of their sixty-year-old target in a gimp suit.
âFair enough,â you conceded. âDraining his battery then. Heâs gonna have to stop at the charging station. Bought you half an hour minimum.â
Braxton just nodded. He was rarely impressed with people and tried not to make an exception for you.Â
âAtta girl.â He crouched next to Rico, eyeing the ratâs nest of cables. âKid, you about done playing?â
âAlmost.â Rico shook his head. âJust need to splice in the bypass. Another ninety seconds.â
âMake it sixty.â Braxton stood up and watched Levan mount the last hidden camera. âAlright, big man, whatâs our status?â
âFinal camera live,â Levan rumbled, âwith thermal⌠how you say? Thermal shit.â He got down from the chair and carefully placed it back at the dining table. âBut system is, I think, dumpster fire.â
Braxton frowned. âMeaning?â
âBadly done.â Levan shook his head. âThis whole place. Sticks together with glue and spit.â
âPoetic.â Braxton moved back to the living room, scanning the placement of their gear. Everything needed to look like a professional security upgrade, not a covert surveillance operation. âLegs, how you doinâ?â
âCanât complain.â You slurped loudly in his ear. âHaving a slushie.â
âYouâre killinâ me here.â Braxton shook his head. âWeâre on the fuckinâ clock, sheâs havinâ a slushie.â
âItâs blue.â
âLegs, I invoiced you before so I know youâre not twelve.â All of a sudden Braxton whistled sharply. âKid! Sixty seconds was two minutes ago. You makinâ progress or just makinâ me nervous?â
âMakinâ sure I donât fry the whole grid,â Rico shot back. âGuyâs got his thermostat on the same circuit as the TV and that damn smart fridge.â
âIn English?â
âI trip the wrong wire, his ice maker starts talkinâ to the feds.â
Braxton rubbed the back of his neck. âJesus, youâre all stand-up comedians all of a suddenâŚâÂ
âAlmost done.â
âYou were almost done five minutes ago, now youâre just playinâ.â
Meanwhile, Levan lumbered over from the dining area and set up his toolbox on the ridiculously shiny kitchen counter. Braxton watched the cloud of drywall dust set down all around the tabletop.Â
âWe look like real security team?â The big man gestured to their outfitsâblack polos with a fake company logo and cargo pants that were a little too clean to be genuine.
âLong as the clientâs as dumb as his password,â Braxton grumbled.
He moved to the window again, looking down. A white Tesla crawled down the block, stopping at the corner.Â
âAlright! Showâs over. Rico?â
âDone!â The kid wrapped up the now-straight cables back behind the drywall cover.Â
Braxton tapped his earpiece. âLegs?â
âSending him a perfectly legitimate invoice from a perfectly legitimate company e-mail. I called us Secure Home Solutions.â You took another long sip. âI even gave you a five-star Yelp review.â
âFrom who?â
âSatisfiedCustomer69. Very convincing.â
Braxton pinched the bridge of his nose, then moved to the front door and checked the peephole. âAlright. Move it everyone, showâs over. Walk like we belong here. Levan, youâre the supervisorâwalk out first. Rico, youâre the apprentice, look tired.â
Rico picked up his thermos, then pointed at Braxtonâs still perfectly styled hair. âAnd you?â
Braxton smirked. âPretendinâ I really was doinâ a job that pays thirty bucks an hour.â
Meanwhile, you slurped the last of your slushie, dodged a brain freeze by a miracle, and checked the monitors. Four screens, four feeds from the clientâs place. All running smoothly so far.Â
On monitor one, you had the entire layout of the open-spaced living room and kitchen. Monitor two showed the hallway. Levan filled the doorway as he lumbered out first, playing supervisor. The guy moved like a refrigerator with legs, but you had to admit you hadnât seen him fuck up an install once.
Next, you pulled up the grainy footage from the security cam downstairs. The concierge was busy playing Candy Crush on his phone, just like nature intended. The last footage you checked was the underground parking lot where the client was still fussing over his Tesla.
âYouâre clear,â you said, then checked the internal cam in the elevator. âHurry, though. That idiot wonât be praying at his shrine to Elon all night long.â
All three of them got inside the elevator and stood there in what looked like an awkward silence. You zoomed in on the elevator footage before you could help yourself. There they all were, each exhausted in his own way. Except Braxton, who still looked like heâd rather be walking around naked than in all this polyester. You zoomed the camera on him as he adjusted his polo and you smirked.Â
The camera caught his profileâthe broken nose, the stubble, the bored scowl. Then, all of a sudden, Braxton looked up and you physically recoiled from the monitor. He winked at the camera.Â
Like he knew.
âBastard,â you muttered.
His smartass grin widened. âWhatâs that, sweetheart?â
You closed your eyes. Your mic was still on.Â
âScrubbing the logs,â you grumbled. âYou should be good, go through the main door like youâre supposed to be there. Iâm gonna lose the visual, need to wipe this clean.â
It took you a couple minutes and then boomâitâs like the team was never there.
âHey, Legs.â Braxtonâs voice crackled through the comms. âYou still there?â
âYeah, Iâm here.â You leaned back in your chair. âWatching your dashing getaway. You walk like a guy who stole something.â
âThought you were wiping the footage?â
You clicked your tongue, busted. âEducated guess.â
âSure.â You could hear the van door slam through his feed. âOkay. Youâre gonna grace us with your presence for the debrief, or is this a digital-only relationship?â
Braxton waited. Silence stretched for a while and you tried to figure out a good enough answer.
âCâmon, Legs. You gonna make me ask twice?â
âYou already know the answer,â you said, suddenly serious. âIâll check in later.â
You disconnected the call right then, like ripping off the bandaidâand you told yourself it was better this way anyway.
The hotel room might have been staged to be pristineâonceâbut it took Braxton exactly four hours to scatter his own flavor of chaos across every surface. There were two disassembled Glocks on the coffee table, a small pile of clothes by the bed, and a plate with a half-eaten room service burger getting cold on the desk. A bottle of Makerâs Mark, with the cap missing, was still on the bathroom countertop, right where Braxton had left it before he stepped in the shower.
The luxury suiteâs windows showed the city downtown, glittering like in a well-balanced movie shot. Braxton walked up to the widows, towel wrapped loosely around his hips, like he couldnât be bothered. He looked outside for a moment, then pulled the blackout curtains halfway. He couldnât decide whether to watch the world or shut it out yet.
Then, his phone rang. One of the burners. He rummaged through his bag for the right one, then let it go three rings before picking up.
âBatu. Tell me something good.â
âJobâs clean,â Batu said, then got into a smokerâs coughing fit. Braxton winced and held the phone away from his ear for the duration of it.
âClientâs happy. Wireâs already movinâ,â Batu said finally, wheezing.
Braxton grunted, dragging a hand through his wet hair. âAnd the other client?â
Batu chuckled darkly. âThe other oneâs even happier. Told me he got the login details from our little friend. That system of hers⌠I donât understand it. But it works.â
âIâm sensinâ a âbutâ.â
âYeah, well.â Batu paused and Braxton heard a lighter click. âCould say we got a problem.â
âDonât say it.â
âSheâs not here.â
âWhere?â
Batu omitted the specifics. Instead, he took a long drag on his cigarette.
âItâs the fourth job. Fourth debrief she ghosts.â Papers shuffled on Batuâs end. âMakes clients nervous. Makes me nervous. Digital assets are still assets. Assets need handlers.â
Braxton paced to the window then back to the bathroom where he left the bottle. âYou callinâ me to bitch âbout her? Iâm not the handler here, Batu, got my hands full handlinâ my own shit.â
Batu exhaled smoke that crackled across the line. âYouâre the one she talks to.â
Braxton paused in his tracks, forgot to pick the bottle, turned back to the bedroom and let out a heavy sigh. The towel was starting to slip. He didnât bother yanking it higher.
âClient paid, dataâs clean, nobody got shot. Whatâs the actual grievance here?â
âThe grievance,â Batu said, voice dry, âis that she thinks sheâs callinâ the shots. If she shows up on somebody elseâs payroll, well, letâs just say âI told you soâ now to get that out of the way.â
Braxtonâs jaw worked. Why the hell was he required for this talk?Â
âSheâs not gonna flip. Sheâs too paranoid for that.â Braxton picked up a glass then rolled his eyes at being so distracted because he never picked up that bottle. âYou want me to what hereâtrack her down? Put a leash on her?â
âI want you to do what you do best, Braxton. Make a problem into not-my-problem.â
Braxton froze.Â
âWhy the fuck would you put a hit on the best hacker we ever had?â
The words came out sharper than he meant. Braxton swore under his breath. He was getting too emotional about this.Â
He needed to drink more. Or less.Â
One of those.
âSheâs not a problem.â Braxton did his best to sound convincing. Might have leaned a tad too much on the desperate side, though, because Batu laughed. Then coughed even more than before. Braxton wished him seven types of lung cancer.Â
âIâll handle it,â Braxton decided.
âThatâs cute,â Batu grumbled. âHandle it how?â
âBy not handling it like you would.â
âThatâs not an answer, Brax.â Batu took another long drag. âYou think sheâs irreplaceable. Thatâs dangerous thinking in our line of work.â
âYou wanna waste the best digital asset weâve got, be my guest. But you better find me someone as good as her for the next job.â
The line went quiet except for Batuâs breathing, raspy and wet.
âYou callinâ the shots now, kid?â
Braxton stared out the window, wheels turning in his head. âGive me forty-eight hours.â
âYou got twenty-four. And thatâs only âcause you piss me off like youâre my own son.â
The call disconnected.
Braxton looked at the phone for exactly two seconds of calm, then hurled it at the wall. It bounced off of it, leaving a dent, and clattered to the carpet beside the bathroom door.
The towel finally gave up and pooled at his feet. Braxton stepped over it, walked naked to the desk, and pulled a laptop from his go-bag.
He dragged a hand down his mouth, waiting for the system to boot. âOkay, what the fuckâŚâ
Because how would he even begin the search for someone who made smoke signals look traceable?
Braxton had worked three jobs with you so far, heard your snark in his ear and witnessed you perform online miracles. But witnessing wasnât understanding. He could field-strip a weapon blindfolded, but didnât have the first idea on how to locate a goddamn hacker.
And that unknown, that lack of any semblance of a plan pissed him off almost as much as your disappearing act did.
Until he remembered something.Â
He looked for Yelp, then searched for the fake company you had set up for their cover story.Â
âOkay, what was it? Secure⌠home solutions,â he muttered and ran a hand through his hair. It was drying all sorts of frizzy, but he had no time to do anything about it now.Â
He loaded the Yelp page and scrolled through the contact information. Fake address, fake email, fake mobile number⌠But it looked real enough.Â
âNo way this connects to anywhere but the local Golden Dragon bar,â Braxton muttered as he typed in the number on his other phone. The one by the wall was still on timeout.Â
âCome on, come on, you gotta know itâs me,â he muttered and got up then started pacing the room.Â
This was crossing a line, he knew. You two had a rhythmâhe grumbled, you ghosted, he pretended to be mad, everyone got paid.
Three rings. Four. Braxtonâs thumb hovered over the end call button when the line clickedânot to a voice, but to a mechanical whir, like an ancient dial-up modem.
âWelcome,â a synthesized voice chirpedâfemale, saccharine, and obviously AI. âYouâve reached Secure Home Solutions. Your call is very important to us. Please hold while we redirect you to one of our operators.â
A pause. Then elevator musicâactual fucking elevator music, the kind that made Braxton want to crawl out of his skin.
He put it on speaker and then just stared at his phone. âYou gotta be kiddinâ me.â
The sheer amount of work youâve put into the masquerade was impressive, though something told him it wasnât so much your professionalism but genuine love of the gameâthe game being messing with people.
Then the music cut off. Silence. Braxton checked if it got disconnected, but it didnât.Â
Then he heard your voice, real and as infuriating as it was this morning:
âSecure Home Solutions, this is Brandy.â Papers shuffled, some weird machine beeped in the background, and then Braxton heard crunching.
âLegs.â
âSir, Iâm going to have to ask you not to use that term. Itâs highly unprofessional.â
He finally stopped pacing. Got himself two seconds to exhale.
âLegs.â
âBraxton.â You paused. âWell, what is it? You were watching âCasablancaâ and thought of me?â
âTheâŚâ He frowned, momentarily forgetting why the hell he called in the first place. The relief of having reached you was too great. âWhat?â
âItâs a⌠Ah, nevermind. Itâs a Meg Ryan movie reference.â Then, more crunching sounds. âSo⌠You feelinâ lonely on a Friday night? Wanted to call one of them 1-800 numbers instead?â
âThe fuck⌠Youâre eating popcorn while running a fake security company. On a Friday night.â
âChips, actually. And itâs a very real fake company. We couldâve paid taxes and everything.â
Normally, it wouldâve made him smile. He wouldâve jumped head first into banter. But right now it dawned on him that he genuinely cared whether you lived or died.
âSheâs eatinâ chips,â Braxton muttered to himself, then walked right back to where he left the bourbon. He remembered to pour himself that glass this time. âGoddamnit.â
The crunching stopped. For three seconds, there was only the hum of whatever server machinery you had running in the background.
âWhatâs wrong?â
Braxton scoffed and took a swig. âHow do you know somethingâs wrong?â
ââCause itâs been three minutes and you only called me âLegsâ once, and now it sounds like youâre drinking.â
âMaybe I just needed a drink.â
Braxton didnât know why he was deflecting exactly, but it was a complicated thingâbreaking it to you that Batu had put a hit on you.
Finally, he landed on a half-truth:
âBatuâs talkinâ about handlers.â
âHandlers,â you repeated, like the word was something filthy. âCute. But Iâm not a unicorn, an escaped demon, or a criminal.â
Braxton laughed at that, even though it was short-lived. âHate to break it to you, darlinâ...â
âOkay. Sort of a criminal. Never killed anyone, though, Iâm not good at that, so he canât be that pressed about me.â
Braxton scoffed and sat down on the bed, scrubbing a hand across his face. âListen to me. Heâs tired of your ghosting. Fourth time, Legs. Makes people nervous.â
âGood.â
âNo, no, not good.â Braxton closed his eyes, slowly feeling all that bourbon hitting him all at once. âYouâre gettinâ paid to be reliable.â
âI am reliable.â Your voice came out sharper now. âThe job was clean, the data was scrapped, the clientâs happy, the other one is too. Thatâs the only metric that matters.â
âYeah, Batuâs metricâs different.â Braxton let out a long-suffering sigh. âHeâs not the kinda man who settles for the shorter straw.â
âMeaning?â
âMeaning, heâs got nothinâ on you. No face, no address, and itâs makinâ him twitchy. Makinâ him do stupid shit.â
You chuckled, like you couldnât quite believe what you were hearing. âTell him my face is proprietary information.â
âJesus Christ, Psithyrus, this isnât a joke!â Braxton raised his voice, completely out of arguments. âHeâs givinâ me twenty-four hours to make you a problem that ainât his.â
Your voice, when it came, sounded shocked:
âYou said my name.â
âPretty sure your parents didnât name you after a goddamn bee.â
âAnd you Googled it.â
Braxton groaned. âYou heard what I just said?â
Something shuffled on the other end again, then a door opened and closed. Braxton listened for exactly two seconds more before he spoke:
âWhere are you right now?â
âHome.â
âAnd whereâs home?â
You snorted. âWhereâs yours?â
âDonât have one.â
Neither of you spoke for a while. Personally, Braxton was appalled with himself for revealing somethingâanythingâpersonal.Â
And then he heard you typingâfast, staccato bursts, not the idle click-clack of someone browsing.
He huffed in disbelief. âWhatâre you doinâ?â
âNone of yourââ
âYou better not say itâs none of my business, âcause this is me puttinâ my own ass on the line here.â
The call went quiet again. On both ends. Like neither wanted to acknowledge what just happened.
And your typing resumed.
âListen to me,â Braxton tried again, suddenly feeling very tired, âwhatever youâre tryinâ to do here, it better not involve leavinâ me to explain to a very pissed off Armenian why my bright idea backfired on me.â
âOh, bet that never happened before,â you quipped.
âJesus⌠Listen. You gotta give me somethinâ here. A meet. A dead drop. A fuckinâ... Carrier pigeon.â
âI hate pigeons.â
âGood to know. Tell you what, Iâll make sure not to order any for both our funerals.â
You didnât answer, not right away. Braxton closed his eyes again. âSo how âbout it, Legs? I know itâs way past your bedtimeââ
âI donât sleep much.â
âNah.â Braxton let out a short, sharp laugh. âNeither do I.â
Briefly, you just existed on the line togetherâboth in their own flavor of personal anxiety. Just as Braxton slowly felt himself give up on this whole thing, he gave it one last desperate try:
âIâm not gonna let him touch you.â
You didnât say anything, not at first, and he looked at the ceiling, mouthing silent curses, feeling like a complete idiot.Â
And yet, as if hell had frozen over, you finally spoke:
âIâll text you the address.â
Braxton tried not to let the irony of sitting in a Chinese restaurant named âGolden Dragonâ get to him too much. At least the place looked clean and didnât smell like old grease.Â
He chose the table by the aquarium, not exactly hiding in any dark corners, but not leaving his ass exposed either. The waiter tried to take his order twice already, and each time Braxton said he was waiting for someone. Now the waiter was coming around for the third attempt and Braxton honestly got worried this would end up with him getting force-fed.
âYour friend, sheâs coming soon?âÂ
Braxton sighed and looked up at the man. He was smirking, the bastard, again holding out the two menus.Â
âYeah. Sheâs cominâ. Or not. Give me that,â Braxton grumbled and took the menus, then slapped them against the table. âYou know what, why donât you get me the egg rolls, how âbout that?â
The waiter scribbled something on the notepad, still smirking. âSix egg roll, ten minutes.â
Braxton could see why you chose this place. That was the thing about restaurants like that, it wouldnât have mattered whether he chose two items from the menu or twenty. It would still be ten minutes.
Braxton drummed his fingers on the laminated menu, eyes tracking every person who walked through the front door. The aquarium behind him cast a bluish glow across his face and all of it seemed almost peacefulâhad it not been a literal life or death sort of situation.Â
After ten minutes, the waiter appeared again, this time with a plate of egg rolls that looked surprisingly fresh.Â
âSix egg roll,â he announced, setting them down with a smug little flourish. âYou friend, she is late.â
âSheâs not my friend,â Braxton muttered, reaching for the sauce. âSheâs aââÂ
Pain in my ass. A liability.
ââcolleague.âÂ
The waiterâs eyebrow lifted. âI see.âÂ
He definitely didnât see. He saw a guy whoâd been stood up, and Braxton hated that heâd let himself be put in that position at all.
He was halfway through his second egg rollâgreasy, but real goodâwhen the door chimed. Braxtonâs head came up, but it was just a delivery guy with a stack of takeout bags. Braxton forced himself to relax, took another bite, and checked his watch. Once or twice, he pulled out his burner phone, considered sending a text, then shoved it back in his pocket.Â
Last thing he needed was to look desperate.
But he was, wasnât he. Because Batu wasnât in the habit of bluffing, in fact the man hated gambling with a passion. And even though you were usually the smartest person in the room on assignments, Braxton wasnât sure you understood the gravity of the situation.
Braxton had never even seen your face, not for the lack of trying, but he really, truly didnât want to see it in a body bag that very first time.
The door chimed again. He didnât even notice, too preoccupied by the darker side of his thoughtsâuntil you walked up right to his table. The first thing Braxton noticed was the hair, because, well. It was hard not to. Then there were the glasses, a detail he somehow suspected would be there. You couldnât stare at the screen all day and come out of it with 20/20 vision.
âYou look taller on camera,â you said, then sat down in front of him.
And Braxton still stared. He wasnât in the habit of staying quiet, but somehow he had nothing to say.Â
Until you snapped your fingers right in front of his face.
âHello?â Then you leaned right back, crossing your arms over your chest. âJesus, Iâve been called a robot before, didnât realize thereâd be two of us.â
âDidnât know you were cominâ,â he shot back, then just watched you reach for the egg roll across the table and take a big bite.
âYeah, well,â you mumbled around the food, swallowed, âI wasnât sure I was either. Then I figured, what the hell. Might as well see what a real-life dinosaur of this business looks like before you go extinct.â
Braxton leaned back, crossing his arms. Fuck walking around the hotel room with no towel on, this made him feel ten times more naked.
âThe hellâs that supposed to mean?âÂ
You shrugged, chewing. âYour problem-solving instincts are a bit dated.â
âDated?â
âWalk around shootinâ your problems. Seems the boss is the same way. And I got no idea how to deal with people like that.â
Braxtonâs eyebrows shot up and he let out a short, raspy laugh, like he couldnât quite believe you. âYeah, okay. You done testinâ me, girl? We gonna talk about the fact youâve got a hit on your head?â
You took another bite. Swallowed. The playful glint in your eye vanished. Then you studied Braxtonâs face for a long moment and nodded.
âOkay.â
He frowned, no less confused than before. âOkay, what?â
âOkay, Iâll let you buy me dinner.â You gestured to the egg rolls. âCan we get the fried rice? Wonton soup is really good, too.â
âFuck me,â Braxton snorted, and it was a real laugh this time. âYou got balls, Legs, Iâll give you that.â
Then he flagged the waiter. The man walked over, looking far too pleased with himself. Then Braxton noticed the recognition in the manâs eyes.Â
âWelcome back!â The waiter beamed at you. âSo, you want wanton soup?â
âHey, Shui.â You smiled but avoided eye contact. âYeah. Wanton soup, please. Fried rice, extra tofu.â
âHot lemon tea?â The waiter paused, a sort of insistent type of pause. âIs good for you.â
âYeah, sure.â Your smile widened just so. âAnd tea.â
The waiter scribbled, glanced at Braxton, at the decimated egg rolls, then back at you. âHe want the duck?â
âYeah, heâll have the number six. Can we get him a beer, too?â
Braxtonâs eyes widened at the whole exchange, but he didnât protest. When the waiter left, Braxton leaned forward, elbows on the table.
âI want the duck?âÂ
âYou do.â You wiped your hands on a napkin. âDesperately.â
Braxton looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time. Then he leaned back again. His jaw worked for a moment longer before he found the words.Â
âListen to me, Legs. Batu doesnât make idle threats,â he said finally. âHeâs a nicotine-addicted killer. Mean when he really wants to be. So when he says twenty-four hours, he means twenty-four hours.â
âI know what he means.â You pushed the glasses up your nose. âI also know heâs not gonna move until heâs got confirmation. Right now, youâre the one keeping it on hold.â
âThanks for the vote of confidence.â
âIt wasnât a criticism.â
âYouâre deflecting.â
âYouâre panicking.â
âI donât panic!â
âYour jawâs doing that thing.â You gestured at his face.
âIâm tryinâ to keep you alive.â
âWhy?â You sat back, studying him again. âYou canât like me that much. People donât like me. I know Iâm just that way, same as youâre⌠Your way.â
Braxton just stared at you.Â
âThat way,â he repeated.
âYeah.â You shrugged. âFour jobs we did together. Youâve never seen my face. Always asked me questions, I never gave you any good answers. I pissed you off on purpose, sometimes just to see the⌠Yeah, there it is again.â
Braxton forced his jaw to relax.Â
Your order arrived.
You smiled at Shui, thanked him, then waited until he was out of earshot. Braxton said nothing. He didnât touch his food, he just watched you slurp your soup.Â
âListen to me,â he said finally. You didnât look up.Â
âYou think this is about you being difficult? Itâs not. Batuâs got a file on you. Not a big one, but itâs there. Birth certificateâfake, I guess. Socialâburned. Medical recordsânonexistent. Thatâs fine. Thatâs what we all do.â
âSo whatâs the problem?âÂ
âYouâre not flying solo here. Youâre using the firm for some assurances while heâs got nothinâ on you. Heâs not in the charity business, Legs, heâs inââ
âIâm a liability?â
âNah.â He shook his head and this time he was sure. âI've watched you work four jobs and you havenât fucked up once, which makes you a goddamn unicorn.â
He waited. You ate one wonton and kept looking away.
âYou wanna know why I ghost?â
Braxton sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. âEnlighten me.â
âBecause the last time I let someone put a handler on me, he fucked up.â
âFucked up how?â Braxton asked, though as soon as he said it, he realized he wouldnât like the answer. He could see it in your eyes.
âI ended up in a government black site for eight months.â
It made Braxton straighten right up.Â
âYouâre shittinâ me right now.â
âOh, wish I was.â You winced. âI donât wanna talk about it.â
He just nodded. There were many things Braxton would make light ofâbut not that. So you both ate in silence, and worst of all was, he had to begrudgingly admit the duck really was good.Â
âSo you got a plan?â you asked, breaking the silence. And for the first time since you sat down, you sounded like youâd actually listen to him.
âWorkinâ on it,â he muttered.
After some time, he drained his beer and set it down hard enough to make you jump. âOkay.â
You pushed your glasses up your nose. He was right, they really were too big for your face.
âOkay?â
âHereâs the thing. Batuâs old school. Yes,â Braxton raised a hand before you could speak, âwe both are. Save the âold manâ jokes for now.â
You huffed and crossed your arms over your chest, but didnât protest more than that.
âOkay,â he agreed for you. âSo. Batu doesnât trust what he canât touch, what he canât put in a room and look in the eye.âÂ
Braxtonâs tone sharpened, gaining that special kind of authority youâve heard many times before. You hated how much it calmed you down.
You nodded, not looking up from your plate. âSo I invite him out for tea.â
âNo.â
You frowned. âNo?â
âYou become my problem,â he conceded.
That got your attention. You finally looked at him. âWhat?â
âI tell Batu Iâm your handler now. You report to me, I report to him. He gets his assurance, you donât gotta⌠Be scared.â Braxton spread his hands. âSimple.â
You stared at him for a long moment, the look of pure disbelief. âThatâs your plan? Youâre going to⌠vouch for me? With theâŚâ You gestured up and down at yourself, unsure what exactly you wanted to object to here.
Braxton looked away like he couldnât quite believe it himself. âYeah.â
âWhy?â
âBecauseâŚâ He flagged Shui when he walked past your table. âHey, can we get the check? Thanks.â
âSure thing.â Shui started to stack the empty plates and gave you a knowing smile. âAll good?âÂ
âYeah.â You forced a smile, but failed miserably.Â
âOkay.â Shuiâs voice softened. âI bring your check now.â
Braxton watched the man walk away and his jaw tightened again. He could feel it, that same tic youâd pointed out. He forced himself to stop.Â
Then you nudged his boot with yours under the table and he frowned, brought back to reality.Â
You jutted your chin at him. âYou were saying?âÂ
âYeah.â He shook his head. âListen, Batuâs an idiot if he thinks he can find someone better andââ He cut himself off, scrubbed a hand over his face. âFuck it. Because Iâm not lettinâ you die, okay? Itâs a goddamn waste.â
âWaste?âÂ
âIâm not letting him kill the person who can actually make my job easier instead of harder.â
You studied him again and Braxton could tell you didnât believe him, not even a little.
âWhatâs the catch?âÂ
âCatch is,â he replied, slower this time, âyou donât ghost me. You donât vanish after jobs. You check in. Not âcause I say so, but âcause I need to know youâre not in a ditch somewhere.â
âThatâs it?â
âThatâs it.â
âAnd if I say no?â
âFuckâs sakeâŚâ Braxton leaned back, looking up like the inspiration to get through to you would be hanging down from the ceiling. It made you smirk.
âThen get your affairs in order, Legs, donât know what else I can do here.â
Shui came back with the check then. Braxton reached for his wallet and didnât even look at the totalâhe just stacked two crisp hundreds together and handed them to him.Â
âIâll bring the change,â Shui muttered.
âKeep it.â Braxton stood up and gestured towards you, already standing up. âYou good?âÂ
Shuiâs brows shot up. He cleaned the rest of the dishes away and you were still sitting, mulling everything over. And panicking, despite your best efforts Braxton could tell this time.
âYouâd do that?â you asked quietly when Shui left. âJust⌠Make me your problem?â
âJesus, just said I would, didnât I?â
You looked away from him, watching the aquarium. âThis wonât end well.â
âDonât care.â Braxton put his jacket on and handed you yours. âCâmon, Legs. Get up.â
You did. Then you snatched your jacket from him before he could touch you. âWhat are you asking me to do here?â
âStay alive, how âbout that?â
You smirked. As you both walked out, Shui called after you: âYou come back soon! Bring boyfriend too!â
Braxton shot you an offended look. And for the first time tonight, you laughed. He didnât bother to think why exactly he was so relieved to hear it.
You shoved your hands in your pockets and followed Braxton wherever it was he started walking towards.
âSo,â you said after a block. âThis is the part where you ask what I drive.â
âDonât care what you drive.â
âGood. âCause I donât drive.â
Braxton grimaced. âYou donât drive.â
âNope.â You kept walking, backward now, facing him. âI take the bus. Or I walk. OrâŚâ You trailed off. âMy handler gives me a ride, sometimes. Itâs an HR nightmare waiting to happen.â
Braxtonâs frown deepened until he caught up. âJesus.â
You looked up at him, and for a second he thought you might say something real now. Something that wouldnât be a joke or a deflection. But you didnât.
âOkay,â you decided and turned back around, facing the road again. âBut Iâm not sitting in the front seat. I get carsick.â
Braxton snorted. âHow old are you?â
You scoffed, defensive. âHow old are you?â
âForty-one.â
You shot him an unamused look.Â
âOkay, forty-four.â
You stopped and now looked so profoundly done with him that Braxton had to laugh. âFuckâs sake, you got a file on me, Legs?â
âObviously,â you deadpanned.
âYeah, alright,â he murmured, shaking his head. âSorry I asked.âÂ
You walked up to his carâblack, nondescript, what you expectedâand he opened the passenger door for you. You stared at it like it might bite.
âIn,â he said.
So you got in.
As Braxton pulled into traffic, he glanced over. You were already doing something weird on your phone, he could tell.
âLegs,â he said.
âYeah?â
âPut the damn seatbelt on.â
You did. And Braxton couldnât tell why you didn't even argue. Maybe you were too preoccupied with whatever nerd ritual you were performing there or⌠Maybe you started to trust him.
Wasnât that a terrifying thought.
Braxtonâs hotel room was⌠Exactly what you expected, too. You didnât even bother being surprised.Â
âYou live here?â
âDonât live anywhere, Legs. Thatâs kinda the point.â
âUh-huh.â You looked inside, but still didnât move.
âIn,â he said, then threw his jacket on the closest chair. âOr you gonna stand there all night?â
You sighed like he was asking you to swim through sewage, but you got inside and closed the door.Â
You stood just inside the doorway, like you were calculating exit routes. There werenât any.Â
You arched a brow. âOne bed.âÂ
âDonât flatter yourself.â He rummaged through his bag to find his laptop, then remembered where he left it and walked up to the desk. âYouâre not staying.â
âMy last bus home was an hour ago.â
âYou get the floor then.â
âThis is you protecting me, huh?â You grinned and carefully put your jacket on the hanger by the door.
âI said Iâd keep you alive, not comfortable.â
He pulled out the desk chair and spun it around, gesturing for you to sit. âNow, youâre gonna call him. Be⌠You know. Nice. Normal.â
You stared at the chair. Then at Braxton. âCanât do both.â
Braxton sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. âFine. Be normal. The nice part was wishful thinking.â
âUh-huh.â You dropped into the chair and helped yourself to his laptop, immediately executing some sort of commands. He wasnât even sure what they did.Â
âHe wants me to be normal,â you drawled. âWith the man who just threatened to have me killed.â
Braxton poured himself a drink.
âJust⌠talk to him like you talk to me.â
You chuckled. âI donât think you understand how badly that would go.â
Braxton pinched the bridge of his nose. âJesus fucking Christ. Can you, for one minuteââ
âActually, no.â You pulled your knees up to your chest. It made you look about twelve. âThatâs the thing. I am how I am. Donât know how to be different. You donât like it, fuck off. Let him kill me.âÂ
Braxton felt himself losing it. There was only so much drama he could take.
âSure.â He put the glass down with a loud clink. âYou know whatââ
âI donât know how to be whatever it is you need me to be right now,â you interrupted, and goddamn if these big eyes looking right at him didnât pin him in the spot harder than a throwing knife could.
âI know how to ghost. I know how to hide. I know how to piss people off until they leave me alone. I donât know how to⌠Make nice with a crime boss so heâll let me keep playing Skyrim.â
The words came out fast, almost frantic, and Braxton realized that was the real bit he had wondered so much about. Now that you said it, he didnât feel equipped to help you.
âSkyrim,â he deadpanned.
âItâs a⌠Game about elves and dragons, but also a civil war with theââ
âYeah, yeah, alright,â he winced, âalright, stop. Forget normal. Just be⌠Professional.â
âProfessional.â You laughed, but it was hollow. âWhat the hell do I say?â
You looked up at him, and behind those glasses, your eyes were still wide and genuinely lost. Braxton hated how that made him feel.
So he pulled up another chair, sat down next to you. âYou say: Batu. Itâs Psithyrus. Braxtonâs handling my integration. Youâll have your reports. Weâre good.â
âThat's it?â
âThat's it.â
âAnd if he asks questions?â
âHe wonât.â
âNo?â
âNo.â Braxton managed a small smile and reached back for his drink. âHe doesnât really give a shit. He wants to get his way, now heâs gettinâ it.â
A slow smile spread across your face. âThatâs⌠Pretty insightful.â
âGot my moments, donât I.â
You sighed and executed the video call app, then typed in the number from memory and hit call. Braxton tried not to be impressed.Â
It rang for a long time, but after a while, Batuâs gravelly voice came through:
âBraxton. You got something for me?â
You took a deep breath and switched the camera on. âBatu. Itâs Psithyrus.â
Silence fell. You frowned. âHello?â
âThis a joke?â Batu rasped.
âNo.â You shook your head. âBraxtonâs⌠Handling it. Me. I mean⌠Things.â You closed your eyes for a moment, squeezing your fists so tight your knuckles went white. âYouâll have your reports. Weâre good.â
Batu wasnât impressed. You couldnât see his face, but you could tell anyway.
âThought you were supposed to be the ghost,â he rasped.
âNot anymore.âÂ
âNo?â Batu mocked. âWhy not?â
Braxton could almost hear the gears turning in your head. But you didnât mention the hit. Smart girl.
âIâve been working on something,â you said fast. âA network of cyber keys for the bespoke private security firms, the kind rich idiots like to hire because the logo looks nice and the agents wear good suits. Doesnât matter, point is, their service is usually shit, the firewall bypass is childplay. But I canât do that hit alone.â
And this time Braxton couldnât tell whether you were lying or not. Batu couldnât either. He turned on his camera. Apparently the calculation between risk and reward came out in your favor.
âWhy didnât you say something, huh?â
Then, miracle of miracles, Braxton heard the lighter click. You werenât out of the woods yet, but definitely not in danger of being eaten by the big bad wolf anymore. Smoking meant the crazy man was reconsidering.
You, apparently oblivious to the mood encyclopedia of Batu, just frowned, caught off guard. âI, uh⌠Donât like bragging about something thatâs not finished.â
Batu exhaled another lungful of smoke and immediately coughed, the sound carrying through the speakers like a death rattle.Â
âFine,â he rasped. âYou finish your⌠network. You report on it. He reports to me. And you report on every job.â
âYeah, yes,â you said, your voice steadier than Braxton expected.
âBraxton,â Batu grunted, and Braxton leaned into the frame so the old man could see his face.Â
âYeah.â
It felt like Batu would whip out his report card any second and ask why the neighbor's kid could get a B in English but not his idiot ass.
âDonât know what youâre thinkinâ here and frankly I donât give a fuck. But I see one more fuck up, itâs both your heads. Not just hers.â
âOkay.âÂ
You shot Braxton a look, just a quick one. His voice was completely calm, like they were discussing delivering groceries.
Then the screen went black. You sat there for a moment, still staring at Braxton. Braxton downed the rest of his drink and tipped his glass towards you.
âSure you donât want anythinâ?â
âOh, no, now I definitely do,â you said quickly and let out a long, shuddering breath. Then you closed the laptop and watched him pour two drinks. âThat was excruciating.âÂ
âNah, that? It was fine,â he shook his head, smirking. âHe was in a good mood.â
âHow can you tell?â
âI just can. My jobâs to read people. Here.â He handed you the glass and you snatched it.
âA real glass-half-full guy, arenât you?â
âGlass is broken and Iâm bleeding, but sure.â
You laughed, despite the nerves, then looked at him, frowning. âYou want to make a really bad toast, donât you?â
He grinned. âAh, câmon, Legs. Let me.â
You rolled your eyes, but you didnât mean it. âOkay.â
âOkay.â He clinked his glass against yours. âTo your new leash.â
âYouâ!â
He chuckled to himself and took a big gulp. You sighed and took a sip. To his surprise, you didnât even make a face or comment.
âWouldnât take you for a bourbon kinda girl.âÂ
âI prefer cognac, actually,â you muttered.
âWhat theâŚâ His grin widened. âLookie here. What a snob.â
âItâs called âtasteâ.â
âWhatever you say, Legs.â
You opened your mouth, then closed it and just pointed. âThat a Hugo Boss jacket I see on the bed there?â
âTheâŚâ He turned around, a little spooked. âYeah, maybe.â
âHypocrite.â You unfolded yourself from the chair, stretched, then wandered the room. Braxton watched you, but tensed when you picked his disassembled Glock parts like they were Legos. Â
âPut that down,â he said immediately.
âWhy? Itâs not loaded.â
âStill a gun.â He gestured at you with his glass. âAnd youâre still⌠You.â
You smirked, but stepped away. âYou live like this everywhere?â
âI told you. Donât live anywhere.â
âRight.â You kept wandering and this whole time Braxtonâs dark eyes followed your every step. âSo this is just⌠What? Itâs how you avoid doing the dishes and your own laundry?â
âSomethinâ like that,â he muttered.
âWish I could do that.â
You moved like someone who spent too much time in small spaces and he wondered about you.
âYou wanna sit down before you wear a hole in the carpet?â
âAh, but itâs not your carpet, is it?â You turned towards the window, looking outside as if the view could tell you something about him.
âYeah. Well.â He set his glass down, suddenly serious. âYou donât have to stay,â he said finally. âJust leave me the number youâll actually pick up and weâre good.â
You walked up to him and picked up your glass again.Â
And for once there was no smartass comeback stacked behind your teeth.
Braxton felt himself reading too much into it.
âAlright,â he decided, changing the subject. âGround rules.â
You groaned. âOh, here we go.â
âDonât get cute. Firstââ He held up a finger. âYou answer when I call. Not three hours later. Not after youâve run it through seven million VPNs. You pick up.â
âAnd if Iâm in the middle ofââ
âNo.â His voice cut through yours, sharp enough that you actually shut up. âYou find a way. Thatâs how this business works.â
You chewed on it and finally nodded. âFine. Next?â
âYou donât lie to me about where you are. I donât need your address, nothinâ like that. I need a city. A state. Something I can tell Batu if he asks.â
âWhy would he ask?â
âBecause heâs a paranoid fuck who gets off on checking in. Give me something real enough to sound convincing.â
You nodded slowly. The fight was draining out of you and he kind of hated to see it.Â
âI hate talkinâ to people,â you muttered. âThatâs kinda why I do what I do.â
âOkay, newsflashâI donât care if you hate it. I donât care if I make your skin crawl,â he lied. âYou check in. Text. I donât give a shit how, but you let me know youâre breathing.â
âWhy?â you whispered, feeling like he had chipped away at your walls so consistently that they started crumbling down. âYou donât even know me, why do you care so much?â
âAh, I donât, do I?â Braxton laughed, but it came out rougher this time. âI know you named your goddamn computer âOzzyâ, which⌠Weird as it is, also tells me you donât have the worst music taste.â
You stared at him for a moment, processing.
âSee, I listen.â He shrugged, but it was too casual, too perfect. âYou talk to your machines like theyâre alive. Also know you run shit through seven proxies or VPNs, whatever that is, I donât know why, but itâs always seven.â He smirked. âAnd you bitch about polyester like itâs the new form of torture.â
You blinked at him, stunned. âThatâs⌠A strangely complete list there, Brax.â
âYeah, donât overthink it,â he muttered, looking away.
âFine. Give me your phone.â You outstretched your hand and he obliged you.Â
âSo,â you opened the contacts, âshould I put myself as âpizza placeâ or âwork wifeâ?â
He frowned, genuinely confused. âWhat the hell is a âwork wifeâ?â
You chuckled, incredulous. âI donât even know how to explain it now without sounding like an absolute creep so Iâm not gonna.â
âYou donât say.â Braxton leaned back, eyes narrowing. âDonât get sentimental on me now. Iâm not built for it.â
âEh, neither am I.â You handed him the phone back, having put yourself as âwork wifeâ with a bunch of pink heart emojis. Braxton looked utterly appalled.
âYeah, thatâs⌠A whole lotta hearts there, Legs,â he grumbled.
You still looked at him like you expected him to argue so he just pocketed the phone back instead.Â
In the couple weeks since the Golden Dragon, youâd checked in exactly as promisedâtexts at random hours, deliberately brief and always sarcastic. Braxton pretended to be serious about it, but usually failed miserably.
Not to mention, you spammed him with memes he had trouble understanding on the daily. This morning you sent him another one, a picture of a cat knocking a wine glass off a table with the caption âme dealing with your attitude.âÂ
He saved it.
Right now, you were browsing through some corporate aceâs email like it was the morning newspaper while Braxton whined in your ear.Â
âLegs, talk to me. Canât stand in this damn office forever, someoneâs gonna eventually figure Iâm too pretty to be security .â
âAnd I told you,â you muttered, âthe guy doesnât store his email on the company server. What he does store, though, is his Spotify.â You scoffed. âFucking K-PopâŚâ
Despite himself, Braxton grinned, scanning the closest entrypoint to the fancy corporate office. âYouâre a menace.â
âYour menace, sir.â
Braxton snorted. âDonât call me that.â
âWould you prefer âwork husbandâ?â
âChrist, Legs, I told you to delete that.â
Rico, still elbows deep in the ethernet cables, reared his head from under the desk. âThey got married?â He shot a confused look to Levan who just shook his head slowly, like a warning.
âYeah, and I told you I got problem with authority,â you shot back, still furiously typing. âBest I can do is take your suggestions under advisement. And then ignore you.â
âYouâre killinâ me here.â Braxton was still smirking. Then he glared at Rico. âYou mind? Itâs a private conversation.â
âYou know weâre all on the same line here, right?â you interjected.
âYeah, yeah,â Braxton muttered. âHow we doinâ there, kid? And donât give me any of that âninety secondsâ shit again, I thought she gave you a manual this time.â
Ricoâs frown deepened. âThese⌠squiggles? You try to make sense of it, might as well be hieroglyphics.â
âHey watch it,â Braxton warned. âThatâs my wife youâre talkinâ about here.â
âJesus, go easy on him.â You chuckled quietly. âHeâs doing well.â
âYeah, so proud of him,â Braxton deadpanned. âHeâs like the son I never wanted.â
Rico flipped him off and went back to connecting the cables. This time his hands trembled less than before.
Levan just sighed. âAmericans are weird.â
âDonât you start.â Braxton adjusted his earpiece, lowering his voice. âLegs, youâre gonna give my team the wrong idea here.â
âItâs your fault you let this marriage joke run as far as it did, now here we are.â
Indeed, there you were. What started as a silly thing between you took on a life of its own. You came to learn that mercenary business was not at all as mysterious as everybody made it out to be.
And it definitely wasnât as tight-lipped.
So far, all the bullshit about you and Braxton that you heard through the grapevine never failed to make you laugh. This weekâs top story was still the rumor that you tied the knot in Vegas while Braxton held the Elvis impersonator at gunpoint.
âYeah, you started it,â Braxton grumbled.
âHeh.â Levan let out a chuckle and checked his gun mag. âHeard you made Elvis cry.â
Rico popped his head up again, holding a cable like it was a dead snake. âSo itâs true about Vegas?â
âYes,â you said.
âNo!â Braxton immediately countered.
You laughed in his ear, a real laugh this time, not the sarcastic huff he was used to.Â
âFuck this, Iâmââ Braxton cut himself off, took a breath. âEverybody focus, okay? Legs, you got what we needed yet or you just gonna run your mouth all day?â
âAlmost there, dear.â
Rico snickered from under the desk. Braxton could practically hear your satisfied little grin. Or he could very well imagine.Â
âFinish with the goddamn cables, kid,â Braxton snapped. âLegs, how long we got to the next shift?â
âSeven minutes before the shift change, but Iâd say like, ten.â
âHuh?â
âThe other security guard is still on the toilet watching TikToks.â
âWonderful.â Braxton issued a long-suffering sigh. âStill got eyes on the lobby?â
âYes, you paranoid bastard, I got eyes on the lobby, on the bathrooms, on your assâŚâ
âGood to know.â Braxton checked his watch, shaking his head. âYou done yet?â
âJust finished. Took a little longer because I had to reroute through⌠Actually, you know what, you wouldnât understand.â
âTry me.â
âI made the computer do the thing.â
âAtta girl,â Levan laughed, a rare enough sound, and helped Rico up from under the desk.
Braxton rolled his eyes and carefully opened the door to the office. âAlright, everybody pack it up. Legs, you good to ride shotgun?â
âIn the van orâŚ?â
âNo, in my fuckinâ spaceship.âÂ
You laughed. âOh, fuck you.â
âWhat else are husbands for?â
The comms clicked off and the three of them rushed to the elevators. Rico looked at Braxton, still holding his toolkit to his chest. âSo you really areââ
âSay it.â Braxton glared again, this time making sure it was a truly terrifying thing to witness.
Rico went silent. The elevator arrived with a ding and they got in.
âYouâre a lucky man,â Levan grunted, all of a sudden insightful. âHer, not very lucky.â
Braxton was lounging on the hotel room sofa, halfway through an overpriced protein bar, when his phone buzzed. He fished it out of his pocket and winced.
Grundy.
He watched the thing ring for a moment, looking at the contact name flashing.Â
âYou gonna get that?â you asked from your spot by the window, still crouched over the laptop like a very focused shrimp.
âThought these things were noise-cancelling.â Braxton gestured to your headphones.
âYour old man ringtone could raise the dead.â
Braxton grumbled something and finally picked up. âWhat.â
âHello, Braxton.â
Braxton stayed silent, looking away as if Christian could physically see him.
âWe need to talk,â Christian continued.
Braxton rolled his eyes and deliberately chewed through a mouthful of the protein bar, hoping the sound was annoying.
âIt concerns your personal security.â Christian still talked like he was reading through a monthly statement.
Braxton sat up straight, suddenly alarmed. âThe fuckâre you on about?â
âThe wedding.âÂ
Braxton closed his eyes. âFuck me,â he muttered.
âI ran the numbers. Four separate intelligence streams are reporting you married in Vegas.â
âThe numbers,â Braxton repeated.Â
âDid you know your wife was wanted by the Interpol?â
Braxton blinked, slowly, then looked towards you. You had your music back on because you were slowly shaking your head. The Communards, if he had to guess.
âNo,â Braxton muttered. âBut what can I say, I got good taste.â
âDebatable,â Christian countered. âWhich alias did you register under? Hello? Braxton, itâs important.â
âWhich alias⌠Jesus fucking Christ, Christianâitâs a joke.â Braxton dragged a hand down his face. âShe started it, then it sort of⌠Spiraled.â
âA joke.â Christianâs tone didnât change, but Braxton could tell he wasnât convinced. âWell, the business seems to be taking it seriously.â
âThe what now?â
âFurthermore, I wasnât invited.â
âWhat?â Braxton muttered.
âTo the wedding,â Christian explained, as if that helped anything. âOr, the alleged wedding. I would have appreciated a courtesy call.â
âA courtesyââ Braxton stopped himself. âFirst of all, you donât call me!â
âI am calling you right now.â
âNo, I mean⌠Oh, Jesus, fuck, you know what I mean!â
For a moment, nobody spoke. And to Braxtonâs dismay, he saw you slowly take off your headphones, giving him a look of concerned confusion.
âChris.â Braxton sighed, looking for the right way to name whatever the hell he was feeling. âYou think I got married and didnât tell you?â
âWell, if youâre asking about the probabilityââ
âChristian. Christian.â Braxton leaned forward, lowering his voice. âI didnât get married in Vegas. Didnât get married anywhere. Didnât hold Elvis at gunpoint, didnât kidnap a Shaolin monk or a priest. I saved a crazy girl from a trigger-happy Armenian who signs my goddam paychecks.â
Christian went quiet and Braxton could tell he was mulling it over. He shot you one more glance and got up.
âAlright, listen,â he walked to the bathroom and locked the door, âthis ainât fair. You donât call me, you donât⌠Nothinâ, and now you call me because what? What is it you want me to do here?â
âSheâs there right now,â Christian said, completely ignoring that entire speech.
âWhat?âÂ
âI heard you go to the other room.â
âIt ainât like that.â
âIt is exactly like that.â
âIt is exactly like that,â Braxton mocked him in a high-pitched voice.
âStop doing that.â
âStop doing that.â
âBraxton.â
âBraxton.â
âFine. I donât understand,â Christian finally admitted. âBut next time, invite me to the fake wedding. Iâll bring a gift.â
Braxton sighed and shook his head, defeated. âYouâre a real asshole, you know that?â
âI fail to see howââ
âStart with settinâ the date for meeting me and actually showing up, now how âbout that?â
Braxton winced as soon as the words escaped his mouth. He hated that. Hated letting himself get emotionally eviscerated by a phone call.
âWe went camping last year,â Christian offered after a moment and Braxton could tell, even through the monotone, his brother was scrambling.
âGreat, Chris. Thatâs great.â He leaned his forehead against the door and bumped it against it, once. Twice. âUnlimited goddamn money between us and you still do this shit.â
They both went quiet after that and Braxton honestly thought Christian hung up.
But no.
âIâm trying to understand,â Christian said.
Braxton sighed. âWell, stop trying to understand and just⌠I donât know, listen to me?â
âI am listening,â Christian replied, confused. âAnd I know that itâs important. You definitely sound like itâs important.â
âYou⌠You canât keep auditing my life, okay?â
âI am auditing your life,â Christian confirmed. âHow else am I supposed to keep tabs on you?â
Braxton opened his mouth, ready to fire back something that would burn the bridge for another six months, but then he chose not to. This was not what he wanted, not the words he kept waiting to hear, even after twenty years of silence. But maybe this was the best they could manage.
âJesus.â Braxton laughed. âYou sound like Dad.â
âLow blow.â
âWasnât meant to be.â Braxton banged his head against the door again, harder this time. âForget it. Forget I called you.â
âYou didnât call me. I called you.â
âEven worse.â
Christian exhaled. It sounded vaguely nervous, though with him, it was hard to tell. âBraxton.â
âWhat?â
âI am happy for you.â
Braxton stood there, phone still pressed to his ear, feeling like a dog that just went ten rounds around the block chasing his own tail.
âHappy for me,â he repeated.
âI know you donât want to tell me, so I wonât ask.â
âAlright, okay, you can ask,â Braxton said quickly, way too quickly for the grumbling tone he was trying to pull. âCâmon. Ask me.â
There was another moment of silence. Braxton hesitated between actually answering truthfully or hanging up.
âTell me about her,â Christian said finally.Â
And for him, that was basically emotional.
Braxton let out a dry laugh. âSheâs⌠A pain in my ass.â
âSounds vaguely familiar.â
âHa. Funny.â But Braxton smiled this time and it felt less painful. âSheâs⌠Smart. Hates people. Kind of like you, actually.â
âWell, most hackers display some variety of anti-social behaââ
âNo, nope, none of that, shut up,â Braxton grunted. âWhat else⌠Oh, yeah, and sheâs mouthy. And I know she likes her laptop more than me.â
âYou like her.â
Maybe Braxton was kidding himself, but he could have sworn Christian sounded softer now.Â
âIâŚâ Braxton scrubbed a hand over his face, pacing the small bathroom. âYeah. I donât know what the fuck Iâm doinâ, Chris. She needed help. I helped. Now IâmâŚâ
âMarried.â
Christian let out this small chuckle then and Braxton knew he must have been hallucinating.Â
âDid you just make a joke?â
âI am capable of humor, Braxton.â
âOh, I know youâre capable, okay, I know you are. Youâre just savinâ the battery.â
âDoes she know?â Christian asked.
âKnow what?â
âAbout us. Dad. The wholeâŚâ
Braxton winced.
âWhat the hell, Chris? No! And sheâs not gonna.â
âBraxtonââ
âNo, Chris. Thatâs not⌠Thatâs not part of this. Iâm not gonna sit there with her, mixinâ trauma like itâs a goddamn cocktail party of âwho went through more shitâ.â
Christian paused, but then:
âUnderstood.â
Braxton leaned his back against the bathroom door, suddenly exhausted by all this. âYouâre really not gonna give me shit about this?â
âI believe I am doing just that,â Christian corrected. âJust inefficiently.â
Braxton smiled despite his best efforts. âOkay. Good talk.âÂ
âTake care of yourself, Braxton.â
âI probably wonât.â
He hung up and opened the door to find you standing right there, headphones still around your neck. You were looking right at him and he didnât know what to do with himself.Â
âEverything okay?â you asked.
âYeah. Family shit.â Braxton stepped right past you, trying to put distance between you two. He needed a drink. He needed ten drinks.
âYou got a real wife somewhere?â
Braxton shot you a sharp look. âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â
âNothing,â you replied fast, too fast. âJust sounded intense in there.â
He didnât know what to do with that so decided not to touch it. Just in case it blew up right in his face.Â
âYeah,â he rasped, âitâs how he talks.â
âOh.â You took the headphones off and threw them on the bed. âYour brother? The Accountant.â
Braxtonâs frown deepened. You felt more and more comfortable around him. He slowly came to realize, the two of you would just.. Hang out these days. Like real people do. Sometimes there wouldnât even be a job debrief involved.
Braxton clenched his teeth. âYou been digging?â
âPlease.â You rolled your eyes and sat back down in the armchair by the window. âLike I need to dig. The manâs a myth. Basically a folklore cryptid.â
âThe what now?â he asked.
You smirked, looking far too pleased with yourself. âYour brotherâs a ghost story contractors tell each other to feel better about their shitty hacking.â
âMy brother,â Braxton grabbed the bourbon bottle from the dresser, âis not a fuckinâ ghost story.â
He poured himself a glass. Didnât offer you one.
âOkay,â you said quietly, having realized you just stepped on one hell of a mine of a touchy subject.
âOkay?â Braxton looked down at you, still frowning. âThatâs it?â
âWhy, you want me to make you more uncomfortable?â You winced. âDonât make it weird.â
âGoddamn it, Legs.â He shook his head and downed half his drink. âItâs already weird.â
âI disagree.â You opened the laptop again, obviously unaffected by whatever the hell was wrong with him. âUgh. Can you hand me myâŚ?â You pointed to the bed and Braxton rolled his eyes.
âYou gotta stop throwinâ your shit around,â he muttered then moved to hand you your headphones.
âWhy? You literally live in a hotel, not like Iâm moving your favorite trinkets from the mantlepiece.â
âI donât have trinkets.â
âI mean, kinda.â You typed something then pointed to the coffee table and Braxtonâs chaotic little arsenal scattered on it.
âNo, thatâs⌠Thatâs different.âÂ
âHow?â You adjusted your glasses and smirked. âOh, âcause itâs guns so itâs manly trinkets?â
Braxtonâs eyes were still dark and stormy, but his mouth twitched. âYou done?â
âNever.â You paused. âUnless Iâm actually pissinâ you off, sometimes I canât tell with people, in which case yes, Iâm done.â
Braxton stared at you for a long moment after that, disarmed. âNah,â he muttered. âYouâre not pissinâ me off.â
âCouldâve fooled me.â
âCouldnât fool a blind man at a poker game right now,â he grumbled and set his glass down. âItâs just⌠Weird. This whole thing.â
âWhat whole thing?â you muttered, still typing.
He gestured vaguely between the two of you. âThis. Us. Whatever the fuck this is.â
You stopped typing. âYou mean the fake marriage that somehow became a real⌠fake marriage?â
âDonât say it like that.âÂ
âLike what?â
âLike everythingâs a joke.â
You went quiet for a long, confused moment.
âBut it is,â you said, then set the laptop and the headphones down. âOkay, see, this is why the human factor in relationships thoroughly fucking sucks.â
Braxtonâs eyebrows shot up. âThe human⌠What other relationships are we talking about here?â
âWell, if you were a hard drive for example, I could disassemble you top to bottom, take you apart right on that table and see the insides, but youâre not, so. I got no clue.âÂ
A soft, incredulous laugh escaped him and you frowned, unsure what the hell was so funny. Youâve never seen that man smile like thatâso unguarded.Â
âJesus, that is the weirdest pick-up line I heard in my life, Legs.â
âYouâre making fun of me.âÂ
âDamn right I am.â He approached you, slowly, like he wasnât entirely sure you wouldnât bolt. âYou canât just⌠You canât just say shit like that and expect people to know what you mean.â
âI donât expect people to know what I mean,â you shot back, defensive now. You took a step back. âThatâs why I donât talk to people.â
âYeah, well.â He stalked you like a tiger now. âYouâre talkinâ to me now.â
âUnfortunately, since I think you completely misunderstood that last bit.âÂ
âThe one where you wanna take me apart on that table?â Braxton nodded, like that settled anything about it.Â
âI mean, I donâtâŚ!â You frowned and then it dawned on you. âI mean. Is it too late to ask if you came with a manual in the box?â
He laughed and shook his head in disbelief. âNo, darlinâ. Iâd probably be the model they recalled for beinâ defective.â
âYouâre not fucking defective.â The words came out before you could stop them. âYouâre just⌠YouâreâŚâ
âYeah.â He was still grinning. âThatâs one way to put it.â
Finally, he just shook his head and reached for you. âCâmere.â
You didnât move. âWhy?â
ââCause Iâm askinâ you to. That enough?â
It really shouldnât have been that hard, but it was. You froze. Finally he just closed the gap between you and was close enough for you to notice just how dark his eyes were, close enough to see the scar that cut through his left eyebrow, close enough for him to just lean in and kiss you like this was the most obvious thing in the world.
Braxton kissed like everything else he didâdirect, with a touch of overwhelming. But he made it easy for you. There was absolutely no hidden subtext youâd have to worry about.Â
So you didnât pull back. Didnât try to reconsider about seventy-nine times like you normally would.
When he finally broke the kiss, Braxton didnât go far. His forehead rested against yours, his breathing ragged.
âThat answer your question?â he muttered.
You blinked up at him, lips parted, your mind miles away. âI didnât ask a question.â
âSure you did.â He smirked. âMy answerâs âyesâ.â
Some months passed and you were still ridiculously happyâsomething you never suspected could happen. Sure, Braxton lived in hotels and never settled down anywhere because his personal level of dysfunction told him he didnât deserve it. You had been forced to settle down because your server farm required too much maintenance.
But you also hated cooking, cleaning, and picking out bedsheets. All of the things the hotel could take off your hands with a smile. So, all of a sudden, you never had to think about chores again. Ever.
Or at least as long as this thing between you and Braxton lasted. And something deep inside you desperately wished for it to last. It shouldnât have worked out so well between you and yet it did. Two dysfunctional sections of code spliced in the middle got haphazardly glued together, and voilĂ âyou were the most functional youâve ever been.Â
Because the thing about Braxton was, he didnât care about cooking, not really. He was not the kind to roam IKEA for hours choosing a bedding, he didnât know what the hell a threadcount even was. There was no mess to clean or dinners to prep. In fact, the line between âhotel housekeepingâ and âBraxtonâs tolerance for squalorâ was alarmingly thin.Â
The first time you realized this was working, you were elbows-deep in a server breach at 3 AM, and Braxton walked in from a jobâwith blood on his hands and a duffel full of guns.
He didnât turn the main light on, just kissed the top of your head and left you to strain your eyesight even further. You did your best work half-blind after all. When he finally got out of the shower, he didnât even bother with clothes or towels. He tossed you a protein bar with uncanny precision and you flinched, but took it. He collapsed next to you on the bed. You kept typing. He reached for your hand, annoyed at the lack of attention and it made you giggle.Â
âCanât do this one-handed, you know,â you muttered, fingers tangled in his hair.Â
âYeah, youâre gonna have to.â His face was buried in the pillow but you could tell he was smiling. That certain kind of self-assured grin that disarmed you every time.Â
âTough day at the office, honey?â you quipped.
He grunted. You already learned his grunts. There was the âIâm annoyedâ grunt, the âIâm amusedâ grunt, and the âIâm clocking that guy right there if he wonât stop talking to you.âÂ
This was the middle one.
âYou want room service?â he asked after a while.
âNo.â
âWhy not?âÂ
âItâs three am, I donât want them to hate us.â
âFair enough.â He sighed and turned on his side. âThese rooms should really come with kitchens.â
You smirked. âI believe thatâs called an apartment.â
âYeah, well.â Braxtonâs hand found your thigh under the laptop and stroked upwards, a possessive gesture that still made your stomach flip. âYou wanna get an apartment?â
âNo.â Your fingers froze over the keyboard. âWhat? Why?â
âAlright, okay,â he grumbled. âDonât make it weird.â
âYou made it weird.â You saved your progress and finally looked at him, noticing the way he looked at you. Just brazenly staring, like you were something to behold.
âApartments come with leases and nosy neighbors,â you remarked then put the laptop down on the floor and snuggled up against him. He switched off the nightstand lamp.
âAnd questions,â Braxton begrudgingly agreed, then put his arm around you.Â
âYeah.â You smiled. âQuestions like: âWhy does your boyfriend have a duffel bag full of assault rifles?ââ
âBoyfriend?â He leaned back and you could tell he was still smirking. âYou demoted me, Legs?â
You giggled and pulled him back into a tight embrace. âNo.â
âThink you did.â
You sighed. âYou canât still call me your âwork wifeâ if weâre sleeping together, Iâm pretty sure by now thatâd be a full-blown affair.â
He was quiet for so long you thought heâd drifted off. But then he had another thought:
âWe can get a house. Secure. Remote. Without any neighbors.â
A dangerous thought. The kind of thought that got people killed in your line of work.
âSo a bunker.â
âBasically.â
âRomantic.â
âYeah.â He squeezed your thigh again. âNow shut up and let me sleep.â
Then Braxton shifted, pulling you even closer, until your head tucked under his chin. And you let yourself consider these dangerous thoughts a little longer.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming