Dangerous Games (Aegis Group, #3) (2 page)

“People are really upset about Drudge VII. Like, doxxing and death threats upset. That’s why Crystal couldn’t come. She posted this pissed-off vlog last week that really riled people up and Miranda, our boss, told her it was probably better if she stayed home to take care of her diabetic cat. We both know Miranda was really telling her not to come. Anyway, some guys posted her parent’s address on-line and they’ve been getting weird mail.”

“Wait, guys are so pissed off you made Dusty and his brothers...chicks?”

“Uh...yeah. I’ve already had three copies of D7 thrown at me, one guy dumped a bottle of water on my luggage and I skipped one panel because there was an angry mob of fan boys waiting to waylay me.” She rolled her eyes and side-stepped, bumping him with her shoulder. “Sorry.”

“This happened here?” Zain came to the conventions to unwind. To forget about people dying, the friends he’d lost and the parts of himself he’d left behind. That a bunch of douchnozzles were so bent out of shape about a digital rendering of a human being’s supposed gender was the most ridiculous and selfish thing he’d heard of since the God damned War on Christmas. He couldn’t even wrap his head around the doxxing. This was the kind of stuff he handled on a daily basis. It didn’t belong here.

Zain took two more steps before he realized Andrea had stopped. He turned and the hair on the back of his neck rose. Her face was pale, lips parted, eyes wide. It was the same fear-stricken expression she’d looked at him with in the elevator—but worse. Ten times worse. It was the kind of expression clients had at their worst, usually when they called to hire one of their guys, or a whole team.

He followed her gaze to a door a couple feet down the hall. It was cracked open and the lights were on inside.

Zain stepped in front of her, shielding Andrea with his body. He didn’t need to be told this wasn’t a good thing. His awareness switched to overdrive, every little pressure change registering across the hairs on his neck and the slightest sound tickling his ears.

“Is that your room?” he asked.

“Yes.” Her voice cracked.

“Did you leave your room unlocked?” He kept his voice low and crossed to the adjacent wall, watching the narrow crack for any hint of movement.

“No. I always lock the door.”

“Stay right there.” He held his hand up as he reached the door and peered inside.

Shit.

Someone wanted to harass Andrea Clancy, and like hell he was going to let that happen.

Kevin Lee took the stairs two at a time.

The designated rendezvous time bore down on him with all the expectation of a first date. The messenger bag thudded against his thigh, the weight a reminder of the task ahead.

Andrea Clancy was a stepping stone. A piece of a greater puzzle. It just so happened that she made shitty games that needed to be dumped. And fast. If this plan worked, it would be smooth sailing out of the horrible mess that was D7 and on to bigger and better things. There was no coming back from that game, only moving forward.

Kevin stopped his descent at the second floor of the convention center, pausing to peer through the glass pane. The stairwell let out into the main convention area, but at this hour, most of the attendees were in panels, and the halls were nearly deserted.

He pushed the door open, adjusted the laptop bag, and strode out into the wide thoroughfare, his head up and shoulders back. The few people scattered about the hall were too busy on their phones to pay him any mind.

A few turns down smaller halls and he arrived at the final meet spot with thirty seconds to spare. Kevin carefully pushed the door open, mindful to make as little noise as possible. A man in dark gray slacks and a polo shirt stood at the front of an empty room. Judging by the boxes, it was some sort of con storage space.

“Sir?” Kevin kept his voice low, hesitating just inside the door.

The man twisted, a phone to his ear.

Kevin nodded and took up a post by the entrance, listening for the sound of someone approaching. He’d spent a lifetime waiting by doors. First, for his family, praying they’d let him out of the closet and maybe give him something to eat. Later, he’d been at the mercy of the juvenile detention center, and the hours out of his solitary confinement. Along the way, he’d met a misplaced young man and their paths had never quite separated. Speckles hadn’t belonged in the detention hall, not like Kevin. Speckles didn’t fight, he didn’t steal. It was a wonder that Speckles had been there at all. They were from two different worlds, Kevin from the wrong side of town, destined for a life prone to being behind bars, and Speckles from a world of privilege and plenty.

Their paths shouldn’t have crossed.

And yet they had.

It’d been a Thursday. They got fresh fruit on Thursdays, and both Kevin and Speckles had kitchen duty. Kevin had felt sorry for the older boy, though not enough to intervene when the others picked on him. At least not in the beginning. Speckles had been smaller. He’d been pudgy and wore glasses that never quite stayed on his face right, always hanging at a haphazard angle. That morning, Speckles had offered Kevin half an orange, and the rest was history.

No one had ever offered Kevin something for nothing.

That bit of kindness had set their paths on a parallel journey. Together, they’d found freedom. As long as no one dug up Speckle’s backyard.

“Did you get it?” Speckles’ sharp tone snapped Kevin out of the memory.

“Here.” He handed the bag over.

“Excellent.” Speckles unzipped the bag and slid the laptop out, setting it on top of a stack of boxes.

“Will it be enough?”

“No, but it’s a start.” Speckles fired up the machine. “I’ll need you to hack it, get me access to the C drive.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“You’ll be at the panel in twenty minutes, right?”

“Yes, and everything is set.”

“Perfect. I got you on the list for tonight. Is everything ready for then?”

Kevin patted his pocket.

“Good. Good.” Speckles grinned. He didn’t wear glasses anymore, hell, he wouldn’t even acknowledge his old nickname, but to Kevin, Speckles would always be the one person who gave Kevin a leg up when no one else would.

A
ndrea stared at the brown coat stretched over wide shoulders, her head spinning.

In what world did a sexy, steampunk Captain Hook come to her rescue?

And he liked her game.

Game.

Oh no.

No, no, no, no, no.

Her heart pulsed in her throat and her fingers tingled. She crept after her would-be protector, sticking close to the wall. Yeah, he’d said to stay put, but damn it. That was her hotel room.

Captain Hook pushed the door open, staying clear of the opening and peered into the room.

She held her breath and strained to catch any sounds. Was someone in there? Had housekeeping left the door open? What if she’d left it open?

Crystal was going to kill her dead.

“I told you to stay put.”

Andrea glanced up at Hook and swallowed, torn between lock-herself-in-a-closet fear and help-me-you’re-my-only-hope lust. His face was fractured from life, the scars writing a history on his face she couldn’t read. Yet there was a handsomeness about him that was more than just surface level that already had her forgetting the marks. Was the scarring real? Or was it all an elaborate part of his costume? With some of the cosplayers, she couldn’t tell.

The lines around Hook’s mouth deepened and she scuttled backward, nearly tripping over her hem.

Wow. Hot and scary.

“Stay. Right. Here,” he said.

She swallowed and nodded, twisting a handful of the white fabric in her hands.

Hook crossed the threshold and again she stopped breathing, straining to catch any hint of what was going on in her room. There were no crashes, no yelling, just silence. Whoever he was, he moved like a cat.

Was her room trashed? Could he be perving over her underwear? Was he dead?

Andrea edged forward.

One little peek couldn’t hurt, right?

She stretched out her neck and leaned forward until she could glimpse the inside of her hotel suite.

“Oh...my...God...”

Andrea’s jaw dropped and before she knew it, she’d followed him into the ruins of her room.

The sheets were stripped off the beds, the mattresses pushed onto the floor. Tufts of white stuffing rolled around like tumbleweeds. Her clothing was strewn around the room. She was pretty sure the smear on the wall came from her toiletries.

“Damn it, I told you to stay out of here. I don’t know if it’s safe or not, yet.” Hook closed in on her, wrapped his big hand around her arm, and practically dragged her into the bathroom. “Stay here.”

She was far too shocked by the state of her room to disobey.

From her vantage point, she watched as Hook paced the room, crouching to get a look at this or that. Her vocal chords were frozen or blown, because she couldn’t make a sound.

Someone had done this. Destroyed her things. Picked her out. She’d thought she’d seen the worst of the gaming hate...but nothing compared to this violent act.

None of it fazed Hook. He inspected everything, yet touched nothing. The way he moved, how he approached every bit of the carnage...this wasn’t the first time he’d seen something like this.

Hook pulled out his phone and aimed it at the beds.

Was that...her bra hanging off the lamp?

She squinted and leaned forward, as if that would help.

Oh God, it was her R2D2 bra!

Andrea sat down on the edge of the bathtub and buried her face in her hands. The tight feeling in her chest cinched down until she could barely inhale.

This was worse than a nightmare. Ever since they’d unveiled Drudge VII—or D7 as they’d begun calling it—things had changed. She’d gone from being a name on the credits reel to the center of attention. Miranda had pushed both Andrea and Crystal into the spotlight. Miranda was so excited about what they were doing. As women gamers, it’d fulfilled one of their greatest ambitions to create a game with kickass, non-sexualized women are the forefront. They’d gotten so caught up with their vision for the project that they never stopped to consider how the real world would react to it. People hated them. And what was worse? Crystal wasn’t there to pop Andrea’s spine into place this time.

What would Crystal do? Probably stomp through the wreckage and sneer at what a crappy job the vandal had done.

“Hey. Hey, don’t cry.”

Hook knelt in front of her, one hand on her knee.

Air squeaked down her dry throat.

“Easy.” Hook squeezed her, his dark, intense gaze ordering her body to behave. “Deep breath.”

She stared at the ceiling and drew several, short breaths, each one longer than the last.

Why her?

This wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right.

She wanted to whine, to wail at the injustice of it all. All she’d wanted to do was create something that entertained people. D7 was never supposed to be a social commentary. It was a game.

A game she was supposed to be talking about...

“I’m supposed to be at a panel in...” She blinked the blurriness away, refusing to acknowledge the tears, and checked her phone. “In twenty minutes. I was just coming up to change...”

His lips pressed into a tight line, but his eyes were filled with sympathy.

Two men in suits with hotel nameplates on their left breasts stepped into the carnage of her suite.

“Hang on, okay?” Hook glanced at them and squeezed her knee again.

She snagged his sleeve, but got her fingers around the decorative hook instead. It was far more solid and imposing than she’d realized earlier. He was either really committed to the costume...or the hook wasn’t for looks.

“You okay?” He sank back onto his knee, his entire focus centered on her.

There was something comforting about his presence. As if she knew he was bigger and badder than whatever was out there waiting for her. He was her paladin. The knight of justice.

And she needed to get her head screwed on straight.

He was a dude she’d met in the elevator, who also happened to be a cool guy, unlike a lot of the idiots she’d interacted with so far.

“What’s your name?” she asked. Calling him Captain Hook was sexy in her head but she couldn’t go around referring to him as Hook.

“Zain.” His smile was tight. “It’s going to be okay, Andrea. I promise. I’m going to take care of this.”

She wasn’t as certain, but she nodded anyway. He left her perched on the edge of the tub and went to speak to the hotel security. She should be talking to them, it was her room after all, but for once, it was nice to let someone else handle things. At least while she figured out what to do next.

The security staff and Zain kept their voices low, but she caught words here and there, a bit of a mention about her. She wasn’t strong, like Crystal. Without Zain happening by, Andrea didn’t know what she’d have done. Rock in the corner and cry, probably.

“Ms. Clancy?” An older gentleman leaned into the bathroom.

“Y-yes?” She straightened and curled her hands into fists to keep them from shaking.

“We’re very sorry about this invasion of privacy. We will get the details to Mr. Lloyd. Call us if you need anything.”

Mr. Lloyd?

Before she could muddle through exactly what was happening, the two gentlemen were gone and sexy Captain Hook was closing the room door.

“The lock is completely disengaged.” He closed the door and opened it without twisting the handle.

“What am I going to do?” She groaned and stared at the ceiling.

She should have never come to this damn convention. Promoting the game was marketing. She was a designer. Putting her in the spotlight just because she had mammary glands and a uterus was a ridiculous solution to the uproar they’d caused.

Zain’s boots thumped on the tile. He was a pillar of calm in an otherwise turbulent environment.

“Is that a rhetorical question?” he asked.

“Yes. No. Maybe?” She dropped her hands. “Part of me just wants to run home and part of me hates that idea. We worked so hard on D7. It’s a great game. This isn’t fair.”