Page 30

Story: The Hacker

I followed, shoving a guy out of my way, my eyes never leaving her. The back door led to an alley, the air thick with dumpster rot and salt from the nearby harbor. Vivi stepped out, her tank top glowing under a flickering streetlamp, her curls a wild halo. She turned, leaning against the brick wall, her chest heaving, her grin pure trouble.
“You’re insane,” I said, slamming the door shut behind me, the bar’s noise muffled now. My hands were shaking, not from the fight but from her, from the need burning through me like a fever.
“Says the guy who climbed a bridge for me,” she said, stepping closer, her fingers trailing down my chest, leaving fire in their wake. “You’re not as cold as you think, Cipher.”
I grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head against the wall, my body pressing into hers. “You don’t know what I am,” I snarled, my mouth inches from hers, her heat seeping into me. “You don’t know what I’ve done for you.”
Her eyes searched mine, fearless, hungry. “Then tell me.”
I kissed her, hard and desperate, my mouth claiming hers like I could pour every ounce of my obsession into her. She kissed me back, fierce and unyielding, her tongue a spark that set me ablaze. Her wrists twisted in my grip, not to escape but to pull me closer, her nails digging into my skin. The demon roared, and I let it, my hands sliding to her hips, lifting her until her legs wrapped around me, her body a perfect fit against mine.
“You’re mine,” I growled against her lips, the words a vow, a curse. “No more bridges. No more bars. Just me.”
She bit my lip, hard enough to draw blood, and laughed, the sound vibrating through me. “You think you can cage me, Elias? Try it.”
I spun us, pressing her harder against the wall, my hands tearing at her tank top, the fabric ripping under my fingers. Her skin was hot, smooth, a canvas I wanted to mark, to claim. She arched into me, her breath ragged, her hands fisting in my hair, pulling me down to her throat. I bit her, not gently, tasting salt and jasmine, her moan a sound I’d kill for again.
“Fuck, Vivi,” I rasped, my hands sliding under her shorts, finding her wet, ready, her heat driving me to the edge. “You’re gonna ruin me.”
“Good,” she whispered, her voice a blade, her legs tightening around me. “I want you ruined.”
I didn’t think, didn’t care about the alley, the bar, the world. I shoved her shorts down, my jeans following, the cool brick against my palms as I lifted her again. She was fire, liquid and untamed, and when I thrust into her, it was like diving into a storm. Her nails raked my back, her moans loud enough to wake the dead, and I didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. Every thrust was a claim, every gasp a surrender, our bodies slamming together like we were trying to break each other.
“Harder,” she demanded, her voice raw, her eyes locked on mine, green and blazing. I gave her what she wanted, my hips driving into her, the wall shaking with the force of us. The alley was a blur, the harbor’s pulse a distant echo, the world reduced to her—her heat, her taste, her fucking defiance.
“You’re mine,” I said again, my voice breaking, my hands gripping her thighs, bruising her skin. “Say it.”
She laughed, wild and unhinged, her head falling back. “Make me.”
I kissed her, swallowing her laugh, my tongue claiming every inch of her mouth. She clenched around me, her body trembling, and I felt it—the edge, the fall, the moment she broke. Her moan was a scream, her nails drawing blood, and I followed her, my release a roar that tore through me, leaving me raw, exposed, hers.
We stayed there, panting, her legs still wrapped around me, her forehead against mine. The alley was quiet now, the bar’s chaos a distant hum, the streetlamp flickering like it was giving up. Her breath was warm against my lips, her eyes half-closed, sated but still dangerous.
“You’re trouble,” I said, voice hoarse, my hands still on her, unwilling to let go.
“You love it,” she whispered, her lips brushing mine, soft now, almost tender.
I didn’t answer, didn’t need to. She was right, and we both knew it. I’d killed for her, chased her, fucked her in an alley like a man possessed, and I’d do it again. The demon was quiet, but it wasn’t gone. It was waiting, watching, ready to rage if anyone tried to take her from me.
I set her down, steadying her as she adjusted her shorts, her tank top hanging in tatters. She laughed, low and warm, and pulled my jacket over her shoulders, the fabric swallowing her frame. “You owe me a shirt,” she said, smirking.
“I owe you nothing,” I said, but my voice was softer now, the edge dulled by her. I grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the SUV parked at the alley’s mouth. “Let’s go.”
“Where?” she asked, falling into step beside me, her fingers lacing with mine like it was natural, like we hadn’t just fucked each other senseless against a wall.
“My place,” I said, opening the passenger door. “No bars, no bridges. Just you and me.”
She slid inside, her grin back, sharp and reckless. “You think you can keep me, Cipher?”
I leaned in, my lips brushing her ear, my voice a low growl. “I already have.”
I slammed the door, rounded the hood, and got behind the wheel. The engine roared, the city’s neon fading as we drove toward Dominion Hall. My phone buzzed, another alert from my scripts, but I ignored it. The hackers were gone, the network secure, but Vivi was the real threat—the glitch I couldn’t fix, the storm I didn’t want to. I’d built my life on control, on systems, on knowing every outcome. But her? She was chaos, and I was addicted.
The road stretched out, Charleston’s pulse a low hum in my veins. Vivi leaned back, her legs propped on the dash, my jacketslipping off one shoulder. She was mine, for now, and I’d tear the world apart to keep her. The demon whispered, sated but never satisfied, and I let it. Because Vivienne Laveau wasn’t just trouble—she was my apocalypse, and I was ready to burn.
11
VIVIENNE