Page 1 of Private Exhibit (Gentleman Hackers #4)

DEVON CAMPBELL was dying.

Of course, he was always dying. His genetic condition absolutely guaranteed it. But in that particular moment, he was sure the end had finally arrived.

I'm not ready , he thought in a panic as his lungs refused to work. Oh gods. Not yet. Please! I'm not ready!

He looked down at himself, willing his diaphragm to move, willing oxygen into his body, but nothing happened. Somewhere in his damaged nervous system, a signal had stopped. He couldn't breathe.

This was it. The catastrophic attack that would end his life. Devon had always assumed his heart would simply stop beating one day, unable to send and receive the necessary signals to keep functioning. That was how it went for most people born with Ashworth-Grahams Disease.

But, no. His heart was still beating. He felt it racing, every thud seeming to reverberate in distress throughout his entire body while he slowly suffocated to death.

Devon opened his mouth to call for help, even knowing that help would be useless. There was nothing anybody could do.

It didn't matter, anyway. Without air, he couldn't speak.

Devon trembled as he leaned slightly to one side, trying to peek between the monitors that cluttered the dining table.

For lack of other space in the tiny apartment, he and his roommate, Oliver, used the table as a shared desk, their computers lined up back-to-back along its length.

Devon caught a glimpse of Oliver's face, twisted in concentration as the boy quickly scanned something on one of his screens.

In a fit of desperation, he slapped a hand down beside his keyboard.

Oliver gave a start and looked up, then gasped and shot out of his chair. “Dev?”

Devon's vision turned blotchy as Oliver ran around to his side of the table.

“Dev?” Oliver called again, the sound fading beneath the ringing in Devon's ears. “What's wrong?”

Devon weakly pointed at his chest, then tumbled right out of the chair and onto the floor.

“Dev!” Oliver shrieked. He grabbed Devon by the shoulders and shook him, asking, “What's wrong? Where is it?”

But Devon couldn't answer. He could barely even hear Oliver's voice anymore. And everything was turning dark and hazy, his vision tunneling down as the end barreled up on him.

Gods. Why now? He'd finally started to make some friends, something that had been nearly impossible for him all his life.

Of course, Hayden and Levi might not actually want to be his friends—maybe they were just being polite—but at least it felt like it could go that way.

And he'd finally gotten to meet the people who were supposed to have adopted him as a baby—who'd changed their minds when they found out about his disease—which meant he finally had a chance of closure for that abandonment.

But there were also so many things he'd never gotten to do.

Devon had never gotten to travel anywhere, always having to stay within a safe radius of a hospital.

Not that he truly liked the idea of traveling and having to deal with planning, packing, and crowds, but there were lots of places he desperately wanted to see.

Of course, he'd be able to see anything and everything once he was dead, his soul untethered from his body and free to go where he pleased, but it wouldn't be the same.

The sights and sounds and smells wouldn't hold the same quality.

He'd never gotten to learn how to drive, both because he couldn't afford a car and because it was simply too dangerous. Even with an autopilot function, it was too risky to operate a car when his entire body could go numb at any time.

Nor had Devon ever gotten to find his true passion or purpose.

Not really. The closest he came was working with the Gentleman Hackers Club.

Though completely anonymous, it was the only resemblance to family he'd ever known.

And he loved the work. The challenge. Hacking into places to test security so that it could be improved, making other people's lives and property safer.

So many people had saved his life over the years, and this seemed the only way to pay it forward.

Speaking of those people, Devon had never gotten to thank half of them for what they'd done for him. Two people, in particular. One man had saved his life back when he was a kid, then simply vanished. Devon had never been able to track him down. The man was like a ghost. A complete mystery.

And then there was Oliver. Patient, loyal Oliver.

Devon's only friend. They'd started out as a business arrangement—Devon providing room and board in exchange for Oliver taking care of him during his attacks—but over time, they'd become close.

Almost family. Devon owed him so much. He'd been determined to live long enough to make sure Oliver was on stable ground and could survive on his own once Devon was gone, but now it might be too late. Too late for so many things.

Devon sucked in a gasping, ragged breath.

Just like that, it was over. By some miracle, the signals managed to get through, allowing his lungs to work again. Devon curled up on his side, coughing and choking as his vision started to return and sound rushed back in.

“Dev?” Oliver gasped, squeezing his hand.

“I'm alright,” Devon croaked, then coughed again. He sank into the floor, panting. His entire body trembled as oxygen slowly circulated back through his system.

Oliver dropped onto his backside and ran both hands through his unruly red hair. “Gods almighty,” he breathed. “You seriously scared the shit out of me.”

“Scared myself,” Devon admitted. He closed his eyes and concentrated on taking a slow, deep breath, feeling every bit of expansion in his lungs, straining them to the max before he let the breath back out.

Gods. How could something so simple feel so damned good?

Oliver squeezed his hand again. “It's getting worse, isn't it?”

Devon hesitated a moment before he nodded.

The attacks were getting more frequent. That was to be expected.

The longer he lived, the more his nervous system would fail.

Most people with Ashworth-Grahams didn't live as long as he had, but for those who did, most of them wound up spending their last years confined to a wheelchair or a bed. Devon was lucky and he knew it.

But he also knew the end could still come at any time. He could feel fine one moment, and then his heart could simply stop in the next.

And that would be it.

Devon slowly got up, with Oliver right there keeping his hands out in case Devon collapsed again. Luckily, Devon managed to regain his feet without incident. He gave Oliver a nod of thanks, then slowly sank back into his chair with a heavy sigh.

Oliver hesitated beside him before going back to his side of the table.

They sat in silence for a long moment, until Devon heard five slow, deliberate keystrokes from just beyond his monitors.

He couldn't help smiling as he turned to the screen that displayed the chatroom for the Gentleman Hackers Club.

On the left side of the screen was a string of running code, the task list—unfortunately, empty—as well as the list of users.

At the moment, only Devon, Rogue , and their mysterious leader, Grim , were logged in.

The rest of the screen was the main chat box, where the whole group could converse. That part had been idle for hours.

But at the bottom of his screen, a minimized private chat box flashed red, indicating new activity.

Devon clicked on it, seeing a new message from Rogue .

Rogue : Hi.

Devon breathed a laugh. Five keystrokes. Shift , H , I , Period , Enter . Five little keystrokes that had taken their relationship from a business arrangement to an actual friendship, once they realized they were both part of the anonymous group.

He remembered it clearly. The two of them had been sitting just as they were now, keeping to their respective sides of the table.

Devon had been chatting with Rogue , the one member of the club with whom he'd gotten close right from the start.

They could talk about anything and everything.

At least, within the confines of the group rules: Grim was adamant about none of the members offering nor asking for any personal information, protecting everyone's privacy and safety.

Across from him, Devon heard Oliver occasionally tapping away on his own keyboard, the two of them focused on their own individual pursuits.

Until the realization began to sink in. Every time Devon sent a message to Rogue , he'd hear Oliver start typing almost instantly. When Oliver stopped typing, a new message from Rogue would appear on his screen. Over and over, the same thing kept happening.

Finally, Oliver had peeked around his screen, looked Devon straight in the eyes, and executed those five little keystrokes. A moment later, the word Hi appeared in the chat box. One word, and they realized they weren't just roommates. They were also one another's digital best friend.

One little word that held so much meaning for both of them. Devon quickly replied.

Voy(ag)eur : Hi.

Oliver chuckled and went back to whatever he was working on.

Devon tried to do the same. For lack of any hacking jobs to complete, he'd been browsing the classified ad sites, looking for places to apply.

There wasn't much left. He'd already sent off several applications every day that week.

His entire work history was waiting tables, so he'd applied to a few restaurants from which he hadn't already been fired, but he wasn't holding his breath on those.

There was also a job at an answering service, but Devon honestly hoped he wouldn't get that one.

Talking on the phone all day sounded horrible.

Then there was the job post from University Hospital.

Morgue Assistant. Devon wasn't sure if it was brilliance or madness that made him apply there.

The job seemed to be mostly data entry, which Devon excelled at, but would it be too much of a morbid reminder?

Would he be able to handle facing death day after day?

On the other hand, would he be able to get Oliver some answers?

Devon peeked between their monitors, seeing his friend deep in concentration.

Poor Oliver had lost a friend, Dannika, to an apparent suicide a while back but had never found out how.

Let alone why . And Oliver had gotten himself into heaps of trouble, trying to answer those questions.

University Hospital's system wasn't unhackable, but Oliver had found no record of Dannika's autopsy that way.

Devon wondered if there was something Oliver had missed, something that could only be accessed straight through one of the hospital's own computers.

Working in the morgue might just give Devon the access he needed. He could try getting Oliver some closure.

One of two very important things Devon wanted to do for his friend before he died.

Devon paused, then switched screens and opened a secret file he kept on one of his computers. Just a text file, but he kept it doubly secured. Devon unlocked the encryption on the file and sat back, staring at the simple document as it filled his screen.

Death Wish List .

He started at the bottom, glancing at various items as his gaze slowly moved up the screen.

There was drive a car as well as walk through a starglass Gate .

Then he saw have sex and save enough money to leave for Oliver .

Devon winced. That last one was going to be impossible if he couldn't get another job.

Grim paid them very well, but considering they'd both lost their day jobs, they were barely making the rent lately as it was.

And that didn't even touch on all the debts Oliver had piled up, keeping him in a permanent state of struggle.

At the very top of the list was the one thing Devon wanted more than anything else in the world.

Fall in love .

Devon sighed. He wasn't going to live long enough for that to happen. And even if he did live long enough, he knew perfectly well that nobody would want him.

Nobody had ever wanted him.

He almost slammed a fist down on the table in frustration.

Damn it . It wasn't fair! He wanted to live.

To feel alive. Especially after that attack, being so sure the end had finally come.

He wanted to really feel his body. To know he was still amongst the living.

To really experience sights and sounds, smell and touch.

It sounded overwhelming and terrifying and glorious, all at once.

Devon closed the file, logged out of the Gentleman Hackers chatroom, and secured his computers before carefully standing up, testing his legs to make sure they could hold him.

“Oli?”

“ Hmmm ?”

Devon swallowed hard. “I'm going to the club.”

Oliver stopped what he was doing and went very still. After a moment, he slowly looked up, his eyes slightly widened and his jaw tense. “Dev…”

“You don't have to come with me this time,” Devon rushed to assure him. He knew Oliver would never want to set foot in that club again. It was the last place Dannika had been seen alive.

Oliver chewed his lip. “Are you sure?” He fidgeted. “Maybe…I could…wait outside?”

Devon shook his head. “I've gone to work on my own,” he reminded Oliver.

Granted, he'd never once gone to the club by himself, too worried that an attack might come and there would be nobody willing or able to help him.

With all the distractions there, it was entirely possible an attack would go unnoticed, and then it would be too late.

Still, Devon had to try. Even if all he managed to do was huddle against the wall and watch, it would have to be enough.

But— Gods! —he wanted so much more. Maybe, just this once, he might get lucky. Maybe someone would finally want to play with him. Touch him. Excite him. Make him feel alive in a way he'd never felt before.

The chances were slim at best, but he couldn't resist. He didn't want to die with so many things left unexperienced.

That night, he was determined to feel something new.