Page 5

Pippen

July 4, 2023, Soulless Sinners’ compound,

While seated in my cramped office at the clubhouse, going over mundane stupid shit, the unexpected and aggressive entrance of Montana jolted me when he powerfully kicked open the door and flung a backpack onto the table in front of me.

“There is a computer in that bag. I want to know what’s on it.”

“Whose is it?”

“Sypher’s.”

I stared at the president of the Soulless Sinners, my eyes wide with disbelief, as if he had just lost his goddamn mind while I watched Payne drag Danny past my office. I didn’t know what the hell was going on or how Danny happened to be here, but whatever happened wasn’t good.

The second he saw me, he slowly shook his head.

Shit.

Something was wrong.

“PIPPEN!”

Blinking, I muttered, “What?”

“Computer?”

There was absolutely no chance in hell I could hack into Sypher’s computer. It would be like breaking into the Kremlin, the Vatican, and into my brother’s little black book all at the same time—fucking impossible!

Snapping his fingers, the angry man growled, “Computer. How long to crack it open?”

“Um, about that. I won’t be able to.”

“Why is that?”

“’Cause it’s Sypher’s. He has it rigged. If anyone tampers with it, it’s designed to delete all the information. The only way into his computer is with a twenty-eight key code he designed, which changes every hour. It’s a rather genius algorithm. I heard NASA offered to buy his code for millions.”

“SHAME!” the man roared.

Moments later, Shame walked over.

“You bellowed?”

“Help Pippen get into Sypher’s computer.”

Shame chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. “And just how in the hell did you get your hands on that kid’s computer? You didn’t kill him, did you? ‘Cause that’s just gonna piss everyone off.”

“Little pissant took off with Illyria. Picked him up at the airport.”

“Then get the kid to give you the password.”

“Not a password. A revolving twenty-eight-character code.”

Shame gasped. “No fucking way. What’s the time parameter?”

“Every hour.”

“Wow.” Shame grinned, stepping further into the room. “So, is it a set algorithm or set on a timer?”

“Not sure.” I shrugged. “He created it his freshman year. Pissed off all his teachers when he wouldn’t tell them how he did it.”

“Montana,” Shame began. “Pippen and I could work for years to crack that code and never get close to discovering what it is. Your best bet is to get Sypher to unlock it himself.”

“Little shit is in the mailroom, where he is staying until hell freezes over. Just fucking figure it out,” the irate man said, storming off and leaving me alone with Shame.

Taking Sypher’s computer out of his backpack, I laid it on the table as Shame stood beside me, arms crossed over his chest, his eyes glued to the computer like it was the Holy fucking Grail.

In a way it was.

“Go ahead, kid. Open it.”

Shaking my head, I stepped back. “You open it.”

The hour was late when I exited my small office, and despite hours of work, Sypher’s computer remained a frustrating enigma, its secrets hidden just as well as when Montana had initially given it to me.

I shook my head in disbelief and found myself struggling to comprehend several perplexing aspects of the situation. Like, why would Montana have Sypher in the mailroom? More importantly, why would Ghost allow it? Born Golden, Sypher would receive his cut after he graduated college. And that was another thing. Montana didn’t have jurisdiction over Sypher because he was still in school. Kids were strictly off-limits.

Well, that’s what Danny told me.

It wasn’t like he was a patched brother.

Lost in thought while trying to solve the problem, I failed to notice my surroundings, causing me to bump into Payne, who glared at me in response to my clumsiness.

“Problem, Prospect?”

“No, sir.” I gulped.

“Not a sir, Prospect.”

“Yes, sir.”

Groaning, Payne just shook his head and walked around me.

Turning, I asked, “Payne, can I ask you something?”

“What?” the club enforcer growled.

“Are biker rules regarding kids the same across the board, or are they different for each club?”

“Depends. How old is the kid?”

“Uh, twenty-three, but still in school.”

“Biker Federation rules state, regardless of age, if the kid is still in school, they are untouchable. Why?”

“But Montana has Sypher in the mailroom.”

“Because he’s a special case.”

“Why?”

“You always ask so many questions, Prospect?”

“Only when I don’t understand the logistics.”

“Sypher is a pain in the ass. Plain and simple. Montana hates the kid. Shithead is always sticking his nose in shit that doesn’t concern him. Montana’s only teaching him a lesson.”

“But—”

Walking away, Payne shouted, “Leave it alone, Prospect!”

I wished it were that simple, but it wasn’t.

It never would be for me.

Unbeknownst to all of the brothers, I harbored a small, yet persistent compulsion that I had not revealed to them. It wasn’t anything alarming, merely a series of minor inconveniences, like a quiet, persistent need to fix and make things better. Especially when that need involved a particular infuriating individual.

I knew I was a glutton for punishment, but fuck it, I couldn’t help myself. There wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for him.

Even if it meant saving him from himself.

Forgoing my original plan to stay upstairs, I proceeded down the stairs, casting furtive glances behind me at intervals to make certain my progress went unobserved. They prohibited me from accessing the mailroom because I was only a prospect, and not yet a full patched or branded brother. That was one of the first things that the brothers drilled into me.

I wasn’t stupid. I knew what they did down there. I didn’t care, but they had Sypher down there and I wanted to make sure he was okay.

Reaching into my pocket, I retrieved the small, plastic remote, its smooth surface cool against my fingertips, aimed it at the security camera’s menacing red blinking light in the corner and pressed the button. With my back pressed against the cold, damp wall, I watched the red light vanish into the sudden darkness. Rushing down the long hall, the fluorescent lights hummed overhead as I entered the mailroom and saw Sypher sprawled on the small bed, his hands tucked under his head, gazing at the ceiling.

“You shouldn’t have come down here. I’m fine.”

“You are in the Soulless Sinners’ mailroom. You are not fine.”

“Won’t be in here long. So it doesn’t matter.”

“Montana gave me your laptop. He wants me to break in and tell him what’s on it.”

“Good luck with that.”

“How are you even here? I thought you were still at MIT.”

“I was. Now I’m here.”

“Why?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He sighed then rolled over, turning his back on me.

Shaking my head, I whispered, “You still with her?”

“If you mean Taylor, then yes.”

And just like before, I turned and walked away from him, the silence heavy in the air, leaving our unspoken words hanging between us.

He was right.

I shouldn’t have come.

After locking up my small office, I stepped out into the twilight, the cool evening air a welcome change from the stuffy clubhouse, and headed home to my apartment. It was a short walk home, yet by the time I unlocked my front door and entered, all I desired was to collapse onto my bed and banish the thought of him from my mind.

Throwing my clothes aside, I fell onto the bed, the mattress sinking beneath me, and lay there in the absolute darkness, a gnawing fear twisting in my gut while I thought about his well-being. Logically, I knew he was fine, but this was Sypher—I could practically feel the chaotic energy radiating from his mind all the way from the clubhouse.

Imprisoned within the confines of the Soulless Sinners’ clubhouse was the individual widely regarded as the most talented and dangerous hacker the world had ever known. Rather than attending one of his classes or engaging in frivolous activities on his computer, Sypher wasted away in a desolate hole, completely devoid of any mental stimulation.

I wasn’t sure Montana fully grasped the serious consequences and implications of assigning Sypher to the mailroom. Unlike most people, Sypher exhibited a distinct personality and approach to life that made him stand out from the crowd. His mind processed information in an unusual way, demanding consistent external input to keep it stimulated and prevent stagnation. Deprived of it, a profound and debilitating depression would eventually engulf Sypher and destroy him.

I had seen it happen once, and it wasn’t pretty.

Provided that Sypher had access to a computer, he was able to participate in society and live a normal life, just like everyone else. His preferred method of communication was the binary code of ones and zeros—a language he spoke with great fluency. No one on Earth possessed Sypher’s unique capabilities, yet instead of harnessing his extraordinary talents, Montana made the incredibly shortsighted decision to imprison him, treating him like a misbehaving child by confining him to a time-out, all because of Montana’s personal dislike for him.

I first encountered Sypher during his freshman year at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, when he was just beginning his studies there. I was in my third year of college and actively weighing the option of transferring institutions when I caught sight of him walking by. From the moment I laid eyes on him, his striking appearance captivated me—his dark, unruly hair, his goth attire, and the numerous tattoos that adorned his body—but the intense gaze from his incredibly light blue eyes, like nothing I’d ever seen before, truly stole my heart and made me fall completely for him.

Hook, line and sinker. Before I even had a chance to greet him and learn his name, he had already completely entranced me. From that day forward, he’d been all I could think about.

It didn’t take me long to figure out what his name was, but when I learned the truth about who he truly was, well, that was a revelation I wasn’t ready for. It seemed that word got around fast on campus, and before I knew, all everyone was talking about was the Sypher was attending MIT.

At first, I chose to remain somewhat removed, finding satisfaction in simply watching and observing him from a distance, rather than engaging directly. However, it was during my advanced algorithmic coding class, when I unexpectedly discovered him seated at my usual table, that our friendship truly began.

I learned that we had much in common, but our interests diverged in the field of technology. I found myself drawn to the hands-on technical engineering and development of electronic devices, whereas Danny was more captivated by the theoretical underpinnings and logistical challenges of computer applications. His primary enjoyment stemmed from the process of designing and writing innovative computer programs that were impossible to track or identify.

His professors couldn’t teach him anything new, thus, the department heads and dean gave him his own lab to conduct independent research, provided he still completed the standard coursework. That was a blessing and a curse. When left to his own devices, Sypher would invariably lose himself in the dark web’s depths, a digital abyss of unsettling imagery and discordant sounds that warped his perception of reality.

Sypher, despite his age, possessed a childlike wonder, his eyes sparkling with innocent curiosity. With no one to oversee him, his actions grew erratic and unaccountable. He became untouchable, unintelligible, and a source of constant problems. Provided that a person was present to offer emotional grounding and remind him that life encompassed more than just the binary world of ones and zeros, he flourished and prospered.

And for a short time, that was my job.

Until it wasn’t.