Brutal Precious

  I scramble up and sit on his pelvis, trying to wrap my arms around his neck. He fights me off weakly, and finally pulls me down into him, laughing.

  “You are vicious.”

  “I believe the term you used was ‘hellion’,” I correct in his ear.

  He runs his hand lazily up and down my spine. “How are you doing? Pain-wise?”

  “I’m broken in two and will never walk again,” I deadpan.

  “Yes,” he hisses, tightening his hug and pressing me harder against him. “Now you can never escape.”

  I roll my eyes and roll off. “Let’s go, creepster maximus. The day awaits, glorious and full of future disappointment. And food.”

  He doesn’t get up, watching me pull on shorts and a t-shirt instead. He groans, and shoves his face in the pillow.

  “I don’t want to go. I hate it out there. I want to stay here forever.”

  “I don’t have enough Doritos in this room for ‘forever’,” I insist, and wince when an ache shoots through my pelvis. Jack jumps out of bed, balancing me on his arm.

  “Are you alright?”

  “Everything is sore and I’m dying.”

  “I warned you.”

  “No you didn’t! There was no warning involved! Just a lot of gross dirty talk!”

  “And laughing. A lot of good laughing.”

  I blush, and he wraps his arms around me and pulls me back down onto the bed. He sighs into my hair.

  “It’s been years since I’ve laughed like that. Thank you.”

  “Tsk tsk, what kind of escort are you? I’m supposed to thank YOU for sex. Or pay you.” I lean over the side of the bed and fumble around for anything other than dust. My hand finds the bra-dime Yvette gave me, and I press it into his palm. “Here. For your services.”

  Jack growls and bites my neck. “I think I’m worth a little more than that.”

  “I don’t know,” I singsong. “You gotta prove it first.”

  He flips me on my back and I squeal. He leans his forehead on mine.

  “Prove it? Then what was last night?”

  “A warm-up,” I decide. “Appetizer. Except ew, let’s not bring weird food analogies into this please, I don’t want to be compared to a restaurant.”

  “You’re the best restaurant ever. Four Michelin stars,” Jack asserts. I push him off and he laughs, pulling his pants on. Yvette chooses that exact moment to walk in the door and get a face full of Jack-dick. She stares at it, then at me, then at Jack’s face, and nods like an art appreciator.

  “Nine out of ten.”

  ***

  I, Isis Blake, have decided sex is okay.

  I have a little large mental book of what is okay and what is not okay, and sex gets lifted from the ‘not-okay’ book and slapped into the ‘okay’ book over the course of two weeks. Jack and I shuttle back and forth from my dorm to his, alternating when our roommates are out and stealing quiet moments and making them not-so quiet. I learn his every mole, every tiny scar from his childhood, every weak spot. There are so many huge dumb problems looming, like the tape and the camera footage of me that Nameless has, but I shove them and Nameless aside and bask in my newfound Jack-obsession. The former Ice Prince is ticklish behind his ears and his knees and his hips (his sharp, delicious hips) and also he is still very much the Ice Prince – cool and collected and logical. Nailing me hasn’t changed that. In fact, nothing about us has really changed. I thought sex would break us apart, or change us into a formless sappy mush. But that’s not the case at all. I retort something, he snaps something back. I force gummy bears into his begrudging mouth, he holds me back from tackling the idiot who ran over my shoe with a skateboard. We fight. We fence. We argue the finer points of the most complex and delicate debates in history.

  “Santa is real,” I say as I pick up my burrito from the food counter.

  “He’s not.” Jack corrects, sidestepping a cafeteria worker with a full stack of dishes.

  “Two words have never convinced anyone ever of anything.”

  “Yes they have. ‘It’s shit’,” Jack says.

  “What’s shit?”

  “The prequel Star Wars films.”

  “Oh, see, now you’re right, and I have to take back what I said because I was wrong and you’ve convinced me utterly with only two words. Ugh. I hate being wrong.”

  “I love being right,” He sighs, and I kick him under the table, except he is too fast, so all I kick is wood. With my shinbone.

  “Ow.”

  He kisses my head. “You brought this on yourself.”

  I throw my face on the table and fake-sob. “I have bruises everywhere. I’m a bruise farm. Magnet. Bragnet. One day the future people of the world - who won’t know what bruises are because technology will be so advanced no one ever gets one - will come to me, and I will show them my butt, and it will be my greatest contribution to human civilization.”

  This impresses Jack so much he takes a sip of soda.

  Sometimes I catch him smiling at me when I’m jabbering on about stupid shit. But that’s the only thing that’s really changed.

  Sex used to be this weird scary blob of lace panties and ladies who scream like they’re being hurt in porn all the time and ‘what if I smell funny what if my chin looks fat from any angle ever during it’. It used to be me thinking I’d have to shave everything smooth like a dolphin every single day of my life for a guy to not be grossed out by me. It used to be me, angry at sex, and hating it, and bitter because the only person I thought I loved used it to hurt me. Sex was a sword I didn’t want to be cut by again, a tiger that mauled me once before and I’d gladly walk into a pit of corrosive tar before I’d go in that tiger’s pen again.

  So I suppose Jack Hunter is a pit of corrosive tar. But we already knew that.

  “Objection, your honor,” Jack contributes. “I am not a pool of base acid.”

  I kiss him on the cheek and stand. “I’m going to the library to taunt an animal dumber than me. Boys count.”

  “Don’t encourage them,” He rolls his eyes. “They might develop a crush on you and then I’d have to end them.”

  I stare pointedly. He sighs.

  “Gently. And in accordance with UN humane procedure.”

  Jack leans up for a kiss, and I lean down. He nibbles playfully at my bottom lip before he pulls away.

  “I’ll see you later, then.”

  “Your room or mine?” I ask. He smirks knowingly.

  “I was thinking something a little different tonight.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “I have to report to my superior,” He says. “But we’re trying to make it look as casual as possible. So she’s put me on a dinner reservation with her. If you came, I’m thinking it would look even more natural.”

  “See, hell no, I’ve seen enough movies to know this is where you bring me to the CIA and they kidnap me for experimentation.”

  “There’ll be no kidnapping. But there will be crème brule.”

  I consider this proposal for an astonishingly lengthy two point five seconds.

  “Yes.”

  “Meet me in my room at eight, and wear a dress.”

  “You just want to see me in a dress, perv.”

  He smirks. “I want to see you in everything. And nothing.”

  The library is much quieter and contains less sexiness than wherever Jack is currently, but I’ll live with it. For now, I have someone decidedly less sexy to bother.

  I see her sitting at a table, studying, and slam my hands down on the opposite side. Heather jumps, dropping the book.

  “Jesus Christ,” She pants. “You scared me, Isis!”

  “You scared me,” I say calmly. “When you locked me in the room with the guy who raped me.”

  She freezes, eyes wide and wary. “He…he what?”

  “Raped me,” I repeat. Saying it now just gives me a rush of power, of reality, of assertiveness. “When I was fourteen.”

  “H-He…” She bites her lip. “I didn?
??t know that, honestly Isis, you have to believe me. He just told me it would be a fun prank, I didn’t know –”

  “Even if he didn’t do what I said he did, locking a girl in with a guy like that is bullshit, and you know it. If I catch you doing it again, to any other girl, or if I hear you did it to another girl –”

  I look away thoughtfully, then back at her, smiling and holding my arm up.

  “Well. I did this to myself. It looks like Shark Week in 3D. So I guess we can imagine anything I’d do when angry at someone else would be a lot worse, huh! Probably a lot bloodier, and grosser, and slightly larger chunks would be missing! How awesome is that.”

  “N-Not awesome,” Heather swallows.

  “Cool! So let’s agree to not make the not-awesome stuff happen, okay?”

  She nods frantically, and I hum my way out of the library. This is just the warm-up. Nameless is next. Nameless has been on my list for so long, but only now do I have the strength to start plotting his ultimate demise. Only now do I have the courage to point all my dire expertise and rage at his throat. Now that I know for sure Nameless is wrong - that I’ve always been perfect and worth loving - I can fight him instead of run from him. Jack must be rubbing off on me in more ways than one; the fact I haven’t busted down Nameless’ door and shanked him yet is a clear sign I’ve learned to control my anger like a true Ice Prince. Gasp. The horror.

  People say you’re supposed to love yourself on your own. And I tried. God knows I freakin’ tried for four years.

  But now that I know someone loves me, it’s so much easier to grow the courage to start loving myself.

  It’s not fast, and it isn’t happening all right away.

  But it’s a start.

  ***

  The only dress I brought with me to Ohio State is a green pleated dress I bought for Prom but never wore. I spent Prom at Sophia’s grave, eating cold leftover Chinese food and making flower crowns. Stuff she’ll never get to do. Jack’s in a white button-down shirt and slacks, which suddenly makes me paranoid.

  “You look lovely,” He smiles, and I curtsey.

  “Does this place happen to be enormously fancy?” I ask. We walk to his sedan, and I bunch my skirts up and settle in the passenger seat with the grace of a drunk hen with huge buttocks.

  “Not especially,” He pulls out of the parking lot.

  “Will I get kicked out for spilling soup on myself? Because I really enjoy spilling soup on myself, it enhances my overall life experience of being a slob.”

  “As long as you don’t scream about aliens, you’ll be fine.”

  “What! That is my traditional prayer to the dessert gods!”

  He gives me a long look that basically translates to ‘please don’t scream about aliens’.

  “Ugh, fine,” I huff. “I’ll pretend to be normal. Just don’t act surprised when I keel over and die of a pulmonary embolism. Cause: sheer boredom.”

  He pulls my hand up with his free one and kisses it, smirking.

  The restaurant is a small, black-glass building wedged in at the end of main street. Jack opens the door for me and I slip in, the hostess flashing me a brilliant smile and Jack an even more brilliant one. Jack asks for Vanessa’s table, and the hostess leads us through rows of dark-wood tables lit with candles to a booth. A woman with severe, short brown hair and a fancy blue silk dress on sits there, stirring an iced tea. She gets up and makes a weird forced smile as she leans in to hug me.

  “It’s been so long!” She laughs, and hugs Jack in turn. We all sit, except my butt is slightly more bewildered than theirs.

  “Um. Hello,” I say. “I’m Isis, and also confused.”

  “Jack’s told me much about you,” Vanessa smiles. The waiter comes along, and she looks up. “Do you two want something to drink?”

  “Water will be fine, thank you,” Jack says, and looks to me. I squirm.

  “Um, just a coke would be good.”

  The waiter nods, and Vanessa and Jack watch him retreat with eyes so sharp I’m surprised his back doesn’t start bleeding.

  “Is he an informant?” Jack asks in a low voice, perusing the menu without looking at Vanessa.

  “No,” Vanessa shakes her head. “But he followed me from the hotel, so we should stay alert.”

  “Whoa, wait, that guy?” I hiss. “He looks way normal.”

  Vanessa smiles at me. “The best ones always do. Let’s throw him off with a little boisterous conversation, shall we? How are you doing in school, Isis?”

  She raises her voice a little, and I play along and mimic her.

  “I’m failing Chem,” I sigh. “I hate it so much – it’s worth than Calc by a thousand times. Also, I farted during the exam, and I’m pretty sure Professor Brown knew it was me because he wrinkled his nose and sniffed a lot and gave me a C- for ‘incorrect exposition’, which is Chem teacher speak for fart, I’m pretty sure.”

  Vanessa laughs. “Well at least you know what you’re not going to be majoring in, hmm?” Her eyes stay on me, but she lowers her voice and aims it at Jack all in the same breath. “Have you got the recording?”

  “I, on the other hand, enjoy Chemistry.” Jack says, his voice louder as well. “But I’d never pursue it as a degree. It gets far more complicated by third year, so I’m thinking of something simpler in the sciences.” His voice lowers again. “It’s on a USB in the napkin.”

  Vanessa nods sympathetically. “When I was your age, I switched my major from Biology to Physics. Less icky cells, more clean and clear numbers. Much easier.”

  She lurches, dropping her napkin on the floor and wrinkling her nose.

  “Oh, damn.”

  “Here,” Jack slides his across to her. “Use mine.”

  Vanessa smiles and takes it in her lap. “Thank you. Are you ready for mid-terms, Isis?” She continues smoothly.

  “Honestly I’m more ready for shrimp scampi,” I point at the menu.

  “Of course! You two must be starving. Not that State doesn’t serve good food! On the contrary; I’ve heard they have a wonderful selection.”

  “It’s mostly burritos, but I’m not complaining. My intestines do sometimes, though. Speaking of which, I gotta pee. Where’s the –”

  Vanessa points towards the back and smiles. “On your left.”

  I slide past Jack, who grips my hand and squeezes it.

  “You alright?” He asks.

  “Uh, I’m about to eat food. I’m all sorts of fine.”

  He smiles, and lets go, and I start towards the bathroom. I catch a glimpse of our waiter watching me, but when our eyes meet he quickly looks away. Way to be subtle, suspicious guy.

  Even the bathrooms are fancy – marble countertops and soap that doesn’t smell like a movie theater’s. I stare at myself in the mirror, my makeup less like a raccoon and more like a cat, and realize I’ve grown up. Not much. But a little.

  Not much, but it’s a start.

  ***

  When Isis is gone, I turn to Vanessa.

  “She’s very pretty,” Vanessa smiles. “Much prettier than I assumed.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, nothing. The girl you described on the phone…they normally don’t look like that. Humor comes to the plainer girls easier.”

  Her backhanded insult doesn’t faze me. I clear my throat.

  “Terrance’s admission is there. He says both their names very clearly.”

  Vanessa smiles, looking over her menu intently too, but our focus is everywhere except there.

  “An admission from a drug dealer isn’t enough,” she says. “But it’s a good start. This, and direct keylogs should be enough for our team to work with.”

  “How are you going to get a keylog on them?” I frown. “Will is wary of me – I’ve tried to approach him multiple times, but he always slips away. Kyle is less smart, but Will’s warned him of me. They both avoid me.”

  Vanessa stares at me, hard, and I know enough about her body language now to understand it’s an order to
change the subject.

  “She and I are going out,” I say quickly. “For several weeks now. She’s my first actual girlfriend in a long time.”

  “Ah, that’s right,” Vanessa smiles. “You were always the playboy type.”

  “May I take your order?” The waiter comes up behind us, and I grin.

  “Yes, thank you. I’ll have an order of the shrimp scampi for the missing lady, and the salmon fillet for myself.”

  The waiter nods, eyes scanning our table with a too-focused intensity. Looking for us passing evidence between us, no doubt. I spot a strange bulge in his waistband, expertly hidden but still obvious to me. My gut goes cold. A gun.

  I never should’ve brought Isis here.

  Vanessa taps her finger on the menu. “And I’ll have the lobster rolls. With the salad. Thank you.”

  The waiter nods, taking our menus and briskly walking off.

  “He has a gun,” Vanessa says lightly, stirring her tea. I nod, tempering my fear casually.

  “In his waistband. I saw.”

  “Now how are we going to go about this?” She purses her lips thoughtfully. “I’d rather not get you and your lovely lady friend hurt tonight. You are children, and she especially is an innocent civilian.”

  “Who is he really?”

  “I have no idea, but I can make an educated guess. His stance, the way he carries himself and walks - military trained. His accent is invisible, but his pronunciation and emphasis is clearly of an English-speaking Russian. I was born in Russia. I know it well.”

  “Russian, then.”

  “Specifically, hired muscle,” She elaborates. “The Gatekeepers may be a hacker group, but they have friends with a lot of money, and they no doubt learned we’re after them. It seems they’ve hired bodyguards for their members, Will and Kyle included.”

  I almost laugh, but stop myself. “It’s so surreal – bodyguards for hackers? Royalty, maybe, or politicians. Not hackers.”

  “You misunderstand,” Vanessa says quickly. “The moment serious goods come into the picture – meth, heroin, human trafficking – is the moment everything changes. There is huge money in drugs and people, and therefore huge stakes. Those bodyguards are there to protect Will and Kyle’s hacking ability, and therefore, the money. Drug and trafficking money funds seventy percent of all weapon purchases on the legal and illegal markets. It isn’t simply ‘hackers’, or ‘drugs’. It is power, and acquirement of it. Rebellions are funded. Gangs are formed. It is a vast and intricate web – by stopping these two boys, we will save many innocent lives.”