Until you {uncompleted}

Chapter 4

     Contrary to the common belief sitting in front of a computer all day isn't fun, especially with a mafia boss at your back. Feeling his eyes on me for the million time that day I sigh " I'm not going to be able to work if you keep interrupting me every five minutes" I turn around to find him leaning against the wall. God he's hot. But it's such a shame that he has the personality of a street cat.

With another sigh I refocus my attention on cracking the first black box. Which is basically a USB that is locked up tighter than Fort Knox.

" How long will it take? " he says reminding me of his obnoxious presence. " I don't know. Probably 'till tomorrow".

"You have until tonight. " I stiffen my shoulders and the urge of throwing something at him, preferably a pissed off dragon is almost overwhelming.

I breathe a sigh of relief, I don't even have to look to know he's gone. He has a stifling presence, an electric charisma that you can feel miles away. When it's gone it feels like the room is expanding and the air is lighter.

Instead of crying like I wanted to, I convinced myself that it would be worthless and got to work.

                      **********
The first black box has a difficult code for those unfamiliar with it, luckily Dad taught it to me when I was twelve.  The only downside is that it takes hours to write the the code necessary to crack the original one.

I hope to God that the other ones will be this easy, but I know it's unlikely.

Six hours and Four cups of coffee later, I find myself with sour fingers and a dismayed expression. The problem isn't that I couldn't crack the code because I did.

The problem lies with how to proceed, I have another half hour before Mr. Grumpy comes back and I feel like Pandora, I want to take a peak at what's inside the box. Honestly exhaustion turned my will power to jelly and the only choice I fell like making is which file I should open first. A few clicks of the mouse and I find myself staring at a nightmarish video.

I don't even have the strength to hit pause, the horror in front of me is making my stomach turn, all my strength is centered on not throwing up. Tears slide down my cheeks and a sob is wrench from my chest.

All I see in the video are the assailants hands and the poor guy they're torturing with methods I'm pretty sure belong in the middle ages. He has dark hair and hollow eyes. His shirtless torso is coated in dried blood.

When they start cutting his fingers, I barely make it into the bathroom before I'm throwing up. When I wash my tears drenched face I go back into the room to find Damian watching the video. Without turning he says "You shouldn't have opened it".

" Are those your.. " I try to speak but my voice barely comes out so I clear my throat and try again " Are those your men?".

Suddenly I find myself binned into the wall, and my sight filled with stormy gray eyes, "That is none of your business, you are here for a reason, and that's not crying over lost humanity" he practically spits in my face. Although His words were dipped in sarcasm they were also laced with pain.

"You knew him, the dark haired man." I state, my eyes widening with the realization. Even his warning growl couldn't shut me up, " Who is he?  Um was".

His response was punching the wall near my head, he was so angry he was practically vibrating with rage."Okaaay, considering your expression I'd say 'was', and I think I should just shut up before you throttle me".

One perfectly shaped brow went up "You think!", and he rested his balm against my neck almost gently. Swallowing hard I said "Not to give you any ideas or anything".

His smile was pure malice, "If you start snooping around again, some ideas are bound to pop up into my head". I hate the fact that he's threatening me with the most cultured and pleasant tone I've ever heard. Total street cat personality. "Do you understand, miss Warren?", reluctantly and through gritted teeth I managed to utter a 'yes' without cursing him to eternal hell.

On his way out the door he took the black box with him, surprising the hell out of me he turned before leaving wearing a bored mask of indifference appearing civilized again, but I know it's just a veneer, "Good job, by the way. You finished early".

That angered me "Good job!" I scoffed, "I'm not your Maid or Secretary".

His smile reminded me of a machete's blade, cutting and down right mean, "You're not"  he confirmed, "You're a prisoner". Another smile dared me to contradict him as he walked out.

A war Lord with the personality of a street cat. That's better. Totally him.