Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 120189 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120189 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
He squints at me, annoyed. “Who the hell are you, really?”
“You don’t think something’s going to happen when you mess with a celebrity’s daughter? A celebrity with deep enough pockets to afford a maniac like me to protect her?” Lukas sputters for a second, unable to produce a response. “Think about it,” I push on. “The real buyer could’ve forced his way to your car, made you get the phone, stolen it right out of your privileged little hands, beaten you into orange juice pulp, and sent you home with tears streaming down your plastic little face.”
“It’s not p-plastic!” he spits back.
“Don’t be an idiot, Lukas. At the very least, bring a friend with you for backup. Like … a goon,” I say, lovingly borrowing Trevor’s little word.
“A what?” he asks with an impatient huff, but then his eyes fix themselves somewhere past my shoulder, and fear surges through him like a cold front.
Unsettled by his expression, I glance quickly behind me.
Trevor stands there with his arms folded tight and high over his chest, his feet planted shoulder-width apart, and his chin inclined down, glaring at Lukas through the top of his head like some challenged superhero to the rescue. His dark blond spikes cast a menacing shadow down his otherwise adorably scowling face. He looks poised to cast laser beams from his eyes.
I bite my lip to keep from laughing. This is Trevor playing the role of beastly bodyguard, if I had to guess.
Regardless, it does the job. “Who the fuck is he?” Lukas calls out, unnerved. “Y-Your goon?”
I’m about to pull a bunny of a response out of my butt when Trevor answers. “I’m your worst fuckin’ nightmare, kid.”
Lukas squints his eyes challengingly, lifts his chin, but then seems to think twice about it. “I-Is that so?” he retorts boastfully, feigning confidence.
Trevor doesn’t budge an inch. “Tell me. Were you having trouble accessing your bank accounts, kid? Your online payment methods? Is that why you had to resort to selling those videos to someone in person for cash?”
Lukas doesn’t respond, nor does he move a muscle or even seem to breathe.
“You have me to thank for that,” Trevor goes on, playing his part. “I froze your money. And I can freeze your whole sad life if I want to—just like that.” He snaps for emphasis. Lukas flinches at the sound. “Because I happen to be the world’s greatest hacker. I’m so great, with just the press of a button, I can send a whole fleet of cops to your house right now. And trust me, you won’t like what they’ll find.”
“I don’t keep any weed at my h-house,” Lukas stammers. “You think I’m an idiot?”
“Oh. You think I’m talking about the weed?” Trevor emits his version of a slow, evil laugh. I stare at him, wide-eyed. Really, this whole act isn’t necessary at all, since I had the situation totally under control, but I’m much too amused to stop him now. “No, no, no, you poor, sad, spoiled little moron. This isn’t a matter of a bag of grass. This is a matter of the stash of underage porn they’ll find at your house.”
At that, all the blood drains from Lukas’s face. “I … I-I don’t have a-any—”
“You don’t have any …? Is that what you’re about to claim?” Trevor takes two steps forward. “What do you think you have in your car? On that phone of yours you were about to sell?”
Lukas’s jaw tightens. His terror has quickly become anger.
I suck my tongue for a second, then put a hand on Trevor’s shoulder. No need to escalate things further. “That’s enough,” I murmur to him. “You’ve made your point, Cyber God Slayer 99.”
“I wonder,” Trevor goes on, apparently loving this hacker character he’s invented too much to know when to stop, “what your parents would think about that. Or your friends. Or your entire school. With just one little slip of my finger, everyone would know. Would they be interested in hearing about your … extracurricular interests?” Trevor smirks superiorly. “That’s right. My name is Cyber God Crusher—”
“—Slayer—”
“—Slayer 99,” Trevor declares, corrected, “and if you don’t hand over that phone right now, we’re going to have ourselves a problem. Or, more accurately, you are.”
For a second, I think Lukas is about to kick his heel into the pavement and run away. Instead, he lets out a furious war cry, then charges toward Trevor with red rage in his little eyes.
23
Trevor might have gone too far.
Oh, shit.
Just before the teeny-bopper in a popped collar reaches me, Ben intercepts him like a beast. Grabbing two fistfuls of Lukas’s black polo, he slams him into the wrought iron fence at our side.
“I’ll make this really easy for you, kid,” says Ben in a voice so level and calm, it’s twice as unsettling. “You take us to your car, hand over the phone, and Cyber Punk Slayer—”