How to Hack a Hacker - A.J. Sherwood Page 0,31

the Redmark.

“No, it’s not a job,” Carter answered, and for some reason he was smirking down at Kyou as he said this. “K is very attached to Brannigan. He will take it personally if you attack him. You see where I’m going with this? No, no, no hard feelings. You didn’t know. I’m just calling to give you a head’s up. Yeah? I’ll tell him. Absolutely, you call me in on the next job, we’ll make it a party. Sure thing. Night!”

As Kyou watched, the contract acceptance for Redmark disappeared with an almost audible snap. “Carter, I’m so glad you make friends easily.”

“Comes in handy from time to time,” Carter agreed blandly. “For the record, he had no idea we’d formed a team and was panicked hearing about everything. He said he was very sorry, he’d spread the word about not taking the contract, and he’ll invite me on the next shindig he takes to make up for it. He’s really a nice guy.”

Brannigan drawled, “Except the part where he’s an assassin.”

“Man’s gotta pay the bills somehow.” Carter shrugged. “So that’s one down. Possibly more, depending on how many people Barry tells. Kyou, think we can scare Ghostshot off?”

“With how long he’s been in business? I doubt it. I’m not even sure I can find him easily, although I’ll damn well try. I’m of two minds whether to warn him off or not. If he is coming, I don’t want him to know how much protection Brannigan has. I’d rather surprise him.”

Ari nodded, agreeing. “I don’t think we can warn this guy off. Let’s assume we’ll have to take him out instead.”

“Is Brannigan in the same situation I was in?” Aiden inquired, wandering over from the table.

“Basically, lyubimyy,” Ivan confirmed.

Brannigan pointed towards his nose. “I don’t follow.”

Succinctly, Aiden explained, “It’s how Ivan and I first met. He was on a job, it was also an open contract, and everyone assumed I had the stamp they wanted to steal. I didn’t. Ivan had to quickly find the stamp and close the contract to get me out of danger. It was a rather harrowing week and a half. Looks like you’re in the same boat, Brannigan. The only way to get the assassins to go away is to deal quickly with the ones who put the hit out on you. How difficult is this going to be, guys?”

Kyou’s eyes lifted in degrees, practically making cranking noises as he levered them up to glare at Ivan. “You didn’t tell him?”

“I told him!” Ivan protested, turning to his husband for validation. “I told you O’Conner family, right?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know who they are.” Aiden shrugged his ignorance. “I just assumed they were bad guys.”

“Ivan, you can’t expect him to know the names of all the families in the criminal underworld just because he’s married to you.” Carter shook his head. “Aiden, we’re talking Irish Mob.”

Aiden’s eyes bugged out of his head. “Shit! Seriously?! Oh man, now I know why you guys are worried. Uh…babe, I’m due back on shift in twenty-something hours. Is this going to be handled before I’m back at work?”

“Depends.” Ivan gave his friends a hopeful smile. “We play soon, da?”

“I want a good plan before we go in,” Carter cautioned them all. “But yes, I vote the sooner the better. We can’t give this situation much time. It’ll blow up in our faces.”

Ari headed back to the stove. “Let’s eat first, then plan.”

9

Brannigan

Brannigan stood at the sink, washing dishes, keeping a sharp ear on the planning session happening at the table. The men were talking with so much lingo, so many acronyms, and shorthand phrases, that they were like their own language. He could only catch about half of it.

What he did understand sounded alarming. Kyou wanted to hack their bank accounts and run them dry so they couldn’t pay anyone, halting any contracts in their tracks. Carter was all for setting charges and blowing the place sky-high. Ivan wanted to sneak in and take them apart piece by piece, like chasing mice through a maze. Ari seemed to waffle between Ivan’s and Carter’s methods and was somehow trying to marry the two ideas together.

Were they always like this?

Aiden stood on the other side of the dishwasher, wiping down the counters. He was still in scrubs, his auburn hair escaping the gel he’d put into it God-knows-when. He kept casting wry, amused smiles at the table, like he was watching four little boys plan an epic battle against a