Page 91 of Talk to Me

“Would you like an espresso when I make it?” she asked, already heading for her workstation. Her movements were still a little hesitant, but easier. The stiffness in her shoulders had gradually diminished. The combination of thick socks and slippers helped her limp.

Better might be relative, but—she seemed better.

Maybe it was also incremental, but I’d take every inch we could beg, borrow, or fucking steal back for her.

“Ahh, I see the sneaky plan beneath the offer. You want the privilege of making the first cup.”

Her laughter to the teasing remark was its own reward. “You saw right through me. Couldn’t have been that sneaky.”

“Well, I might have a little experience with sneakiness.” The retort flowed easily and some of the tension locking my own back up seemed to ease. She could laugh. She could smile. She was healing.

When we had extracted every pound of vengeance she was owed, she would also be free and safe.

“But yes, I do want to make the first cup, but I was going to offer to let you drink the first cup.”

I put a hand to my chest, letting out a mock gasp of shock that earned me another laugh. “Be kind, Patch. I’m a simple man with simple needs. You could overwhelm me.”

“Bullshit,” she fired back. “You forget, I know just how expensive your tastes are.”

I snorted, but I didn’t deny it. Of course, my tastes were expensive. I preferred the items that were unique and individual. Just like her.

She was worth every penny I owned and more.

“Now, stop staring at me and get that espresso machine set up.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I murmured and moved to do just that while I kept watch over her from the corner of my eye. Today was definitely a better day.

As I pulled the espresso machine out of its box, I allowed myself my own smile.

In a few minutes, it would be a better day.

Chapter

Twenty-Nine

PATCH

Just getting the last piece of equipment didn’t mean the system was up and running. But it was the final piece of hardware I needed to begin setting up the desktop. The little machine was a powerful tool, and it had all the memory and hard drive speed I could ask for to go with the internet connection we had at the house.

It did, however, open up a new series of tasks for me. As sore as my fingers were, they still flew across the keyboard. I had to start with the kernel and build it out. The first few commands I entered seemed to ease everything in my gut.

This I could control. I had power again. Confessing everything to the boys had cracked more of the deep glass between me and the rest of the world. But I was still relying on them for survival. On the one hand, it was perfectly rational, reasonable even to rely on them while I healed.

Didn’t mean I enjoyed having everything taken out of my hands. I couldn’t fire a gun with precision or take down a host of men as I fought my way through them. No question about breaking into highly secured facilities and lifting priceless objects with no one being the wiser.

No, I couldn’t do those things. They weren’t in my skillset. Though, arguably, I could get around electronic locks with a little time and planning.

But this? Building the kernel, then installing the programs so I could take back over my corner of the internet and hunt down my enemies? This I could do.

It took me the better part of three days to get everything where I was ready to start firing off bots to do my searching. I had to mask my internet footprint, but that was old hat at this point.

I would have been ready sooner, but the boys insisted on regular breaks and sleep. The one argument I’d had with them, I lost when McQuade just carried me off to my room and set me on my bed. Then he held up the power supply he’d taken from the computer.

“When you’re one hundred percent, Sugar Bear, you feel free to kick my ass. Until then, you need to heal and you won’t if you don’t rest.”

As irritating as his high-handed manner had been, he wasn’t wrong. Not that I planned to admit it. Fatigue was my constant companion. There was so much I needed to do before I could get to work digging up what we needed.

Neither Remy nor Locke offered any kind of back up on that one. If anything, they’d merely given me sympathetic looks and suggested that I go ahead and rest. A part of me wanted to rage. But only part. Because the rest of me understood it. I really did need the rest.