Cruel (A Necrosis of the Mind Duet 1)

She sighs heavily, blowing her fringe of thin bangs away from her forehead. “Seriously. That bastard took all the good parts of me. My youth. My patience. And what am I left with? Menopause and a dried-up vagina.”

And fifteen million dollars in the settlement and alimony.

“I’ll have an update for you tomorrow,” I say, as I head toward the office door. “Try not to murder anyone, and get some hormones, for fuck’s sake.”

Her laugh is loud and throaty.

“Oh,” I say, paused in the doorway. “I will need one other thing this time.”

One of her pencil-thin eyebrows arches.

“Who does your hair?” I ask.

She digs out her phone and punches in a contact. “Lyric, I need a favor. I’m sending her to you in ten.” She hangs up.

“Damn. Must be nice to be the queen.”

She smiles as she scrawls an address on a Post-It and hands it to me. “So what’s the occasion? Are you finally tired of looking like an emo nut from the nineties, or is it a request from Mommy Dearest?”

Besides Lomax, Rochelle is the only other client who knows my real name. It was impossible to keep it from her, seeing as she runs in the same exclusive socialite circle as my mother and her friends.

Rochelle is baiting me. She knows very well Vanessa has no say over my life, more so my hair. I took that power away when I denied any claim to family money.

“Vanessa has nothing to do with this.” I give her a knowing glare. “I need a new look for a special client. He likes blondes.”

“Oh, my my my. A man. I am intrigued!”

Her obnoxious laugh follows me out as I weave a path toward the exit.

They—whoever they are—say blondes have more fun. Well, I’m about to test that theory on one revenge scheme for Ericson Daverns.

Hacking is a learned skill that anyone with half a brain and the basic understanding of computer networks can acquire.

Computers came naturally to me. I remember the couple of girlfriends my mother would always invite over in the hopes I’d “make a connection”. These girls often complained about our comp classes, not understanding the language.

From the first time I laid my little fingers to the keys, I felt that connection I could never obtain with another person. I spoke the language of the cold, hard object that computed information with no emotion to hinder its thought process.

We were kindred.

My teenage years were spent diving the dark web and uncovering every shady corner of the Internet. From a solitary computer, one can do almost anything. Learn anything. Be anyone, find anyone.

The limitless possibilities of a computer’s reach and the anonymity it provides is how I became involved in my field of work to begin with. Police and even the government are still a step behind hackers and people who are governed solely by their greed.

In my upstairs loft, I seat myself behind my metal desk and shake out the loose waves of my freshly highlighted hair before I pull open my MacBook. Maybe it’s just the newness, the mind aware that a drastic change has been made, but my head feels lighter. I actually feel more buoyant.

Lyric must either fear Rochelle or worship her—most likely both—because she canceled her morning appointment to squeeze me in, and according to a quick search of Lyric, she’s one of the most sought-after stylists in New York.

I rolled into Lucy’s office job two hours late, but my boss never gives me too much grief because I make him a ludicrous amount of money. Besides, thanks to my new look, I doubt he even recognized me for the better part of the day.

When Lyric’s task to transform me into another person was complete, I admit, I barely recognized myself in the mirror. The platinum highlights mixed with caramel lowlights brought out the green in my eyes and the dark slash of my eyebrows, making my eyes a striking feature.

With the right clothes, revealing in strategic places, Ericson should become an easy mark. And to help solidify that endeavor, I log in to my ghost email account and spam him with the most salacious and sexually explicit content.

I hacked all three of his email accounts during the vetting period. He has one email for work, one for VIP clients, and one personal.

I fill his personal account with ads from The Naughty Playroom. Then for good measure, I retarget his social media account with the same ads featuring scantily-clad escorts.

Now, on to Rochelle’s latest victim.