Deadly Hacker

DEADLY HACKER SOKOLOV BRATVA – BOOK FOUR ROMA JAMES Copyright 2023 by Roma James All rights reserved This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue were created from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual people or events is coincidental. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This book is suitable for 18+ readers only. All situations are consensual. CONTENTS Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Excerpt from Vicious About Roma James CHAPTER 1 RAD A classic rock ballad streamed from the jukebox in the corner of the strip club. Neon piping glowed where the walls met the ceiling and around the small circular stages where beautiful women whirled. Their platform shoes clacked on the freshly polished wood, the light catching on the sequins of their skimpy outfits. A couple of early birds sat at the foot of the stages sipping tap water and watching the dancers with glazed eyes. The bar counter ran along a wall toward the unassuming front entrance. A sleepy-looking bartender ran inventory of his booze stock while two customers sat before him, engaged in a business conversation. One of them was the strip club’s middle-aged owner, who swayed lightly on his barstool. He appeared to expend a lot of effort paying attention. His hands were wrapped around an almost-empty cocktail glass. The other younger man wore a casual black suit that more than hinted at the lean, athletic body underneath. His dark hair was messily pushed back from his face, which was faintly ruddy, as though he had just come from a brisk run. Indeed, he had the physique of a runner, with the toned musculature to prove how many hours he spent training. He was handsome in an affable, eye-catching way. Envious other men often tried to pin him as a ‘pretty boy,’ but to every woman who encountered him, he was the epitome of masculine beauty. His brown eyes were warm and inviting, but shrewd. He caught every detail and committed it to memory without breaking concentration, eye contact, or a sweat. His name was Jace Radcliffe, though he allowed no one to call him that. Not for a long time. Nowadays, he answered only to Rad. “So what do you think about my offer?” he asked in a velvety voice. He gently swirled his half-empty highball glass. The liquid inside was clear with a soft fizz, like a vodka soda. He raised it to his lips and perfectly mimed a sip with a split-second pucker of his lips. It was all for show. He wasn’t actually drinking a vodka cocktail mid-morning on a Monday; it was just carbonated water. However, the strip club owner didn’t know that. The drink in his hand was a cocktail, as were his first and second drink before it. He was tipsy, well on his way to drunk, while Rad remained clear-headed. He blinked rapidly to focus his vision on Rad. The owner nodded slowly and took another sip. He set down the glass with a clink. “I think you drive a hard bargain,” he slurred. Rad smirked. “I work for hard people.” “There are a lot of folks lookin’ for work,” the owner wheedled. “But ours are the best. Not just people, but professionals,” said Rad. “Besides, in a neighborhood like this, you need the kind of protection only we can provide.” The owner frowned and leaned in close, his breath stinking of whiskey. “We have had a couple of break-ins this past year,” he admitted. Rad knew he had this in the bag. But he didn’t break character to gloat just yet. “Our guys will help protect the… integrity of your fine establishment. We’re more than just muscle, though. We’ve got money. We’ve got connections. You have a surveillance system set up here, I assume?” Rad asked. The owner shifted uncomfortably. “Well, don’t tell anyone, but those cameras have been out of order since before I bought the place.” “And how many dancers?” the businessman pressed. “Six. Well, five after Kendra quit last night,” said the owner. “What about ten? Fifteen? Twenty girls to rotate among five full stages with new DJs for every weekend and holiday event,” suggested Rad. The owner’s eyes went big. “We only have three stages.” “For now,” Rad said, raising his eyebrows. “But with our help, you can dream bigger.” “I’ve always wanted a neon sign out front. Like those places on the Strip,” he murmured. “The sky’s the limit,” answered Rad, giving him a pat on the shoulder. “So, what do you say, friend? Ready to take…” His words dropped off as the cell phone chirped in his jacket pocket. He recognized the simple ringtone assigned to his boss, the notorious and powerful Pakhan, Mikhail Sokolov. Rad’s pulse quickened instinctively. If Mikhail was calling him directly at a time like this, he knew something serious had to be going on. “Just a minute. I have to take this. Bartender, pour him another glass on me,” Rad said, ignoring the owner’s halfhearted rebuffs as he stepped away to a quieter corner. He answered the phone and heard Mikhail say, “I need you at the police station. Now.” “What did I do?” Rad replied, only half joking. “Your services are required. Luka has a situation.” “What did he do?” “His girlfriend’s parents were attacked at their home—in one of our neighborhoods. Her father is missing, and her mother is in the hospital. Luka and Kira are at her side now.” “Shit,” Rad hissed. “And you want me to help our cops figure it out. Is this a gun or laptop situation?” “The latter. For now.” “I always