Chapter 01

JERICHO

Coding. It was a part of what I did and I loved doing it. I loved being able to hold the power of something at my fingertips. Writing code meant programming something to do exactly what you wanted it to do and I was one of the best in the world at it. I had my own style—every hacker did—but mine was impenetrable. No one could breach any of my firewalls once I was done.

I could sit up till the late hours of the night concentrating on coding. The same went for tonight. Sure, exhaustion weighed down my eyelids like ten-pound dumbbells and my muscles creaked in agony every time I moved because of how stiff they were.

When last did I wake up?

I shook the question away and returned to the code I was typing out. It was something I had been working on for a while and I had a lot of time on my hands since I graduated early with my Master's. It was a big thing but I refused to let anyone make a big deal out of it. Especially when the important people in my life expected it to happen.

If this program worked as I expected it to, I could hack into anything no matter how encrypted it could be. I would gain access to every surveillance network, any communication network, any classified information I wanted all with a click of a button and it would never be traced back to me. For years I had been planning this project and working on the programming for it and yet, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't place a name to it.

God only knew how close I was to calling it 007 because it would make the perfect spy program in history. It couldn't just start wars, it could end countries, empires, super-powers. I knew the dangers of creating something like this so I knew the importance of keeping it to myself. Though, I was eager to create it. It was my baby, something I was passionate about and wouldn't rest once I managed to achieve it.

Slash, my trusty German Shepherd, whined and nudged his wet snout into my sweatpants clad thigh.

"What is it, boy?" I whispered, my voice holding a tired rasp.

He placed his head on my lap and I glided my fingers through his silky fur. With his big brown eyes, he looked at me and then at the glowing green digital clock next to my array of monitors—two in the morning.

I could still hear life on the street below. It wasn't only me still awake at this ungodly hour. Witching hour, mom had once called it when she walked in on me playing video games well past midnight once. She was gone now and I was the brother with the least amount of memories with her. I was young back then so half the time I wondered if my brain conjured half the shit I thought up when it came to either of my parents. As far as I was concerned, Gunnar was the one who brought me up. Even when our parents were alive. My elder brother and even Ace were the ones to impact my childhood.

I loosened a breath, pushed back the chair, and then stood. My muscles balked in protest but I padded the few feet to my bed and collapsed. I didn't have an extravagant apartment. It was conventional at best. Mundane even. I could afford more, especially after selling my first program to the highest bidder while still in high school but I chose to keep it simple. All I ever needed was a working computer anyway and I could make magic. Though, having an entire house filled with amazing tech did sound appealing. Unfortunately, that made it harder to stay off the grid.

My phone lit up, cutting through the darkness in the room, followed by the loud shrill of the default ringtone. I had custom ringtones for anyone I knew or considered important so I let the call go to voicemail, opting for sleep instead.

Only, the phone blared again which had Slash growling in disdain while exposing his canines.

"Chill buddy," I cooed gently and he instantly fell silent, "good boy," I commended before swiping my thumb over the screen to answer, "Jericho Astor speaking."

"Mr. Astor," the dull voice on the other end of the line drawled, "I have some bad news. Miss. Gibson has been involved in a serious car accident and she has you listed as her emergency contact—"

"Which hospital?" I interjected before she got another word out. With my phone tucked between my shoulder and ear, I searched my room for my wallet and car keys.

"Manhattan General."

"I'll be there," I responded before ending the call, barreling out the apartment in the next breath.

The elevator ride down to the basement level was excruciatingly slow. If God was trying to test my patience then I was about to fail this test. I had none. I needed to be there, where she was and any more time away felt a fat python increasing its death grip on me.

It was difficult to draw in a breath and, when I did, my ribcage rattled and my heart hurt because of how hard it thrashed. What the fuck? Accident? What accident? As far as I knew Odette was an excellent driver so someone else had to be at fault. The woman didn't even take a phone call while at the wheel.

The doors parted and I rushed over to the sleek royal blue BMW waiting for me. As soon I was out of the parking I called Ace—because I didn't know who else to call.

"You better have a good reason to be calling me at this hour," came his gruff response after two rings.

I blinked away the burn in my eyes, "It's Odette, she's been in an accident."

"Fuck!" Ace cursed in a low growl. Shuffling sounded and then the low whisper of a door being closed behind him, "What happened?"

My fingers tightened on the steering wheel and as I weaved past a cab, "I don't know, I'm on my way to the hospital now."

"I'm sure she's fine, cub," Ace attempted to reassure me but the uncertainty coating his tone was palpable.

"And if she's not?" The words were barely audible because I didn't want to acknowledge them. She had to be fine.

"Then we'll figure it out, cub. You know we will," he spoke those words with conviction, "want me to stay on the call until you reach the hospital?"

"So Miranda can have my balls for keeping you from her?" I quipped but it fell short. Of course, it fell short because I was busy panicking and still trying to keep my sanity from fraying.

Ace let out a strained chuckle, "Should I be telling her about this?"

"No!" I immediately rejected the thought, "Let me find out more about what's going on before you do that."

"Sure," there was a long pause. I turned into the parking lot of Manhattan General and turned off the engine, placing my phone to my ear so I could continue the call. It was then Ace decided to say, "do I need to clear my schedule?"

"I don't know yet," I responded honestly.

"Let me know soon, cub. I head out of state for the next week on Wednesday night."

"I'll keep that in mind," I mused, "I'm heading in now, I'll call later."

"Yeah, keep me posted."

"I will," I cut the call, exited the car, and made my way to the receptionist with quick steps. She directed me to which floor I needed to be on—the ICU.

I was lucky they even allowed me past the waiting room with me not being a relative but, if they didn't, I was good and ready to sneak in. I walked through the pristine white halls, the boots on my feet tapping against the linoleum floors. My vision tunneled out when I reached the room with Odette.

She was banged up pretty fucking bad. A strangled sound crawled up my throat at the sight of her, causing me to choke back the onslaught of emotions that crashed into me.

Her neck was in a brace and her head of moonshine curls wrapped in a bandage. Multiple black and blue bruises marred her ghost-white skin and I could make out stitches all over her fragile frame. Fragile. I hadn't seen her as fragile in a long time.

One of her legs was put in a cast and suspended in the air and both her hands were bandaged until you couldn't even make out the elegant shape of them. Did she break her hands?

Fuck! This was worse than I thought.

I entered further into the room until I found myself at the foot of her bed, staring at her messed-up figure. How much pain was she in? If I could, I would have taken away all that pain. Whoever was responsible for this was dead.

I watched Odette reluctantly peel her eyelids open and quickly shuffled to her side. She groaned, bluish lips opening and then closing before repeating the action.

"Hey, want some water?" I murmured, reaching out to stroke her hair but then I pulled back, realizing her head was bandaged and probably in pain.

"Jericho?" She rasped in a throaty voice.

"Yeah, it's me," I whispered. I should have been calling a doctor to check her out or at least a nurse but I didn't want to leave her side, "how you feeling."

"Like crap," she wheezed, and then her eyes widened as if recollection hit her, "Parker. Where is Parker?"

"Parker?" I asked, confusion riddling with my features. She was still dating that prick, "Was he with you?"

"Yeah," she let out a breath.

The heart monitor beside her began beeping. Loud. Louder. Faster. Beep. Beep. Beep. She began convulsing on the bed and that wasn't a good sign. It was never a good sign. Nurses came rushing in, shoving past me and pushing me back, shouting at me to get out of the room but all I could do was watch my best friend with a razor-sharp lump in my throat.

Eventually, I was escorted to the waiting room. I robotically took a seat on one of the chairs and dug my nails into my hair before tugging. Hot tears blurred my vision and rolled out my cheeks, soaking into the beard that coated my jaw.

She had to be okay. She couldn't die. She still had so much to live for. What would I do if she died?

It was selfish thinking but it was the thought that played on repeat. I didn't make many friends growing up. I preferred sticking my nose in a book and practicing how to hack simple mainframes at a young age.

Odette, she took her time with me. She made an effort and stuck around even when I was a shy kid who tended to ignore her most of the time. She was patient with me and I guess that was what made me believe that our friendship could work, that I could rely on her. Now, here the fuck we were years later. She was fighting for her life and I felt useless sitting out here, unable to do something—anything—to help.

I pulled out my phone and wiped my tears away with the heel of my free hand simultaneously. Quickly tapping into the cities surveillance feed, I searched for footage of the accident within a ten-mile radius. The search was narrowed down when I imputed her number plate—assuming they were using her car and not the assholes.

My phone pinged when it picked up footage from a traffic cam. I watched the grainy video of the car on an almost desolate road. I couldn't see what the couple inside were doing but one second they were driving straight and the next, the car swerved to the side with speed. The brake lights flashed on at the back but it was too late, the car was going too fast. I watched the car collide into a pole, the front bending inward and the wrought iron pole crashing down onto the car. The driver—Odette—flew through the windscreen, hands first which took most of the impact. It was too far but I knew it was shards of glass that sliced through her skin.

I cut the footage before I could see any more, not emotionally ready for it. All I cared about was trying to figure out what happened in that damn car for this to happen and if Parker had anything to do with it, he was going to wish that this accident had taken his life instead because I'd make him feel everything she felt and more.