Manipulative Attraction

43. ⚛️ A Wrench in the Works

The casino hummed with the sounds of whirring machines, tinkling laughter, and shouts from the craps table. Cigarette smoke hung in the air for a moment before being filtered through vents in the lofty ceiling. A sweet, citrus scent mixed with fresh oxygen, permeated the space.

Dr. Share Longborn was on a winning streak. She couldn't lose. Whatever slot machine she played, she received a nice payout, and sometimes even the jackpot. She'd signed over six W-2G's in the past two days alone. Things were looking up for her.

The only thing she lacked was male companionship. It had been ages since she felt a man's touch. The last man who had made her feel like a woman was the white-haired man. He'd promised to stay in touch, and he had, in a way.

A while back, a Latina had approached her in the lobby as she was leaving the SCP meeting. The woman thanked Share with a charming, if somewhat protruding-toothed smile, for keeping her end of the bargain.

Share had asked about the white-haired man when the Latina removed a switchblade from her pocket and asked Dr. Longborn if she knew what happened to people who leaked information.

Share had shakily replied that she had a good idea. The Latina had sagely nodded before putting the blade away. The woman then wished her good luck at the casino.

Share had practically run into the glass door in her haste to leave. She hadn't calmed down until she'd reached the casino and poured at least two sloe gin fizzes down her throat.

"Here you are, Dr. Longborn." The young waiter said, pulling Share back to the present. He placed a sloe gin fizz in her hand, his fingers lingering on hers.

Or so she thought.

In reality, the server was making sure she wouldn't drop the drink on the expensive slot machine and ruin the delicate machinery inside.

Dr. Longborn fluttered her fake lashes. She willed her eyes to focus on the letters of the server's brass name tag. "Thank you...Delario." Share slipped a twenty in his hand and gave him an exaggerated wink—her way of wooing the young stud.

Delario was repulsed at her flirtatious attempt, especially when one of her fake eyelashes slithered like a fat leech down her face and landed in the pocket of her denim jacket. He stifled a laugh as Dr. Longborn swayed drunkenly on her seat, blinking up at him. The young server couldn't believe the old cow was trying to flirt with him. His boyfriend, Mike, would roar with laughter when he told him the story later.

"You're welcome ma'am." Delario tipped his head. "My mother likes that drink, too." He gave the gaped mouth Dr. Longborn one last fake smile before sauntering off, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

Share's smile faded from her face at Delario's snub. Her thin lips wrapped around the drink straw, sucking up the liquor in one go. Finishing, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing her Autumn Glow lip gloss to the side of her cheek.

"Dr. Longborn?"

The good doctor lifted her head as an image came into view. Before her was a man so fine, Share could only stare.

The man looked utterly mouth-watering in his light-blue Oxford shirt which hinted at his muscular chest. Dark blue jeans molded around his thighs while his dark-brown sports coat matched his liquid brown eyes.

Share straightened on her stool. She lifted a shaky hand and patted her up-do, putting on her best come-hither look.

"Yes?" she asked, batting her eye-lash.

The man leaned in, caging her with one hand on top of the machine, the other on her shoulder. He gave her arm a light squeeze before dropping his hand to his side. "We met at the conference last year. Do you remember?"

Dr. Longborn blinked up at the man in surprise. Who could forget meeting such a hunk?

Well, she had. Share didn't recognize him at all. She scratched her head and stifled a burp behind her teeth. The man, like a good kiss, was more than memorable, but Share drew a blank.

Who cared? Not her. He was hot, and he was giving off flirty vibes. After a long sex-drought, a man was interested in her. Share wasn't about to question the 'why' or the 'how.'

"Yes. Um, yes. I remember you. You're...um..."

"Dr. Drake Druthers, at your service." Drake lifted her slightly damp hand from her lap and brushed his lips against the back. When he let it go, Share sighed her disappointment. She wanted more of that lip action.

Yes indeedy, she sure did.

"I'm so glad I ran into you." Drake bit his bottom lip, eyeing Share up and down. "It's good seeing you away from an education setting as you look..." Drake reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. His palm ran along the side of her face, avoiding her lip gloss smudge.

Share simpered at his touch, leaning her head into his hand.

"Simply...beautiful."

Quentin and Dalton zipped their black jumpsuits as Thorne came through the barrack's door. Drake's team milled outside. They were waiting for the cover of darkness to start the rescue mission.

The agent they'd sent ahead to watch Demetri's compound called in a few minutes ago to give an update on Jeannie and Shon. All was well for the time being.

Quentin shook his head. "I still can't believe her godfather and friend betrayed her like that."

Dalton shrugged and put on his bulletproof vest. "It's the nature of the beast, man. You know how things go."

H778′s voice came over the loudspeaker. "59638, you are needed in the main conference room."

Quentin and Dalton looked at each other and then said together, "We're coming, too."

Thorne was about to protest, when Dalton held up his hand, cutting him off. "Let's go."

Thorne sat at the end of the rectangular conference table of six, Dalton and Quentin flanking him on either side. Dalton strummed out notes on an invisible guitar and mumbled lyrics to himself. Quentin spun his stool in full circles, with every other spin, his steel-toed boot would connect with the leg of the table, making it shake. Thorne stared straight ahead, worry for Jeannie paralyzing his heart.

Why did H778 call him to the conference room? Had the scout who watched Demetri's stronghold called with bad news?

The lights turned off, plunging them into darkness.

Quentin stopped twisting in his chair as a white screen lowered from the ceiling.

"Here it comes," he mumbled.

Thorne dug his nails into his palm. In the back of his mind, he was wondering when the hammer would fall on his head for disobeying orders. He thought he was in the clear, but he'd learned in the past few weeks that things were never as they seemed.

H778 spoke, breaking off his thoughts.

"Since 59605 and 59688 were not invited to this meeting, but came anyway, you, 59638, will be held responsible should they should leak the information in this video to anyone outside this room."

Thorne nodded. Anything to move the show on the road. "I'm willing to take on that responsibility."

Without another word, the video played on the screen. A woman with Jeannie's eyes and lips came into focus. She'd suffered, but her allure was unmistakable. She was as beautiful as her daughter and just as poised. Thorne's heart twisted, and his worry became tenfold.

Jeannie had told Thorne her mother had worked for the Istochnik as a secretary. Judging by the scene before him, that was a false statement. Why did H778 want to show him this video now? What did Jeannie's mother have to do with anything?

Thorne learned everything when Valeria Jones spoke. What unfolded on the screen, both shocked and repulsed him.

When the screen went black, dread took hold and Thorne let the darkness invade him once more.