Page 15 of Fang

When I’ve had enough, I set the bottle down and meet his gaze. The truth sits heavy on my tongue. It’s a story I’ve never told anyone. Part of me wants to keep it locked away, but secrets won’t save my brother. Getting Fang to trust me is my only hope, and trust requires vulnerability.

“My mother remarried when I was sixteen,” I begin, the words emerging slow and deliberate. “Her new husband made it clear he didn’t want another man’s children in his house. I came home from school one day to find my things packed in garbage bags in the living room. The rest of the house was empty. Everything was gone.”

Fang doesn’t react visibly, but his stillness takes on a different quality—the attentiveness of someone who recognizes the weight of what’s being shared.

“My brother, Rory, was twelve,” I continue. “He was at baseball practice when it happened. Mom didn’t even wait to say goodbye to him. Just left a note with his coach saying he should go home with me.” My laugh comes out bitter and hollow. “As if I had a home to take him to.”

I take another sip of water, using the moment to gather my thoughts. The bottle is cool against my palms, a physical anchor in a sea of painful recollections.

“Some of my friends would let me sneak into their houses at night so we’d have a place to sleep. It worked for a while, but eventually their parents started asking too many questions. I dropped out of school and got two jobs to try to make ends meet. Found a crappy one-bedroom apartment in a roach-infested building that should have been condemned, but it was better than being homeless.” Memories flash by in quick succession—late nights counting tips from waitressing, early mornings at a convenience store, helping Rory with homework between shifts. “We were making it work. It wasn’t great, but we were surviving. Then Rory got sick.”

My voice catches on the last word. I clear my throat, hating how pathetic I sound. The cartel hates anyone who appears weak, so I had to keep that aspect of myself hidden for years. When you fake being strong for long enough, you start to believe it. But really, I’m still the same scared teenager I was whenour mother abandoned us. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing then, and look at where that got me. At least now I’m smart enough to know that I’ll never be able to escape the cartel without someone’s help. And that someone is Fang. He remains silent, giving me space to continue at my own pace, his eyes never leaving my face.

This is the first time I’ve ever told anyone the whole story about how my life went from average to complete shit. I’m only doing it out of sheer desperation. Also, there’s something about Fang that makes me feel like he might actually care if he knew the whole truth. As much as I wish I didn’t have to tell him everything, my gut’s telling me that lying to him won’t work. He’s too smart for that. So instead of giving him half-truths, I’m going to tell him as much as I can. It’s my only shot at getting Rory out of the cartel.

“It started with fatigue, then nosebleeds that wouldn’t stop. The diagnosis was like something from a medical drama. Primary Hyperoxaluria Type 1 is a rare kidney disorder that requires specialized treatment. I was drowning in medical bills within months.” I trace the condensation on the water bottle with my fingertip, watching droplets race down the plastic. “That’s when I met Carlos.”

The name tastes like ash in my mouth, but I force myself to continue. “He was charming, successful. Said he worked in ‘international logistics.’ Took an interest in my coding projects, said I had real talent. When he found out about my brother’s condition, he seemed genuinely concerned. Offered to help with a ‘temporary loan’ for medical expenses.”

Fang shifts slightly, the first real movement he’s made since I started speaking. His posture suggests he already knows where this is going.

“By the time I realized who Carlos really worked for, we were in too deep. The ‘loan’ had mysterious interest thatkept growing. My brother’s condition worsened, requiring more specialized care.” I meet Fang’s eyes directly, letting him see the raw truth. “I didn’t have a choice,” I admit with a bitter laugh. “It was work for them or watch my brother die.”

I push myself out of the chair and stand, needing to move, to do something with the restless energy that always accompanies these memories. The small office feels suddenly claustrophobic and I wish he’d take me into another room, preferably one with windows.

“What kind of work did you do for the cartel?” he asks.

“At first, it was just small things—security upgrades for their ‘business’ systems, encryption protocols for their communications. Things I could convince myself weren’t explicitly criminal.” My fingers trace the edge of his desk, following the smooth curve of expensive wood. “Then the requests got more specific. Hack into a competitor’s database. Create backdoors into police servers. Design ransomware targeting specific businesses.”

I turn back to face him, arms crossed over my chest. “Each time I considered refusing, my brother would mysteriously need a new treatment, a different specialist. The message was clear—I work, he lives.”

Fang’s eyes narrow, but he’s watching me intently. I can almost see the calculations running behind those intelligent green eyes, separating fact from possible fiction, looking for inconsistencies or manipulations in my story.

“This went on for almost ten years,” I continue. “I’d build their digital infrastructure during the day and search for a way out of this mess at night. During all that time, I’d only get to see my brother a few times a year.” I point to the flash drive sitting on Fang’s desk. “That was supposed to be my leverage—every operation, every name, every dirty secret they had. Enough to ensure they’d never come after us if we disappeared.”

“But the drive is practically empty,” Fang states, his voice neutral.

“It’s not empty. Those are decoy files.” I press my palms against my eyes, fighting the headache that throbs behind them. “The real data was supposed to upload to a secure server when I entered a specific command sequence. Something went wrong during the transfer. Then the explosion happened, and…” I gesture vaguely.

The silence that falls between us feels charged with unspoken questions and tentative reassessments. Fang watches me with that same unsettling intensity, as if he’s parsing not just my words but also any subtle tells that might reveal deception.

“If what you’re saying is true,” he says slowly, “the cartel will move Rory as soon as they realize you’ve gone rogue.”

“I know.” The knowledge sits like lead in my stomach. “That’s why we need to move fast. Tonight, if possible.”

Fang raises an eyebrow. “We?”

“Yes,we.” I hold his gaze, refusing to flinch. “I need your help to get him out. You need my help to access the cartel’s systems and operations. Neither of us gets what we want without the other.”

The practical reality of our situation hangs in the air between us, undeniable despite the distrust that still simmers beneath the surface. We’re strangers forced into alliance by circumstance—a hacker with nowhere else to turn and a man with resources but insufficient information.

“Trust isn’t my strong suit,” Fang says after a long moment, his voice carrying the weight of experiences I can only guess at.

“Mine either,” I admit. “But sometimes survival requires uncomfortable partnerships.”

He studies me for what feels like an eternity. Whatever he’s looking for, he seems to find enough of it to continue.

“The club will need to vote,” he says finally. “I can’t make this decision alone.”

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