Page 1 of Hunt Me
1
ALEXI
Islam my laptop shut and shove it into my messenger bag, cursing under my breath. Three weeks. Three fucking weeks of chasing digital breadcrumbs that lead nowhere. Whoever this “Phantom” is, they’re good. Too good. They’ve been slicing through my security protocols like they’re made of fucking tissue paper, and it’s driving me insane.
My phone buzzes with Nikolai’s text: “Dinner. Now.”
I glare at my phone. Typical Nikolai—treating texts like royal decrees. No need for pleasantries when you’re the tsar of the Ivanov empire.
“Fuck,” I mutter, glancing at the time. It’s almost 9 PM. I’ve been holed up in this café near MIT for fourteen hours straight, running trace programs that are getting me exactly nowhere.
I toss a hundred on the table—way too much for the six espressos I’ve consumed, but the barista’s been refilling my water without me asking. Small kindnesses deserve recognition in this shark tank of a city.
Outside, Boston’s fall air hits my face with a sobering chill. I could take a rideshare, but my thoughts are spiraling too fast for confinement. My fingers twitch with unspent energy as I startwalking, navigating through the Cambridge streets toward the Longfellow Bridge.
“Phantom,” I whisper, the name tasting bitter on my tongue. Three times they’ve breached our financial firewalls. Three times I’ve patched the vulnerability only to find another exploit. It’s like they’re taunting me personally, leaving digital fingerprints distinct enough for me to recognize but too ghostly to trace.
My phone buzzes again: “Alexi. Now.”
“I’m walking, brother,” I say aloud to no one, typing nothing. Nikolai hates being ignored. I hate being rushed. We’re at an impasse, as usual.
The Charles River stretches below me as I cross the bridge, the city lights rippling on its surface. Boston’s skyline gleams ahead, all glass and steel and old-world brick. In that maze of wealth and history sits our fortress—a Beacon Hill mansion that’s more secure than most government facilities.
Twenty minutes later, I’m climbing the steps to our front door. I push through the massive oak doors of the mansion, the familiar smell of expensive furniture polish and Oksana’s cooking hitting me at once. Voices drift from the dining room—laughter, the clink of crystal, domestic bliss in the lion’s den.
“Ah, the prodigal son arrives,” Dmitri announces as I enter. He’s sitting with his arm draped possessively around Tash’s shoulders, looking like a Wall Street poster boy.
“Sorry I’m late. Was busy saving our digital kingdom from barbarians at the gate,” I drop into the empty chair, the only one without a partner beside it. “Don’t mind me, just the resident tech gnome.”
Sofia passes me a basket of bread. “Everything okay, Alexi?”
“Peachy. Just been playing the world’s worst game of digital hide-and-seek for the past three weeks.” I grab a roll and tear into it. “Anyone want to trade lives? Erik? Your job involves straightforward things like bullets and blood, right?”
Erik, sitting with his arm almost touching Katarina’s, gives me his trademark stone-faced stare.
“I’m simply suggesting that chasing someone who can disappear into digital ether is less satisfying than your more... tangible problems,” I say, reaching for the vodka.
Nikolai clears his throat. “Perhaps work discussions can wait until after dinner.”
“Sure, sure. Let’s talk about... what exactly? The weather? Politics? The fact that I’m clearly the seventh wheel on this very balanced family tricycle?”
Tash snorts into her wine glass, earning a look from Dmitri.
“What?” I spread my hands innocently. “Just observing the perfectly paired nature of our little gathering. It’s like Noah’s Ark, but with designer suits and homicidal tendencies, and my girl missed the fucking boat.”
“Shut up, Alexi.” Nikolai’s voice cuts through the dining room, not angry but firm—the voice he used to break up fights when we were children. “If you don’t like being the odd man out, perhaps stop chasing digital ghosts and find yourself a real woman.”
I raise my vodka glass in mock salute. “Says the man who stalked his wife before making a move. Real smooth romance strategy there, big brother.”
Sofia’s lips twitch. “He has a point, Kolya.”
“I wasn’t stalking,” Nikolai responds with dignified offense. “I was conducting thorough background research.”
“From outside her bedroom window?” Dmitri adds dryly.
I snort. “Remember when he hacked her gallery security just to watch her work? Amateur hour. I could have done it remotely.”
“And yet you’re single,” Tash points out, leaning into Dmitri’s side. “Maybe there’s something to be said for the direct approach.”
