“Margaritas.” I tilt my head left and right, weighing my options. “Vodka might make me too unreasonable today. But tequila is a toss-up.”
“Now that’s my girl.” Her mouth curves into a wicked grin. “You plan the murder. I’ll plan the playlist and make the drinks.”
I smirk for what feels like the first time in weeks. Planning a murder is something I can do from my couch, and when I execute said bloodshed, I’ll finally be able to get back to my job.
Actually, scratch that.
I can’t bring anyone back to this apartment to gut and stitch for snitching. The Maldonados are still cleaning their ranks, but I can’t help untilallmy stalkers are taken care of.
Of course, the follow-up question to myself is… Am I killing the HimLock guys?
I don’t know what I’m doing other than treading in dark water, seeking the thrill of not knowing what’s just out of sight.
“Fair trade,” I finally say to Roo, but she’s already clattering around the kitchen, searching for all the ingredients.
I drop onto the couch, phone still in hand, and tuck my legs beneath me. The notification banner sits on my screen, a terrible habit I keep indulging. It’s a sharp juxtaposition that’s fucking with my head. I like these guys in the HimLock app, but I don’t like the cameras in my apartment.
I glance around my living room, where three sets of lenses watch every corner and shadow. Every move I make… Can they hear me too?
Locke:
Are you okay?
I’m going to need you to stop staring at me through the cameras now.
Tell us he didn’t actually touch you. Put us out of our misery. We can’t see anything other than him reaching…
We’re one click away from ruining his life. And if you tell us to do it, we will.
I’m not sure if that’s reassuring or not, but it is good information to have. If they can fuck up Daniel’s life on my behalf, then what can they do to my life? I mean… I kill people. In the very apartment they have cameras mounted to watch me. And my partner in said crimes is shaking her ass in my kitchen to her murder playlist while she makes margaritas.
Eris:
No. He tried, but I pulled away just as his fingers brushed my arm.
Probably need a shower now. He left me with an ick I can’t get rid of.
Locke:
Say the word, and it won’t happen again.
I stare at the message, pulse too steady for the shit happening in my life.
I should feel cornered. I know that’s the right reaction… or maybe a severe freakout is needed.
But all I feel is a depraved yet calm satisfaction with his response. The greedy hands in my chest latch onto the depth of his meaning, the darkness in that promise… because it is a promise.
And the man behind this message?
It’s not Whisper. He’s bold in his replies but gentle in his intensity.
And I’m sure it’s not Hollow. He’s the one who flirts the most and writes with more emotion.
This is my calculated Cipher.
Quiet. Empty. Nothing.
They definitely aren’t living up to their usernames.
