Page 24

The8 has really gotten under my skin, making me jump any time my phone goes off or something gets delivered. And yet, I wish it was only me they were toying with.
Like a paranoid mess, I scan my apartment, and I breathe a sigh of relief when I see nothing out of place.
I make myself a cup of coffee before heading to the shower, knowing I’m going to regret it. My body is already brimming with energy—coffee just makes it worse, but I feel like I need it today.
I call Uncle Rocco to check in on things upstate while my coffee brews. He informs me that all is well and the latest shipment arrived without a hitch. The second I hang up, my phone rings, showing his name again.
“You forget something?” I ask, sliding the phone between my ear and shoulder as I make my coffee. I add way too much sugar, ensuring that I’ll not only be hopped up on caffeine and anxiety, but sugar too.
Silence.
“Rocco, you there?”
Silence.
“Weird,” I mutter to myself and hang up, but something doesn’t sit right. I hit redial as my stomach flip-flops.
“Boss?”
“Rocco? What was that?”
“What do you mean?” he asks, sounding confused.
“You just called me back, didn’t you?”
“Noooo,” he draws out the word like he thinks I might be losing it. “You just called me.”
“No, no, before that,” I try to explain. “You called me as soon as we hung up, and it was silent. I was worried.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about, kid,” he laughs. I hear a pallet jack beeping in the distance and wood being stacked on wood. “Just walked into the warehouse and went to find Jack.”
“Weird,” I mutter again, hanging up. The phone instantly rings back with Rocco’s name flashing across the screen. I snatch it up and answer immediately.
Silence.
“Who is this?” I ask, realizing that this isn’t a random tech glitch.The8 is behind this. They want me to know they’re listening to my calls.
“What do you want?” I demand, frustration and anger pouring off me like steam.
The line clicks and goes dead. No heavy breathing, no scrambled voice, no cryptic message—just pure frustrating fucking silence.
I hurl my phone across the kitchen, fed up with this bullshit, but then think better of it and jog over to pick it up. It’s surprisingly still intact, and I resolve to try to reverse-hack their calls again.
But first, a much-needed shower.
I stroll to the bathroom, stripping my robe and suit off as I go, but stop in my tracks when I enter the room. The giant mirror that stretches across one entire wall behind the double sinks is covered in lipstick kisses.
I whirl around, convinced there’s a deranged axe murderer behind me wearing red lipstick, but I’m completely alone.
My first instinct is to get my gun and search the house, but the words on the mirror beckon me. I slowly make my way closer, noting that every pair of lips is the same shade and size.It must be one person, a woman?
The message, written in the same shade of lipstick, sends shivers of fear and shock through me. I’m frozen to the ground, naked and covered in goosebumps, in my bathroom. I read the message again, and my anxiety skyrockets.
Remember when I used to watch you swim laps? I still do.
They were watching me on the rooftop, they were listening to my phone conversations, and they were inside my house.Inside my fucking house!
I spin around and head straight to the bedroom where my gun rests. Throwing on the first items of clothing I pull out, I stick the gun in my holster and jog to the elevator.No phone calls, nothing is safe. Nowhere is safe.