Page 1 of Doxed
Stalking.
That’s such a harsh term, so negative. And where is the line drawn between being obsessed and caring? Dangerous and protective?
I never thought of myself as an obsessive guy, and definitely not some limp dick, sweaty mother fucker in my mom’s basement eating chips in a stained, white tank top, gut hanging over my jeans.
Or some guy in a black hoodie standing outside of a window, staring in and jerking my micro peen in the bushes.
No. No, I sit in a plush gaming chair, my three monitors sitting in front of me, and a fourth hanging on the wall, watching a small, brunette woman strut her little ass and perky tits around a high-end sex club, excuse me, gentlemen’s club is what I think they prefer to call it.
Men watch her, much like me, tracking her every move like she’s a meal.
Her legs look a lot longer in the platform heels she moves in.
She grabs a man’s hand and leads him to the elevator that goes up to the private rooms. I track them down the hall, but there aren’t any cameras in the rooms. I lose her when they step inside.
The man watches her ass as he steps into the room and the door closes behind him.
Ronan asked me to look into Los Lobos, but then he was fucking murdered.
I’m not sure why he asked me and not their little resident techie Mason, but he did, and he asked me to keep quiet about it, so I am.
If something comes from my surveillance of their club, I’ll tell them, until then, I just watch drug deals and illegal sex work take place in their club.
My system buzzes and I look over at a fifth, smaller monitor off to the side that is strictly for my security system and cameras.
The tall fucker himself straddles his bike at my first gate, pushing the button which notifies my system.
I click a button to open both gates with a sigh and watch him release the clutch on his bike and roll forward.
Clicking out of the security cameras for La Lujuria, I pull up a random chat room on the screen in front of me.
“Dox!” Mason says cheerfully when he steps into my office.
Rolling my eyes, I rub at my dark eyebrows. “I should have never told you about that.”
He falls into a rolling chair next to me and slides his way over, getting way too close as usual, but I've come to anticipate it and don’t mind as much anymore. “What? Your super secret hacker code name?” He smiles, clearly making fun of me. “When do I get one?”
“How about ‘Floppy Disk’, but replace the ‘S’ with a ‘C’?” I smile back, but my smile has a little venom in it.
He leans back, crossing his long leg over his knee. “I think I’ll start calling you Doxy.” He smirks.
“I think I’ll stab you,” I retort.
Mason laughs and pulls a phone out of his pocket. The screen smashed to hell. “I was just coming over to see if you could go through these texts and call logs.”
I take the phone from him and turn it over in my hand, trying to get an idea of whose it is, but it’s just a black smartphone, no indicator of who it belonged to. “You can’t do that? What have I been teaching you?”
He shakes his head, his brown hair falling into his eyes. “Yes, I can do it. I did do it, but I haven't found anything that stands out.”
“Then maybe nothing does.” I try to hand it back, but he doesn't reach out to take it.
His eyes look sad, defeated. “Please take a look. I need there to be some answer for what happened on that phone.”
My stomach knots and I have a hunch whose phone this is, but I ask anyway. “Who’s phone is this?”
“Ronan’s.” Mason stares at the phone in my hand.
I lick my lips and suck them between my teeth. “I’ll take a look, Mase.”
He nods once, eyes still locked on the phone. “Thanks, Miles.”
Mason claps a hand on my shoulder and leaves my office without another word. I watch the front door close from my monitor, and Mason walks away and to his bike. He slumps his shoulders forward and I feel for the guy, I really do.
The Outlaws can’t seem to catch a fucking break lately.
Between the stalker, a creepy as fuck, murdery one, being investigated by the FBI for a high-profile murder, and now their President being capped, someone is after them hard and I don’t think they’re going to stop until every member is in the ground and the club is in pieces.
Maybe, though, I don't know, I'm just a hired hacker.