Chapter 25
Andy didn’t answer the phone when it lit up with a local number he recognized, even though it said “Unknown Caller” and wasn’t in his contacts.
He’d been hunched at his desk for nearly an hour, staring at the new Ghost Thread: Echo devlog without processing a single frame of it.
The video played on—graphics demos, commentary, ambient music—but his mind kept looping back to the moment he’d done Diego’s job.
The sick rush of adrenaline. The guilt that crawled under his skin afterward.
And what he hated most—a flicker of pride he couldn’t smother, the part that craved being good at something, even for the wrong person.
The phone rang again—same unknown number.
His stomach bottomed out.
He knew who it was. And he knew answering was the wrong move. At this point, he wasn’t sure he wanted the money he’d been promised. Diego hadn’t contacted him since the other day, and part of Andy was relieved. But it looked like he had to deal with the asshole again.
The call went to voicemail a second time, but his phone immediately jolted to life again. It wasn’t for another call, but a text.
Unknown:
Answer Bing
When the next call came in, he forced himself to pick it up and swipe the screen.
“Yeah?” His voice cracked. Of course it did.
“Dude, next time, don’t make me call more than once. How’s my star hacker doin’?”
That voice—smooth, sly, like every word slid out around a wicked grin he couldn’t see but definitely felt—sent a cold prickle down Andy’s arms. Diego always sounded like a cat toying with a mouse that hadn’t realized it was cornered yet.
Andy pushed his chair away from the desk until it bumped the edge of his bed. “You don’t have to call me that.”
“Sure, I do,” Diego said. “It’s who you are. Smart kid. Quick fingers. Useful.”
Andy clenched his fist. That word—useful—shouldn’t have made something warm and ashamed twist in his chest. But it did. And that’s what scared him.
“What do you want?” Andy asked. “I did that thing for you already.”
“Mmh. You did,” Diego said, sounding pleased. “Good work, by the way. Clean. Efficient.”
Praise shouldn’t have landed the way it did—sharp and electric—but it crawled right under Andy’s skin.
He hated that he reacted to it at all. He had fun testing himself by hacking into websites, but that’s as far as he ever went.
He just looked around before retreating and wiping out any evidence that he’d been there. No harm. No foul.
“You said you’d give me the money,” Andy said. “That’s why you’re calling, right?”
“Right,” Diego drawled. “Got your five hundred waitin’ for ya. Come meet me.”
His pulse kicked hard. Half of him wanted to throw the phone across the room, the other half was already thinking about how far that money could go on a date with Kelle. “Where?”
“You’re in Whisper, right?”
A drop of cold went straight down Andy’s spine.
His fingers froze on the chair’s armrest. Every sound in the house—every creak, every groan of the old beams—seemed to sharpen around him.
“How do you know I’m there?” he demanded, trying and failing to keep the waver out of his voice.
Diego let out a small, amused breath. “I have my sources.”
Andy swallowed hard.
“Are you in Whisper or not?”
His heart pounded so loud that he almost couldn’t hear himself respond. “Yeah.”
“Good,” Diego said smoothly. “Meet me at the grocery store off Main in ten minutes. Far end of the parking lot. I’ll be in a black Charger.”
Wariness tightened his throat. “Why there?”
A chuckle, low and entertained, came through the speaker. “Bing, if I wanted to do something to you, I wouldn’t pick a place with security cameras and old ladies who don’t mind their own fucking business. Chill.”
Chill. Right.
Easier said than done.
He pressed a hand to his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut. Logic whispered that he should block the number. Delete it. Move on.
But five hundred dollars...
That was more than he made in a week at the hardware store, and it wasn’t taxed. He also didn’t have to put the majority of it into his savings account at Tess’s insistence.
“You want the money or not?” Diego asked, voice sharpening.
He knew the right answer.
He also knew the one he was going to give.
Sighing, he opened his eyes. “Fine. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Good boy,” Diego said, and the line clicked dead.
Andy stared at his phone as if it might explode. Nausea rolled through his stomach like a violent maelstrom.
He gulped for air and shoved down the panic that threatened to overtake him.
Once he calmed enough to stand without face-planting, he shoved his phone into his pocket, grabbed his house keys, and tried—tried—to convince himself this would be the last time he did something so stupid.
When Andy steered the borrowed beach-house bike into the grocery store lot, he had to admit Diego was right—middle of the afternoon, people everywhere. Too many witnesses for anyone to try something stupid.
He pedaled toward the far end, weaving past shopping carts and a couple loading groceries into their trunk. No black Dodge Charger. No Diego.
Good. Bad. He couldn't tell which.
He coasted into a strip of shade cast by a row of trees, kicked the stand down, and climbed off.
Sweat stuck his T-shirt to his back. The summer heat pressed down thick and slow, reducing the patch of cover to little more than a tease.
He repeatedly wiped his palms on his jeans, but it didn’t help. His palms were still clammy.
He bounced on the balls of his feet, scanning the cracked asphalt while checking the time. Every second stretched longer than it should. The air smelled like hot pavement and old oil. A single cicada buzzed in a tree nearby, loud enough to make his nerves spike.
The whole situation was stupid—meeting a gang member like it was an everyday occurrence. He shouldn't be there.
“Screw the money,” he muttered and reached for the bike. But when an engine rumbled in the distance, growling louder with every heartbeat, he knew it was too late to flee.
His breath hitched.
A brand new, four-door black Charger rolled into the lot—not fast, just slow and controlled like it belonged there. The sun caught the windshield at the wrong angle, throwing a glare that made Andy squint.
The muscle car came to a stop in front of him, and the engine revved once before cutting off. A few long quiet moments passed—just enough to make Andy’s pulse thud in his ears.
Then three of the doors opened.
Diego climbed out of the driver’s seat, wearing the same smirk Andy remembered from that awful night in the alley. The smirk of a guy who’d already counted the deck and knew he couldn’t lose.
Simultaneously, Toad and Jax slid out of the car, too, each flanking Diego like they were his personal bodyguards. Shoulders loose. Hands empty. Eyes mean.
Andy’s sneakers suddenly seemed glued to the pavement.
“Look who showed,” Diego said, spreading his arms like they were buddies meeting up for a cookout. Too casual. Too welcoming. “Didn’t think you’d actually have the balls.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” Andy managed. His voice was mostly steady. Mostly.
“Yeah,” Diego drawled, giving him a long, amused once-over. “You are.”
He tried to hide the fact that his knees shook. He wished he’d biked slower, or faster, or not at all. Every option felt wrong now that he was actually standing in front of Diego.
The guy reached into the pocket of his baggy jeans and pulled out a small envelope. He tossed it lazily—almost bored—in Andy’s direction. It fluttered through the air, and Andy fumbled it, barely catching it before it hit the pavement.
It had weight to it. Too much to be five hundred-dollar bills. He glanced around to make sure no one was paying them any attention before opening it and finding a thick wad of twenties—crumpled, used, and untraceable.
Dirty money for a dirty job.
Stuffing the envelope into the pocket of his jeans, Andy swallowed hard. “That’s it, right? We’re done?”
Diego looked at him for a long moment.
Then he barked out a laugh. The brutal sound caused the hair on the back of Andy’s neck to stand up.
“Kid,” Diego said with a grin, “we’re never just done.”
Andy’s stomach dropped. Hard. His fingers dug into his palms to the point of pain.
He did his best to speak without stuttering. “You said it was a one-time thing.”
“No,” Diego corrected, wagging a finger. “You said it was a one-time thing. I said I had a job.” His vile grin sharpened. “Today, I’ve got another.”
A cold, buzzing tension crawled across his skin, like static gathering under his clothes. He couldn’t stop thinking about how stupid he’d been. How he should have blocked Diego the second he hung up. How he should never have touched his keyboard that night.
“I’m not doing anything else.” Sweat rolled down his face, and it had nothing to do with the summer sun. “I just helped with the IP thing, okay? That’s all I’m doing.”
Diego sighed, as if Andy were a toddler refusing to eat his vegetables. “Don’t be dramatic. This next one’s not even complicated. An in-and-out job.”
His throat tightened. “What kind of job?”
The gang leader stepped closer. Too close. Andy had to fight the instinct to back up or turn around and run. He didn’t want to look scared even though his knees were ready to fold.
“There’s this crypto account,” Diego said. “Belongs to a guy who doesn’t watch it the way he should. Uses one of the big exchanges. Keeps his money parked there.”
Stomach churning, he almost vomited. He didn’t like where this was going. Not one bit.
Diego continued, unfazed by the panic crawling up Andy’s spine. “We just want you to get in, change where the funds go, and push a withdrawal. Simple.”
His mouth went dry, and his chest tightened. “That’s... that’s stealing!” he spat out as if the three dirtbags were clueless. Then again, maybe he was the clueless one, pointing out the obvious crime to a bunch of drug dealers.
“Relax,” Diego said, chuckling. “Crypto moves all the time. Nobody’s gonna notice right away. By the time they do, it’s already gone. Besides, you already proved you can get in and out without leaving fingerprints. Who’s gonna know?”
“No.” Andy shook his head so hard, it was a surprise it didn’t fly off his neck. “No way. That’s—that’s illegal. Really illegal.”
Diego’s smile faded a fraction. “So? You worried about getting caught?”
“Yes! Obviously!”
“Then don’t get caught.”
Andy just stared at him, stunned—because of course that’s what Diego would say, like it was the easiest thing in the world.
“I’m not doing it,” he repeated.
Silence stretched, sharp enough to cut.
Then Diego stepped even closer, so close that the stench of cigarettes couldn’t cover his foul breath. Dark coarse whiskers peeked out of the pores along his jawline and upper lip. He didn’t lift a hand, didn’t raise his voice, but the threat settled between them like a dropped blade.
“Listen.” The word was said softly. Too softly. “You’re smart. Really smart. You made the other day look easy, which is why I picked you for this. Not one of my guys. You.”
“That’s not a compliment,” Andy muttered, but it came out thin and weak.
Diego tipped his head, studying him with the patience of a predator. “Come on, man. Don’t make me look for someone else.”
The urge to vomit was back. “What does that mean?”
“It means...” the bastard said in a calm tone—calmer than it should’ve been, “…everybody’s got a price. Or a weak spot.”
Weak spot.
The words struck like a slap. Andy tried to keep his expression blank, but panic clawed at his insides, jagged and fast. He didn’t miss the way Diego’s grin widened, like he’d seen it—the flinch Andy didn’t mean to give away.
“Relax,” Diego said, stepping back with a smirk. “Think on it.”
“I don’t need to think,” he said louder. “I said no.”
Courage wasn’t the right word for what shot through him—it felt more like panic wearing a brave face.
Diego shrugged like it didn’t matter. Like none of it mattered. “Suit yourself.”
When Diego strode toward the driver’s door, Andy thought the nightmare was over.
But Toad and Jax didn’t move. And instead of getting in, Diego reached through the open window, grabbed a bottle of cola, and twisted it open like they were just hanging out after school—not talking about federal crimes.
He guzzled half of the soda as he slowly returned and got in Andy’s face again.
“You know,” Diego said conversationally, “I always respect someone who tries to do the right thing. I do. Really. But man...” He blew out a breath, shaking his head. “Life gets messy.”
Andy couldn’t even find words.
Diego watched him a second longer, then grinned. “Anyway. I’ll let you think about it a little longer, and then I’ll text you.” He paused. “Try not to disappoint me.”
The trio sneered at Andy as they climbed into the Charger, revved the engine once—loud, deliberate—then peeled out, gravel exploding under the tires.
He stood frozen in the dust and exhaust, his heart pounding so hard it made his ribs ache.
It took at least a full minute before his legs remembered how to move.
He staggered backward until his back met a tree, then he sat hard. The envelope was burning a hole in his pocket as the guilt hit as fast as the fear.
He shouldn’t have done the first job.
He shouldn’t have come for the money.
He shouldn’t have given Diego anything to latch on to.
Everybody’s got a price. Or a weak spot.
The common cliche wasn’t what bothered him—it was the second part tacked on that had him tense. What the hell had Diego meant by it?
With shaking fingers, he pulled out his phone from his pocket and deleted the number Diego had called him from.
Blocked it.
Deleted the text thread. Again.
None of it made him feel better.
A breeze kicked across the parking lot. He finally stood and grabbed the bicycle’s handles. He was too unsteady to get on, so he walked beside it instead. Each step was weighted, like his sneakers were made of cement.
His brain spun in frantic, looping circles—panic and denial and what-ifs crashing into each other like waves.
He wasn’t doing anything else for Diego.
He was out. Done. No more.
But with every step, one truth gnawed deeper—Diego wasn’t done with him.
Not even close.