Don’t Log Off, Part Two (Terms & Conditions #2)

Chapter 1 Eris

It feels like a typical fucking Tuesday… Except I keep side-stepping into corners to avoid someone who should already be dead.

My hands shake as the adrenaline fades from my confrontation with Daniel. I glare down at my phone, the cracked screen protector evidence of a very public mistake I almost made today.

When I shoved my chair back and rushed downstairs to keep Daniel away from Roo’s mark, I didn’t pay attention to any other damage I caused… But the tip of my thumb has a thin red line where the glass cut me. I peel the protector off my screen and chuck it out the window of the speeding car.

Roo is running at least thirty over the downtown speed limit, letting her demons throw their weight around as she boils in the driver’s seat of her very ostentatious car. The locked doors between us and the outside world are cooling us both off.

She doesn’t even ask me what happened until we’re a few minutes into the drive. I don’t do more than make an aggravated sound in the back of my throat in response.

Her fingers white-knuckle around the steering wheel, as if the supple leather can absorb any more of her rage, until finally, she glances in my direction.

“Was it him?”

I nod. My fury spikes for a second, the kind of feeling that sits in your ribs and waits for the proper target.

I try to keep it directed at the right person…

But I’m angry at a few people right now.

Three more, to be exact. If they had just called Roo like I asked, then she would have killed Daniel as he disappeared around the corner of the building, a quick bullet to the head.

No one would flinch at the sound of a gunshot in Crimson Bay.

The HimLock guys not calling her makes me wonder how closely they’re watching me. Surely they’ve seen Roo around. Romily Sokolov is difficult to miss with her wild scarlet hair and glittering goth exterior.

I shake my head, clearing my thoughts. This isn’t quite right. They have to know. I mean, they’ve hacked into my phone and have a dozen cameras on me. Which leaves me wondering…

What else do they know?

What do they not know?

Roo’s jaw tightens, the muscle ticking rhythmically, causing her ear to wiggle a little. “Do I need to beat his ass?” she inquires, her tone flat. “Or should we hire someone smarter than us?”

The laugh that leaves me tastes metallic but sounds thready. I can only think of a handful of people we could call… And none of them will give Daniel an ass-beating. There is no scenario where he walks away alive if we bring in a third party.

He should count his lucky fucking stars he’s still breathing at all.

Next time, I’ll have my gun. Fuck some goddamn scissors. Stabbing is more Roo’s thing than mine.

“Security got to him first,” I acknowledge, then snort. “The HimLock app called them.”

Roo hard blinks as she stops at a red light. She slowly turns to face me. “The app called security?”

“I don’t know how it all worked out,” I admit, leaning back against the seat and staring at the pristine black interior above my head. “But it did. I messaged the app, and two seconds later, security was dragging him out.”

She reaches across the console and laces her fingers through mine. No words needed. We’ve been through some shit together, and this doesn’t even make the top ten.

Her grip says, “I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Her eyes say, “Give me five minutes, and I’ll finish what they started.”

Roo makes a right turn into my apartment parking garage, pulling into the guest spot next to my mostly unused, extremely ordinary car… The sun is already shifting, afternoon light cutting sharp through the concrete columns as we exit her sports car and quietly slink across the nearly empty lot.

I catch my reflection in the glass door and stare. On the outside, everything appears normal. But there’s a fine tremor building under my skin, my ire coiling around the last dregs of my restraint, choking it like a python ready to strike at the rat.

“I’ll walk you up,” Roo tells me, her car releasing a high-pitched series of beeps before we enter the stairwell.

“You don’t have to—”

“I know,” she interrupts. “I’m doing it anyway.”

We climb the stairs in silence, the kind that usually feels safe between us, as if the worst of the day is over and a fresh breath is just beyond the door we’re about to walk through.

But this one is different.

This silence feels like a deep inhale before an ear-piercing scream.

We get to my apartment without seeing another soul, and Roo slides her fob against the keypad of my front door. The light doesn’t flicker to green… Instead, it turns red, flashing its irritation. She taps the fob twice more before turning to me, a curious brow raised.

I notice the movement immediately.

The hallway camera twists toward us, as if it’s been watching the stairwell while we just stand outside my apartment, loitering for the hell of it.

Roo holds up her useless fob. “Did you—?”

“No,” I drawl, eyes narrowing as I have a one-sided stare-off with the intrusive piece of technology fueling a distinct set of stalkers. “I didn’t change the locks.”

She turns until we’re face-to-face, glancing over my shoulder, guarding my back until I explain. I’m not as worried as she is, though. I know this isn’t Daniel’s doing. Roo notes my calm too. Her eyebrows go up, eyes widening, like a look alone should prompt an answer from me.

“Then who did?”

I continue glaring at the camera, and a second dot of green light blinks once, as if it’s winking at me.

I roll my eyes and open the HimLock app.

Eris:

I’m home.

The reply appears before I have a chance to glance away from the screen.

Locke:

I know.

We were waiting.

My stomach tightens, recognition pooling in my belly like a warning. You’re being studied, Eris. Catalogued. Wanted…

My door unlocks on its own, no fob needed to trigger the mechanism. The first thing I notice when I walk in is that my thermostat has been adjusted. It sits on the wall beside my door, so it’s difficult to miss… And it’s always set high enough, or low enough, to stop running while I’m not home.

But my air-con is decidedly on… Much cooler than I keep it.

I don’t like it.

As I tap the touchscreen on the wall, Roo moves toward the kitchen with a loud sigh.

“Want me to make coffee?”

I frown at her and shake my head. Did I enter a parallel universe this morning?

“You hate my coffee. It’s not bougie enough for you.” I slide my shoes off as I mutter, “And it’s not watered down or full of sugar and milk.”

“I hate what you call coffee,” she corrects. I hear the smile in her voice as she opens my fridge. “But I’m all out of therapy degrees. And I figure you need something warm and bitter.”

“Coffee’s not gonna cut it,” I call back to her as I glare at yet another camera.

If I start ripping them off the walls, how soon will they show up?

I kind of want to hurl these cameras into oncoming traffic…

But the pettier part of me wants to be cruel. Start walking around in next to nothing. Bring a stranger home to give them a show. See how many buttons I can find and how fast I can push every last one of them.

Roo glances over her shoulder. “No black coffee to warm your frigid heart?”

“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 until all my 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.

Oh, the irony.

Roo steps into my line of sight, stopping me from glancing at the camera facing me. The salted rim of the margarita glass is level with my mouth, and the smell of tequila is strong enough to burn my nostrils.

“Is there anything else in this other than liquor and ice?”

“And salt,” she adds with a shrug. “You don’t have limes.”

I take the glass with a laugh. “So… shots?”

She holds her tequila out, bumping it against mine. “To poor decisions and worse men.”

“May the decisions be fun,” I counter with a smile. “And the men regret ever crossing us.”