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My heart stops seeing recent messages in her inbox.
“What the ever-loving-fuck?” I pull over or I’ll crash into something.
With shaking hands, I open them and see a string of messages from a ’Johnny B. Goode.’
But it’s not me.
Johnny: I need to fuck you.
Gemma7: Hello to you, too. Sorry I can’t.
Johnny: I wasn’t asking.
Gemma7: I used my safe word. And the guy I told you about, the one I felt was off limits? We’re working things out.
Johnny: That’s too bad. I have so much more to give you.
Gemma7: I told him about you. He wasn’t angry, but I’m not going to see you again.
Johnny: One more time.
Gemma7: No.
Johnny: I know who you are Jillian Diamond. Gemma7, very cute, little gem. And I know where you work. I need you one more time. Or I’ll expose you. All the things we did.
Gemma7: That’s shitty of you.
Johnny: You’re on this app for hot fucks. So am I. I gave you all the fantasies you wanted. Now I want one. You owe me.
Gemma7: What’s your fantasy?
I haven’t seethed this way since I dragged those douchebags to their death for laying a hand on Balor. Who the fuck is this?
I click on the profile, and it looks like mine, even the stupid ruler picture is there. But that could have been snipped from my real profile and uploaded to this one.
Johnny: I want to bang a stripper. Go to The Candy Store. You’ll be brought to a private room where YOU WILL STRIP FOR ME.
Gemma7: Okay, one condition.
Okay???
Johnny: You’re skating on thin ice. What?
Gemma7: No mask.
Johnny: No problem.
Sure, no fucking problem, because it’s not me.
Whoever the hell this is, must have also hacked her app. What the fuck kind of shitty service can just be hacked by anyone and everyone?
I rack my brain trying to imagine who this is. She prosecutes criminals. She has enemies all over this damn city.
Is she meeting this guy to do something dangerous like outing someone who threatened her?
She’s there right now. And I’m four miles away.
I pull out into traffic, swerving around a car. I switch to my phone and call Balor.
