Page 1 of Always Watching

Chapter 1

Ranen

Authorities are still seekingtips for a missing Red Hill man, Austin Rogers. Rogers went missing after his shift at a local grocery store, Super Foods Plus, and hasn’t been seen since. He was last spotted on CCTV exiting the store, but it lost sight of him as he walked toward his vehicle. Rogers is five-nine, approximately one hundred and seventy pounds. He has brown hair, light-brown eyes, and a tattoo across his throat of a stitched neck wound. If you have any information, please contact Crime Stoppers. There is a five-thousand dollar reward for information on his whereabouts.

I turn the radio off, blowing out a nervous breath. I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t hear that news report untilafterI returned to my car from grocery shopping at Super Foods Plus.

As I’m driving back home, I rack my brain for any memory of Austin Rogers. I usually shop earlier in the day, so he was probably a night-shift employee. I’m sure I’d remember a tattoo like that if I saw it.

A shiver runs down my spine as I turn into my apartment complex. Red Hill has never been a place where people just disappear, but this isn’t the first missing person in the past few months. True, it’s not the safest town in America, but there isn’t rampant crime either. A murder once every few years, petty thefts, stuff like that, but never missingpeople.

Every time I hear a description on the news, they’re a different race, height, hair, and eye color. I’ve read a few books about victimology and how most killers have the same type of people they like to… eliminate. Whoever is snatching all these people doesn’t have a type, though. So that leads me to believe they’re either not picky kidnappers or there’s more than one person active. That scares me even more.

I put my car in park and blow out another long breath, mainly because now I have to carry everything upstairs to the second floor. I always tell myself I’m going to order my groceries next time so I don’t have to climb all those stairs, but I’d feel guilty if I asked someone else to do it, even if I paid them.

I get out of my car and walk to the trunk, already irritated by the trip upstairs and I haven’t even taken it yet. Like most people, I grab every single bag on one trip so I don’t have to make the climb more than once, and since I waited until the last minute to shop this time, I have a fuck ton of bags.

A sound of frustration at myself leaves my lips as I trudge to my apartment building and start up the stairs. Just as I’m going up, my landlord is coming down. I fight to keep the scowl from my face, especially since he keeps coming down the stairs as if he doesn’t see my arms full of bags.

He smiles creepily at me and I fight to suppress a shudder. My landlord is disgusting, always commenting on my body and giving me lustful, dirty looks that make me want to take a shower and scrub my skin off. He’s much taller than my five-five height, probably closer to six feet. He has a nice dad bod that would behot on anyone else, but everything about him disgusts me, so I don’t look at him in any sexual way. His blond hair is thinning, always in a messy bun on top of his head. When his eyes roam over me, my stomach roils with unease. Something is off about him.

I’m almost one hundred percent sure he’s subscribed to my cam channel, which only ratchets up the creep factor. He probably thinks that because he pays to watch me jerk off and play with my ass I owe him something.

I’ve been camming for the past three years—since I turned twenty—and I love it. It’s an easy way to make money and I love showing off my body, even if I’ve never done much more than what I do on cam.

Well, nothing at all more than what I’ve done on cam. Virgin, party of me.

What I don’t love about my job is not being able to know who my subs are, even though they’ve seen my face plenty of times and if they live in Red Hill could pick me out of a crowd.

Like my landlord, Mr. Barlowe.

He stands directly in front of me, blocking my path while I have two arms loaded down with groceries. I don’t like him being on the step higher than me. I have to look up at him and I hate that feeling.

“Ranen. What are you up to?”

I look down at my bags in an exaggerated way, hoping he takes the hint and gets the fuck out of my way. “Just getting in from shopping, Mr. Barlowe.”

He laughs, waving me away. “Now, I told you to call me Todd. All my friends call me Todd.”

“Mr. Barlowe,” I say with emphasis. “If you’ll excuse me.”

He steps in my way and I sigh heavily, my arms aching, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of showing my discomfort. “Didyou hear about that missing guy?” He points to my shopping bags. “I know you visit Super Foods Plus a lot.”

That would be creepy if it weren’t one of the only grocery stores in Red Hill besides Walmart. There aren’t many options.

“Yeah, I heard. What of it?”

“I want you to be safe,” he says, lifting his hand and dragging a finger down my face. My hands are full, making it impossible for me to slap his hand away. He has me trapped and he knows it. “I can protect you. Why don’t you… stay with me for a few days? At least until they catch this maniac.”

“Stop touching me,” I say through clenched teeth. I rarely get angry or even have an attitude with anyone, but he’s invading my personal space, and fight or flight is real. “You’re making me uncomfortable.”

Mr. Barlowe chuckles and moves to the side so I can ease past him. “Don’t mean to do that. Think about what I said, Ranen. I can protect you.”

I ignore him as I hurry up the stairs to my apartment, my arms feeling as if they’re about to fall off. A disgruntled noise slips past my lips as I see a package at my door. It’s not overly large, but it’s also in my way when I just want to get inside.

Last year, Mr. Barlowe sprung for these electric keypads on our doors. At first I hated it, thinking that if the power went out, we couldn’t get inside. But not only does it have a key slot for that very reason, it also makes it easier to get inside when my hands are full of groceries.

With effort, I lift my right hand and input the code, and the door pops open. I kick the package inside as I waddle over the threshold, grateful to be home. As soon as the door closes behind me, I set my many bags down, shaking my arms out and trying to get the blood flowing through them again. My wrists and arms are red where the straps of the bags dug into them. With my fair skin, the marks stand out in sharp relief.

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