For Virgo, nights like these were close to normal. Slide into the closet she called an office, hear the complaints of at least three of her workers, blacklist another half-dozen clients, another goddamned thing shouldn’t throw her off kilter.

She didn’t want the note stapled to the door of her brothel to bother her.

“YOU’RE A DEAD FUCKING BITCH, VEGA. YOU CAN’T HIDE FROM ME. I WILL GET YOU.”

It was unsigned, like the other two that had been left over the past week, and it wasn’t the first time threats had been left in her years of working at Lovelace. But this was the first time she’d felt eyes on her on her walk home, or felt the need to draw her curtains in the middle of the day.

She was unnerved.

She wasn’t willing to face the walk home alone anymore, a genuine fear spiking her heart rate at the thought of being stabbed in the back, or grabbed, and becoming another girl who went missing and became a page 5 story in the screamsheets.

There were few people who one could safely rely on in Night City, merely people who didn’t kill previous clients, and luckily for her, she knew of a handful of these people.

She scrolled through her agent to find the number of a bodyguard she’d gotten the info of a while ago, from someone, somewhere, at some time. Right now that didn’t matter, if it was in her agent, she was reasonably sure they were okay.