Hotline Miami Novels & Stories

Mia's POV As I filled the kettle for morning tea, my phone rang—an unknown number with a local area code. Normally, I'd let such calls go to voicemail, wary of reporters still trying to get comments about the Branson scandal. But something—intuition perhaps—prompted me to answer. "Hello?" There was silence on the other end, followed by a crackle of static that suggested an institutional phone system. "Hello?" I repeated, irritation creeping into my voice. "Who is this?"

Liam growls into the pjone. "Let's just say I'm the Boogeyman, okay? I don't want to waste time with the pleasantries." "Don't you dare hurt her..." "Oh shut up, Liam Chadwick," the other man hisses. "I need the four digit code of your safe or I'm putting a bullet in her pretty face." "Dial 911," Liam mutters handing his phone over to me. My fingers are trembling as I type the emergency number into his phone and press dial.

"I want to build the biggest sandcastle ever." Brett kisses the top of her head. "We can do whatever you want, princess." As Lily settles back to sleep between us, I feel the tension finally leaving my body. Amanda Cross and Elena are gone. We're safe. Our family is whole. But as dawn breaks over the city, my phone rings again. The caller ID makes my blood freeze: Graham Foundation - Emergency Line. "That's impossible," Brett mutters, checking his phone. "I'm the only one with access to that line."

"Listen to me very carefully. Emily Reed belongs with her husband. Miguel Martinez needs to stop interfering in their marriage. If they do not figure this out on their own, I will make sure they do." "What is that supposed to mean?" "It means accidents happen. Businesses get shut down for health violations. Immigration status gets questioned. Do I need to be more specific?" The line went dead. Miguel stared at his phone screen, his face pale. "I got it. I got the number." He typed quickly, running the number through his tracing app. After a few minutes, his expression changed to one of shock and confusion. "That is impossible." "What?" He showed us the screen. "The number is registered to Ma

I pressed the phone to my ear. "Hello?" I said carefully. There was chaos on the other end of the line. Multiple voices overlapping each other. Urgent shouts. And was that... sirens? My breath caught in my throat. My heart started beating faster. "Is this Hannah Martinez?" a man's voice asked urgently, professionally. "Yes. Yes, this is her. Who is this?" "This is Officer Reynolds with the fire department," he said, and my entire world tilted. "I'm calling regarding your fashion headquarters building downtown."

The same phone that had connected her to a stranger with a voice too calm, too confident, too dangerous. Arielle stared at the screen like it might suddenly come alive. “What are you?” she murmured. Outside, the city was slowly waking up. Faint traffic hummed somewhere beyond her apartment building, and a pale gray light crept through the curtains. She hadn’t moved in hours. Finally, she reached for the phone. Her fingers hesitated over the screen before unlocking it. The call history stared back at her. One number. No name. No information. Just ten digits.

accurate. Outside, the city glitters across the dark. Her heartbeat is doing something entirely unprofessional and she cannot get it to stop. *** Mia's phone starts buzzing at seven forty-three the next morning. She surfaces from sleep slowly, reaches for it without opening her eyes, and holds the screen above her face until it comes into focus. [Lisa]: MIA. Did you see the news. What is WRONG with these people. How do they even— [Lisa]: call me [Lisa]: okay I'll just send the link

Reyes's phone buzzed sharply on the table, and his expression tightened as he read the incoming message, something urgent and unsettled crossing his tired features. That's from my analyst, he said slowly. Cross-referencing Halloway's phone records against the other four suspected operatives. He looked up, his voice tight with fresh, sharp dread. Damian, one of the numbers matches a contact already flagged in our system. A burner phone, activated the same week Whitmore was arrested, used exactly twice since. He turned the screen toward them. Both calls were placed to a number registered in New York City. To an address three blocks from your apartment.