Page 4 of Crossfire
There were only three reasons a man would lure me to a place like this: for unsavory acts, outright murder, or robbery. Surely, anyone who’d gone to this much trouble to set up his murder site would have stalked my social media, seeing my wardrobe was pure Walmart chic. So, no robbery motive.
Which left the murder and sex options, I guess.
Motherfucker.
I couldn’t believe this whole thing had been a sham.
This guy picked the wrong freaking girl, I’ll tell you that. This ass clown didn’t realize that as a black belt (top of my class, thank you very much), who was also advanced in various martial arts, I could snap his every bone. Not to brag, but my frail frame had taken down men three times my size. Repeatedly.
If anyone had to fear the yellow police tape, it was him, not me.
And you know what? If Bob had lied to me this entire time, maybe I’d lure him out here and teach him a lesson so he wouldn’t try this again on another woman—one who might not be capable of defending herself like I could.
God, that would be satisfying. And he would deserve it, but I wasn’t the Windy City Vigilante, and there was absolutely no chance I was going inside.
What really pissed me off was how trustworthy Bob had seemed. I mean, sure, he’d supposedly been close to my father so I’d let my guard down a bit, but the guy had been beyond convincing with why we needed to meet “off the grid.”
But now, all those explanations for why we couldn’t meet in a public location seemed like breadcrumbs to lure an unsuspecting victim to their demise.
I couldn’t believe I’d been this stupid; I knew better.
A cold fury settled in my chest, my heartbeat thundering like war drums as I swiped open the text exchange I’d been having with him. Being here felt like a betrayal of every self-defense class I’d ever taken, and I wanted to go off on this guy.
Yet the image of Grams, vulnerable and reliant, propelled me to at least try to give Bob the benefit of the doubt here. After all, she’d made a lot of sacrifices for me when I was growing up. Like the time my parents were strapped for cash, and she showed up with a brand-new bike for me, after paying my sports fees that same year. I later learned she’d skipped a small vacation to do it.
Hopefully, this was a misunderstanding.
Me: I think I’m at the wrong location. This looks like…
A place that probably had plastic tarps and duct tape inside.
Me: An abandoned parking garage.
Bob: You’re in the right place. I’m downstairs.
I blinked.
Me: On the subfloor level of a parking garage?
Bob: That’s the one.
My molars ground. The nerve. Not just an abandoned parking garage, not just secluded, but the underground level at that? How insulting that he’d think I’d be all,Okay, be right down. Oh my, what big eyes you have, Grandma.
My fingers typed on my screen so hard, I had to loosen the pressure for the letters to actually appear.
Me: You said private. Not abandoned. I’m not coming down there, Bob.
You freaking asshole.
Bob: I understand your concern. You’re smart to be cautious, but we have to find somewhere to meet without security cameras.
Yeah, well, those seemingly understandable reasons were now sounding more like a carefully crafted trap.
Come here, little one. I won’t bite.
I will, asshole. And I won’t stop until you’re a whimpering pile of tears, begging me to let you live.
Me: Great. So come up to the first floor.