Page 8 of Icy Cold Death

They.

Liked.

Heels.

She’d learned that as a stripper, and as someone who got men off all day long.

As she walked around a curve, heading toward the location they often went to when they were ‘camping’, she heard something in front of her.

It sounded like footsteps.

God.

This had better not be a bear.

“Baby, is that you?” she called. “I don’t like this. Where are you?” she asked, looking around. “This isn’t where we normally meet up. Are you there?”

Only, there was no response.

Well, shit.

As she was about to say something else, a thick, strong, plastic bag was pulled over her head, and she was now blind.

Oh, and confused.

As it tightened around her neck, she fought, but she couldn’t get away.

Someone was strong and angry.

Her assailant was pissed and…suffocating the life from her. This wasn’t what she expected to happen.

Not.

Even.

Close.

There was no doubt that this wasn’t a game, and she wasn’t dressed for this.

She fought, and it was when she ran out of air, that the fear of what was happening really hit her.

It hit hard.

She was dying.

Here.

In the woods.

She began praying, begging, and silently wishing she didn’t come to their scheduled date.

This was a nightmare.

The only thing she could do was fight for air so that she could stay alive a little longer.

Who was doing this to her?

Was it him?

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