Page 79 of Sinister Intentions

Ianxiously paced in front of the store windows, pretending to browse while my gaze darted towards the designated meeting spot—the third palm tree from the left, third row of benches. Iset’s instructions had seemed strange at first, but now that I was here, seeing the open layout and the field of palm trees, her instructions made perfect sense.

The bench in question was exposed, yet it would be easy to blend into the bustling crowds of Brookfield Place shopping center.

My heart raced as I checked my phone again, the seconds ticking by with excruciating slowness. What if this was a setup? Or a trap?

The thought sent a shiver down my spine, but I forced myself to remain calm. Paranoia wouldn’t help me one bit.

I scanned the open floor again. The late afternoon sun filtered through the glass ceiling, casting a warm glow over the upscale shopping center. Shoppers milled about, their laughter and chatter mingling into a murmur.

I inhaled deeply, the scent of fresh pretzels and coffee intertwining as my fingers drummed an erratic rhythm against my thigh. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other; I needed something to keep me occupied.

I reached for my phone and opened social media. I had a couple of DMs.

A group of teenagers brushed past me, their boisterous voices shattering my little bubble. I flinched, my grip tightening on my phone as I scanned the sleek marble floors and polished, glass storefronts once more.

The bench was still empty.

My thumb hovered over the screen as I read the first message. Apparently, my friends had had a good run at the BJJ tournament and were now out partying in an Irish pub called O’Malley’s. I looked up the address, and surprisingly, it wasn’t that far from here.

Since I couldn’t make it to watch them at the tournament, it would be great to see them. But the thought of a crowded pub, filled with raucous laughter and the stale scent of beer, twisted my stomach into knots. How could I even think about socializing when my life was such a dumpster fire?

I looked up again. The bench was still empty, which was a miracle in itself with the crowd of people mingling in the court.

A flash of movement caught my eye, and I tensed, my gaze zeroing in on the designated meeting spot. A young woman who’d been strolling around for a while suddenly neared the bench.

My bench.

My pulse thundered in my ears as she approached, her stride purposeful yet cautious.

Iset?

I tensed, my breath catching in my throat as they drew nearer. This was it.

But at the last minute, she changed direction and chose another one to sit on.

I slowly released my breath. This was killing me. I was not cut out for this shit.

And if that whole situation made one thing perfectly clear, it was that I was done being a hacker, done doing stuff against the law. I had a short run, but that was enough thrill to last me for a lifetime. A lifetime I would possibly need to spend in hiding.

Damn. I should’ve thought this whole thing through before acting.

My palms grew slick, and I almost fumbled with my phone as it suddenly vibrated in my hand.

Iset: I’m here.

I looked up, scanned the area again. The bench was still empty, so I texted back.

Nyx: I’m here as well.

I stared at the message, my heart pounding in my chest. This was it, the moment of truth. I had to make a decision, and fast.

Iset: We’re smart not to trust each other.

I chewed my lip, my fingers hovering over the keyboard as I weighed my options. Trust had been a rare commodity in my life lately and for good reason. But something deep within me yearned for the connection, someone who knew that side of me. Who was in the same deep shit as me.

With a deep breath, I typed out my response.

Nyx: Come to me. I’m by the Longchamp storefront, near the fountain.

---