Page 4 of Bound to a Killer
Maybe I was never destined for anything better than baristawork, stuck in this house until I’m worn down, doomed to repeat the same generational curses.
I let out a slow, resigned sigh before shoving my feet into my sneakers, knotting the laces, and stepping out into the frigid, stale air of the dimly lit garage. Punching the code into the keypad, I slip under the rising door once the gap is wide enough and shut it behind me, the motor humming and groaning as it seals the house from view.
It’s not as cold as it could be. The sun is out, offering just enough warmth to fool me into thinking I’ll be fine in my sweater and vest.
But by the time I trek along the main street sidewalk outside my neighborhood, the breeze has sharpened, slipping past my clothes and biting at my bare legs until they stiffen. If only my crew socks reached a few more inches higher or I squeezed into my old, tight-waisted jeans. A hat would’ve helped, too. Gloves. Anything.
A few more minutes of slogging through slush and partially melted snow, and I try to shove a hand into the pocket of my vest, only to meet the stiff barrier of fabric. The seams are stitched closed.
Stupid jacket. Stupid weather.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
This whole thing’s ridiculous. And I still have a long way to go, at least another ten or twelve minutes on foot. I don’t think I can push through that much longer. My teeth have already started to chatter as I try to convince myself I’m in a bubbling, hot Jacuzzi, not trudging through piles of slush and gritty meltwater that splashes up at me every time a car passes.
I don’t think I’ve ever been more jealous of strangers in my life. In a desperate attempt to stay warm, I cross my arms over my chest, trying to shield my fingers from the wind, which is a challenge considering the poster wedged between them. And for what? I stayed up half the night finishing it, and now I won’teven get to present. I’m going to fail the whole damn thing anyway.
I try to quicken my pace, even as my limbs protest. Goosebumps sting along my thighs while I focus on my footing, trying to block out the restless churn of thoughts clawing their way deeper.
That’s when I notice a car slowing to my right. A black BMW, inching toward the curb, its side mirror catching my eye as it moves closer to where I’m walking.
Creep.
It’s right then that I realize I forgot my phone. Left it at home in the middle of this morning’s chaos. Perfect. Absolutely perfect.
What else can go wrong? Should I even ask?
The street’s packed with cars, engines buzzing as they streak past in a blur. Even in broad daylight, you can never keep your guard down, though I doubt anyone would be bold enough to try anything harmful with this many cars around.
The car window lowers. My heart pitches. My eyes drop to the ground as I pick up speed, focusing on the rhythm of my steps sloshing through the snow. I’m good at avoiding people. He’ll back off once he sees he can’t get a reaction out of me.
“Excuse me?”
His voice is smooth. Deep.
Always a manis my first thought, but then my brain’s hijacked again when he leans out of his window.
“Hey. Hey—” He waves out at me when I don’t look.
Seriously? I bite my tongue, keeping my gaze ahead, one foot in front of the other. Just ignore him until he gives up.
“Look behind you!” he yells through the rush of passing traffic. “You've got papers flying out your bag.”
Wait, what?—
I jolt at a blare of honking behind his vehicle, cars impatiently veering around him as they all continue down the road.I glance past them, keeping my poster tucked in the crook of my arm as I turn, immediately spotting one of my binders plastered to the pavement, its contents scattered, several pages now stuck to sleet and snow.
Damn it.
I jog a few steps back and crouch down, quickly gathering the loose packets. Their corners flick in from the breeze as I shake sleet off the cockled pages and stuff them back into my open bag, this time zipping it shut.
I rise to a stand, my heart pounding as I spot him stepping out of his car, emergency lights blinking where he’s parked along the roadside.
The cold air sucks the moisture from my mouth, and I cough, pretending it’s the chill constricting my lungs and not the fact that this large, intimidating man is walking up to me. A confrontation is the last thing I want.
Freezing air snaps into my lungs, his approaching figure blurring for a second as a frosty plume of fog forms in front of me when I exhale.
“Need any help?” he asks, his eyes a smoky gray, as if holding the brooding temperament of the overcast sky above us.
