Playing with the criminals

Chapter 2: Pretty Girls Bite Back

“Do you have any death wishes, miss?” His voice was horrible—low, oily, the kind of voice that makes your skin crawl. And then, like a cruel punchline, the blade in his hand suddenly came into sharp focus right in front of me.

I smirked, cool as ice, and casually slipped off one of my heels without him noticing.

“So, now you’re gonna be a good girl?” His voice dripped with creepy calm, one hand gripping the steering wheel, the other clutching the handbrake—with that damn blade wrapped tightly between his fingers.

“Say something, miss.” His voice was suspensefully calm, that hand on the handbrake leaning slowly toward me, blade gleaming.

I didn’t wait even a second. I swung my heel hard, slamming it into his hand. The blade clattered to the floor.

“What the hell was that?” he snarled, his hand turning bright red.

I didn’t hesitate. I aimed my heel for his eye. The sharp shoe came so close I could almost feel his breath on my toes.

He gasped, caught in his throat, eyes locked on me through the rearview mirror.

“Just drive the car to the city,” I said, voice steady and cold-- even though my pulse was going insane, heel still inches from his eye. “And keep your eyes glued to the road.”

“You think I’ll do what you say?” His voice twisted into something even creepier.

I slowly lifted my heel away, and he smirked—thinking I’d backed down.

Big mistake.

Without warning, I grabbed the blade that had fallen and sliced the side of his throat—just enough to warn, not to kill.

His breath hitched. He stared at me through the mirror, silence thicker than a fog.

The car jerked violently, swerving for a second before he regained control.

“I think you know now what I’m capable of,” I said, voice ice-cold. “So just drive. Straight to the city.”

His eyes never left the road after that.

(My mind voice: Yeah, kiddo, I think you just realized your target bites back.)

(He had expected fear, not retaliation. But the instant I made him bleed, something shifted. Shock cracked his composure—and fear took hold. Not of pain… but of me.)

Two long hours later, we finally rolled into the city.

“Go straight to Ray Mall,” I ordered, still cold as steel.

He pulled into a petrol station and stopped the car. I kept my eyes on him through the mirror.

“The car needs petrol,” he said, voice as chilly as the Arctic.

For a moment, my mind drifted back to that morning—the chaos replaying like a bad movie. I had woken up late, heart pounding, and rushed out the door without a second to spare. When I slid into my car, the petrol light was already blinking—a warning I’d ignored too long. The engine had sputtered and died before I even made it halfway to the office. Stranded and frustrated, I had parked the car at Ray Mall and taken the bus to work. The bus ride was a blur of exhaustion; I’d fallen asleep halfway through, missing my stop and feeling every moment of it.

“Go ahead. I’m borrowing your oil can,” I said, fishing the can from under the seat.

He didn’t say a word—just sat there, silent as a statue.

I stepped out, made my way to the pump, and filled the oil can with petrol.

Back in the car, he drove us to Ray Mall and dropped me off at the parking lot. I paid him, eyes sharp and face relaxed.

Walking through the lot, oil can in hand, I muttered, “I seriously don’t remember where I parked my car this morning.”

I pulled out my keys and started pressing the button to locate it, continuing my slow, victorious stroll.

I navigated the endless rows of cars, hunting like a detective on a mission. My only lead was the faint, intermittent beep of my key fob somewhere in the distance. The sun blazed mercilessly overhead, relentless and unforgiving, but I was too focused to care. seriously—who forgets where they parked their car? Apparently, that was me.

With the beeping growing louder, a sharp squawk from a nearby pigeon startled me so much I nearly dropped the oil can. Perfect timing. Even the birds seemed to be conspiring against me today.

Then, the beep swelled into a victorious chorus—my car! There it stood, gleaming under the harsh sunlight like a prize I wasn’t sure I deserved but was about to claim anyway.

I strode over, chest swelling with a strange sense of accomplishment. Around me, the city hummed along, completely oblivious to the fact that I’d just survived a near murder attempt—and was now about to pour petrol from an oil can into my own car. Talk about multitasking under pressure.

I popped the trunk, intending to toss the oil can inside and shut it without ceremony. But then—something felt wrong. The trunk hadn’t held anything this morning. I was certain there wasn’t a box.

Curiosity got the better of me. I closed the driver’s door without getting inside, then slowly reopened the trunk with a creak full of suspicion.

And there it was: a large, black box tied with a bright red ribbon that screamed drama. Hanging from it was a note.

My fingers trembled slightly as I reached for it.

“To my dearest.”

A nervous, awkward laugh escaped me before I smirked. “Well, isn’t this just perfect? Now I’ve got a stalker too.”

I shook my head and finally poured the petrol from the oil can into my car’s tank, half-expecting the stalker to leap out of the box with a bouquet of roses. Spoiler: he didn’t.