The Car Waiting at the Curb
Tasha Rivera
Around 10:40, Tasha noticed Lena dressing,
Tell me you're joking
you’re not going
Lena Bishop
He sent the address
I have 20 minutes
Tasha Rivera
Girl no
NO
you said talking. Coffee. Cash for conversation
not black cars and secret meetups
Lena Bishop
I know
but what if this is real?
Five grand a week. I could breathe again.
Like actually breathe
Tasha Rivera
Or choke on whatever this man is hiding
You don’t know him. you don’t know shit about him
Lena Bishop
I know I can’t afford another “maybe”
this is the only shot I’ve got right now
if it feels wrong, I’ll leave
Lena stood in front of her closet. Not that she had options.
A plain black dress. Long sleeves. Hits just above the knees. Simple. Safe.
She grabbed a denim jacket, tied her hair back, and left her tiny apartment with her phone gripped like a weapon.
---
The black car was already waiting at the curb. Engine running. Tinted windows.
The driver stepped out as she approached. Sharp suit. Dead expression.
“Miss Bishop?”
She nodded.
He opened the door without another word.
Tasha Rivera
You better be lying to me
please tell me you didn’t get in that damn car
Lena Bishop
I got in
its okay
no one's said a word since I sat down
Tasha Rivera
LENA WHAT IF HE SELLS ORGANS
Lena Bishop
Then he picked the wrong girl
mine are stressed and underperforming
---
The car wound through upscale parts of the city Lena had never been to—past gated buildings, rooftop pools, doormen who didn’t blink at luxury sedans.
They pulled into a private underground garage. The driver stepped out, opened her door again.
“Elevator. Top floor. He’s waiting.”
Lena Bishop
If I die
clear my browser history
burn my laundry basket
and don’t let anyone find my third-grade school photo
Tasha Rivera
I SWEAR TO GOD
IF YOU GO MISSING
I’M FINDING THIS DANTE MF AND CUTTING OFF WHATEVER HE USES TO SCARE GIRLS
---
She stepped into the elevator.
Pressed the only button lit up.
Top floor.
Her stomach twisted as the doors opened.
Dante Kade was standing at the window.
Black shirt. Dark slacks. No tie.
Hands in his pockets. Eyes like he already knew every move she’d make before she made it.
“Lena.”
Her name sounded like a decision.
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