“What’s wrong with you, bruh?” asked the new guy, standing up from behind the register at the front desk. He ran his hand through his floppy blond hair. “She’s like a buck twenty soaking wet.”
I glanced at the newbie and his overly cut triceps, knowing already he spent too much time on arm day, none on leg day, and did zero cardio. He no doubt obsessed with his bulk and cut cycles so much that he probably couldn’t jog around the block without getting winded. I would eat him for breakfast.
“You want to try her, Eric?” Trevon asked.
“Might be a good time,” I said. And it would be. For me.
“You’re tiny,” he said. “It wouldn’t be a fair fight.”
Oh, goody. Underestimate me. This will be fun.
“Uh-oh, Irene. She’s smiling,” Trevon said. “It’s never good when she smiles like that.”
“You might want to wear pads,” Irene suggested.
“I won’t need ’em,” Eric said, smug.
“Your funeral.” Trevon cackled with laughter. Eric frowned at him.
“Bruh, you’re losing a step,” Eric chided, kicking off his shoes so he could come on the sparring mat.
“I’mlosing a step?” Trevon scoffed. “You’re about to lose your teeth,bruh.” Trevon shook his head, pity on his face. “I hope you have a good dental plan.”
“You ready, sweetheart?” Eric asked me in the most condescending way possible.
“Anytime you are.” This was the happiest I’d felt in weeks.
Eric lumbered at me, a clumsy and weak attempt at an attack. I pivoted easily, then before he knew what happened to him, I’d kneed him twice in the solar plexus. This took the wind out of him but—bonus—spared his no doubt tiny testicles, which in my mind was a mercy.
I finished with a swift roundhouse kick to the side of the head—since I was limber enough to raise my leg that high in close quarters and angry enough to want to give his cheek a nice tap with my toes.
He lay prone on the mat, wheezing, as he cupped his bloody nose.
Trevon just barked a laugh. “Buck twenty, soaking wet,” he taunted. Eric just rolled on his side, groaning and holding his nose. He tried to get up. Trevon put a hand on his shoulder. “Stay down, buddy. Just… stay down.”
I would be happy to hit the man again, but then I thought I saw the vintage Jeep Wagoneer idling in front of the dojo.
Was it the same vehicle? Or was it just my imagination?
A shiver of real fear ran with a bead of sweat down my neck.
I needed to find out.
“Well, thanks for the workout. Gotta run,” I said, heading toward my shoes on the mat by the glass door. I stuffed my feet into my Converse, grabbed my zip-up hoodie and sling bag from the hook, and peered out the window. I couldn’t see the Jeep Wagoneer.
Irene brightened. “Tomorrow, I’ve got a new workshop about getting out of zip ties!”
“Maybe if you’re restrained, it would be a fair fight with Eric,” Trevon said. Eric wiped his bloody nose with his sleeve and glared at me, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t listening. I skipped out to the street, heart pounding, but the Wagoneer… was gone.
Outside, cool autumn wind ruffled the brown and red leaves of the trees planted along the sidewalk and hit the sweat on the back of my neck, making me shiver. I hurriedly shrugged into the hoodie, leaving it open over my sports bra, as I glanced down the street in both directions. It couldn’t have just disappeared. I saw it in the window.
Or was Oscar right? Was I just imagining things now? I scoured the street. It was the start of the off-season, but there seemed fewer tourists even than usual for this time of year. Just a single family walking two blocks up, window-shopping at the vintage toy store.
Where was that Wagoneer?
The thudding pulse in my temple told me it was nearby.
He was watching. Waiting. Like a lion hiding nearby in high grass. I swiveled, scanning for any signs of the car but found none.
