9. Swipe Right
9
Swipe Right
T he pain, the loud noises, the screaming and yelling. It all fades away. I’m dying, or better yet, I’m already dead. What did I do so wrong in my lifetime that this is how I go out?
The night sky rushes in like a tidal wave, swallowing what’s left of the bleeding sun. Just minutes ago, the horizon burned with gold and red, embers stretching across the sky like veins of fire. Now, it’s as if the darkness can’t get there fast enough, racing to cover what little light remains. I grip my phone tightly, the edges digging into my palm as it sits upright in my hand. My stomach churns, heavy with unease. Something’s wrong. I felt it the moment I left the café, like the air had shifted, thickening with a weight I couldn’t ignore.
My mind spins in chaotic circles, one question screaming louder than the rest. How the hell do I get to her before anyone else?
Tormenta. She doesn’t just survive—she hunts. She knows how to read a room better than anyone I’ve ever seen before, and tonight was no different. It took her no time at all to sense him. The bastard couldn’t have made himself more obvious if he’d tried. Dressed in all black, hooded up, and slouched over like he thought he could melt into the background. He had one pathetic cup of coffee in front of him, and even from across the street, I could tell it had been sitting there long enough to cool. No steam, no effort to drink it—he wasn’t there for the caffeine. He was there for her.
I could see the moment her eyes landed on him. They raked over him, slow and deliberate, cataloging every detail with the kind of precision only she has. From the way his foot tapped nervously under the table to the slight shift in his posture whenever she glanced toward him, she saw it all. She always does.
But the moment that froze me, the one that sent a spike of dread through my chest was when she looked out the window. That look. I’d know it anywhere. She wears it when her mind runs a mile a minute, pulling apart every thread and analyzing every angle. It’s the look of someone calculating every step to stay one move ahead of the game.
I clench my jaw, forcing myself to stay calm, but the truth was, I hated seeing her like that—on edge, her instincts already in overdrive. I wanted to barge in, to drag her out of there and away from whatever threat she’d already sensed. But she wouldn’t let me. She’s too damn stubborn, too damn good at what she does. Marklov would know instantly; his bozos are spread out like a bunch of roaches after getting hit with the raid.
Still, I know better. And right now, there’s only one thing on my mind: whoever this guy is, whatever he thinks he’s after—he has no idea who he’s dealing with. Or that I’m already Here. Watching. Learning every detail about him that I can.
Tormenta storms out of the café, her steps quick and deliberate. She knows they’re following her; she always knows. Sure enough, the guy who’s been eyeing her from the corner gets up and trails after her, trying to act casual but failing miserably. I watch from across the street, my helmet balanced on my knee, as she rounds the block. That’s when another man emerges from the shadows, falling into step behind the first.
This just got complicated.
I kick my bike into gear and ease down the street, keeping my distance. Tormenta’s good—better than good—but two tails are harder to shake, and I’m not about to let her take all the heat alone. She’s got her tricks, though, and I trust her to use them.
Instead of chasing, I cut ahead, taking the long way around to stay out of sight. Parking my bike two blocks from her apartment, I kill the engine and settle in to wait. She’ll lose them. She always does. Minutes tick by, stretching longer than they should, but then I hear it—a familiar roar cutting through the night. Her bike.
I can’t help the smirk that tugs at my lips. That’s my girl. She’s back in control now.
Still, I can’t get too close. She’d see me, and the last thing she needs is me spooking her or her shadows. She has no fucking idea who I am. But I know enough about her.
She cuts down the roads like nothing. Her headlights aren’t even on. This woman is amazing. Skillful.
After following her for miles, she stops at a library. Out of all the places she could be safe at, she chose a damn library. Who would protect her there? Or would she use it as a maze? I can’t question something I don’t understand. She heads in, and I sit outside, waiting and watching. It’s what I do best.
I pull out my phone to kill some time. This may take a while. I open Tinder, swiping mindlessly until a profile stops me cold.
It’s her.
Her photos are unmistakable—those sharp, dark eyes and that smirk that screams danger. Her bio reads: “Lover of fast rides and adrenaline rushes. Swipe right if you can keep up.”
I let out a low laugh and swipe right. The instant match makes me shake my head. She’s on here now? I hesitate. I type out something but erase it. My nerves and emotions are everywhere. Yes, can you believe it? I–a man has feelings.
The festival isn’t far, and I can already tell that’s where she’s heading. Tormenta has a way of moving as if she’s two steps ahead of everyone else, but I know better. I know her patterns, her instincts, the way her mind works when she thinks she’s in control.
I wait to fire up my bike, letting the shadows stretch between us. I need to keep even further back now, careful not to let her catch wind of me. She’s sharp, but so am I. She may think she’s running this, but tonight, the game has changed. She has no fucking idea who the real monster hunting her is—or what he’s willing to do to get to her.
As I sit here, the glow of my phone pulls me back in. After a few more exchanges of cheesy, flirtatious messages, it’s official: we’ve got a date. I can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t just a coincidence. It’s like the universe wanted this like we were always meant to collide in the chaos.
Ghost and Tormenta. Two names that sound like trouble waiting to happen.