Chapter 14 – Lily
LILY
“Move those fat asses, ladies!” the spin instructor barks through his stupid little headset, and my legs keep pumping even though I want to take my foot and shove it right up his fat ass.
Sweat drips down my spine, and my grip on the handlebars tightens.
I’ve done harder things in my life than this.
I can endure another twenty minutes. Even though my organs may be failing.
Gritting my jaw, I think back to the Karma request I received last week.
Crime: My spin instructor is a misogynistic asshole
Evidence: (3) videos
Preferred Punishment: Itching powder in his riding shorts
Payment Offered: $150 + class fee
How To Find The Target: [Shown after job is accepted]
I needed to get in a workout anyways, so I figured why not kill two birds with one bike, and attended a class to do some recon. Given the profanities this man shouted for the entire duration of it, I more than agreed with requester #2683 but sent a counterproposal.
Karma Request #2683
Karma’s Suggested Punishment: Laxative in his protein shake during class
Payment Requested: $150 + two class fees
“Kendra!” He chucks an empty water bottle at a girl in the corner. “You agreed to stop downing quarter pounders before class. You’re wheezing like a cow at the slaughterhouse.”
Her eyes shift to the floor. Why do these women continue accepting such treatment from this God awful manchild?
A range of expletives threatens to burst from my mouth any moment now, but to do karma and not get caught means being quiet.
Remaining invisible. Flying under the radar.
Which is exactly why before class started, I mentioned to the front desk staff this dickwad’s car was being towed, causing him to rush out of the room in a hurry.
While the other attendees were distracted trying to figure out what the hell was going on, I dumped a fast-acting laxative into his protein shake.
Although as I sit here, the seat digging into my ass, legs burning, on minute—I check the clock on the stationary bike—twenty-five, I do wonder just how fast acting it is. My mind wanders in hopes to distract myself from the countdown, and his stupid face is the first one floating to mind.
It’s been three weeks since I’ve seen Aster. I have done a few drive-bys of his house and the Solarium building just to get a glimpse, but I’ve been far too nervous to confront him again.
He’s left me alone. Why would I poke the bear?
“You have to hustle,” the instructor shouts with a clap in my face. “Laziness will not get you a man.”
Is this a dating class now?
The moment this is over, I will be writing that lack of shit laxative company a strongly worded review. I expected to torture him, not the other way around.
“Betty, are you even trying today?” he snaps at a redhead to my right. “What the hell is that posture? Straighten up.” Is the laxative punishment even enough? Maybe I should place a bomb under his car. Whoa, dark. It could be a stink bomb?
“Pick. Up. The. Pace!” he shouts, throwing his arms in the air.
“You can’t just…” His face scrunches. “You—” He brings a hand to his stomach, and a smile threatens to break through on my face, but I force it to stay hidden.
He blinks. Then blinks again. His eyes widen, but the music is too loud to hear anything that may or may not have come out of him.
It’s happening! “Oh my god.” His hand flies to his behind, and he races towards the door.
My eyes snag on a bit of dark liquid running down his leg, and I suppress a gag while simultaneously fighting a cheer of victory.
Glancing around, all the attendees, me included, appear seemingly confused.
“What do we do?” Kendra asks quietly.
A smile spreads across my face, and a girl to my left says, “We finish our workout in peace!”
We spend the rest of the hour laughing, and by the time I leave, I’m full of endorphins and a hundred and fifty bucks richer.
User #2683 must have been in the class because it didn’t take ten minutes before I got notification of payment.
I’m hoping she didn’t see me dump the laxative, but if she did, hopefully she’s just grateful karma’s been enacted.
Once home, I toss my duffle on the floor near my perfectly made bed and hop in the shower.
The warm water eases my muscles, and even as in shape as I am, my legs are still going to be sore as shit tomorrow.
Maybe that’s why people continue going to that prick.
He definitely gets results because the entire time I imagined I was chasing him on my bike and that when I caught him, I could slice that stupid little microphone from his face.
It’s certainly something Aster would do.
Memories of his green eyes on me flicker through my mind as I soap up my body, and I force them away before I do something absolutely insane like start touching myself.
I finish quickly—the shower, not an orgasm—and step out, wrapping a towel around. Exiting the bathroom, I head to the dresser, passing a box on my bed that’s red and wrapped with a bow.
I freeze in place.
That was not there when I got home, nor when I hopped in the shower ten minutes ago.
Tightening the towel around me, I tiptoe over to the window and peek out.
Liam’s not here. Where the hell did it come from?
In record time, I pull on shorts and an oversized shirt.
My heart pounds, and I grab the dagger from my bedside drawer, then slowly scour the house, checking all the doors, which are still locked.
How the hell did the box get on my bed?
A familiar high-pitched melody echoes through the halls.
I follow the sound to my room, finding my phone ringing on the dresser, which is weird because I usually have it on vibrate.
The same Unknown caller ID flashes across it, and dread fills my gut.
Everything in me says to chuck my device across the room, but instead, I release a shaky breath, clutch the weapon in my opposite hand even harder, and answer.
“Lily,” the same modulated voice says, and I shudder. “Did you get my gift?”
“What is it?”
“Open it.”
With hesitant steps, I find my way to the box on the bed. It’s rectangular and small enough I wonder what could even fit in there. Someone’s finger? An eyeball? “Tell me what’s inside first.”
They tsk. “That’s not how this works. Do you want answers or not?”
Gritting my teeth, I poke the box with my dagger, but it doesn’t budge. “Is it going to explode?”
“No, of course not,” they say, and their response is almost humorous. “Just open it.”
Using the tip of the weapon, I nudge it under the lid and flick it off, deflating at the sight of a lonely piece of paper with calligraphy scrawled on it. “What is this?”
“All will make sense come morning.”