book 3 of 4
have you ever hated someone so badly you just wanted to shoot them dead? yeah, well, be careful what you fucking wish for.
let's get one thing straight, when bianca prescott wrote up that hit list, she never intended on actually murderin...
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018 like a slow, arthritic dog
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Bianca left the Church feeling as unfulfilled as ever.
There was no magic potion or quick fix to the guilt plaguing her. The metaphorical glass of her life was neither half full nor half empty. If anything, it had been shattered into a million pieces beneath her red-bottom Louboutins.
Dejectedly, Bianca sighed as she waved a quick farewell to her mother and grandparents who hopped into Reginald's Rolls Royce and sped off. She got into her own car and buckled herself in before beginning the trek toward the Chateau.
The roads between the Cut and Figure Eight were winding, and tedious. Most islanders typically stayed on their side, still stuck in the age-old turf war from when many of them were teenagers. Bianca respected their commitment to the cause but the little to no traffic also meant the trip was a lonely one.
So, when Bianca noticed a dusty, khaki-colored car with duct tape plastered on the headlights behind her, she thought nothing of it.
Oddly enough, it looked familiar but the girl shook it off. She must've seen over a million cars in her lifetime. This one was just as insignificant as the rest.
It was only after she took a couple of different turns, and the car followed, did Bianca shift in her seat. Her eyes flickered into the rear-view mirror, trying to peer through the tinted windshield but to no avail. She slowed down slightly but the car merely slowed with her.
Bianca knew she was just being paranoid but it was better to be safe than sorry. She drove in a square around the block until she ended up back on the same street she started on and when the car stayed on her, she knew this was no coincidence.
Bianca was being followed. And here she was, on a long, secluded road with nothing but her and this suspicious car for miles.
"What the fuck?" She swallowed thickly, tightening her grip on the steering wheel, and tried to determine the best course of action.
