My Fiance Left Me $68K In Forged Debt — So I Sold His Prized Muscle Car For $1
Part 2
I didn’t take his hand.
I looked at the thick, pale scars crossing his knuckles, and then past him at the rusted shipping containers bleeding orange streaks into the puddles.
I thought about the hollow feeling in my chest when I realized the man I planned to marry had used my name as a blank check.
I looked back at Craig.
“I need to get my things,” I said, my voice surprisingly flat.
“You don’t,” Craig replied, withdrawing his hand to rest it on his thigh.
“Whatever you need, I will provide, because going back to your apartment leaves a trail I’m not ready for Tyler to follow yet.”
He popped the latch on the glove compartment, pulled out a thick black umbrella, and opened his door.
“Leave the keys in the ignition,” he said, stepping out into the freezing rain.
I sat there for ten agonizing seconds, my knuckles white on the steering wheel.
I could slam the gas pedal, run him over, and keep driving until I hit the ocean.
But I had fifty bucks in my checking account and a hundred grand hanging over my head.
I turned off the ignition and dropped the keys onto the leather driver’s seat.
Stepping out of the Chevelle, the freezing rain immediately soaked through my cheap sweater.
Craig was waiting by the heavy armored SUV, holding the umbrella out to create a small dry dome in the deluge.
I walked under it, refusing to look at him as I smelled the damp wool of his coat and the sharp cedar spice of his skin.
He opened the back door, and I climbed into the cavernous interior that smelled of rich, conditioned leather.
A mountain of a man named Todd sat in the driver’s seat, staring straight ahead.
Craig slid in beside me, tossing the wet umbrella onto the floorboards.
“Drive,” he ordered.
I watched the cherry-red Chevelle shrink in the rearview mirror until it was swallowed by the dark.
The car I had weaponized had completely sealed my fate.
Three days later, I was standing in a private underground club called The Cardinal.
Craig had brought in a tailor to fit me in a heavy emerald green velvet gown.
My cheap thrift store clothes were gone, replaced by the wardrobe of a mobster’s new obsession.
Craig sat beside me in the cramped leather booth, his arm casually draped behind my bare shoulders.
Every eye in the room was on us, cataloging my presence with a mixture of deference and deep wariness.
When an oily rival named Frank tried to linger, Craig’s voice dropped to a lethal register.
“If you look at her like she has a price tag again, Frank, I will remove your eyes and add them to my collection.”
Frank practically scurried backward into the crowd, apologizing frantically.
I let out a shaky breath, feeling the heavy heat of Craig’s hand on my lower back.
Word would spread through the district by morning that Tyler’s fiance was wearing Craig’s money and sitting at his table.
Tyler’s ego would never allow him to believe I was worth that kind of violence.
He would come to see it for himself.
But when Tyler finally crawls out of hiding to reclaim his pride, will he recognize the woman he left behind, or will he realize too late that he built the very trap he’s walking into?
