Out Of Your League: The Lethal Ex-Wife

Erica stood perfectly still by the massive glass walls of the hospital lobby.

Outside, in the sun-baked valet area, stood Colten and Ivy.

Colten was screaming into his cell phone, his face red with rage, demanding to know where his driver was. Ivy stood behind him, wiping away fake tears and playing the victim.

Erica narrowed her eyes.

The ORACLE System booted up its tactical environment scanner. A pale blue grid overlaid the busy Manhattan street outside.

Accessing municipal traffic data ports... Analyzing vehicle density and traffic light sequencing.

A bright red trajectory line painted itself across Erica's vision. The system calculated the physics of the intersection at 5th Avenue and 42nd Street.

Collision imminent in exactly three minutes. Target vehicle match: Black Maybach, registered to Colten Fischer.

Erica's lips curled into a vicious, mocking smile. She decided to give the happy couple a parting gift.

She pushed through the revolving doors. Her bare feet hit the scorching asphalt. She walked straight toward Colten, her posture relaxed but her eyes locked on target.

Colten saw her coming. He took a step back, his face twisting in disgust. He thought she was coming back for more money.

Ivy peeked out from behind Colten's shoulder. "You got your money! Get out of here! Are you trying to extort us again in public?" she screeched.

Erica ignored the barking dog. She crossed her arms over her chest. She tilted her head, looking at Colten with a disturbing, manic pity.

"Beautiful weather today," Erica said, her voice dropping into a raspy, theatrical whisper. "Perfect weather for a funeral."

Colten's face flushed with anger. He raised his hand, ready to strike her across the face.

Erica didn't flinch. She just stared at his raised hand with such dead, freezing intensity that Colten's muscles locked up. He slowly lowered his arm.

Erica leaned in close. She lowered her voice to a haunting, prophetic pitch.

"If you want to live to see tomorrow, Colten," she whispered, "do not take Fifth Avenue when you leave this hospital."

She pointed a finger toward the street. "At the 42nd Street intersection. A heavy transport truck is going to lose its brakes. It's going to crush your Maybach into a cube of scrap metal."

Colten stared at her for a second. Then, he threw his head back and let out a loud, barking laugh.

"You are completely out of your mind!" Colten yelled, pointing at her face. "You're not just a blackmailer, Erica. You're a certified psycho!"

"She lost her mind in prison," Ivy sneered, clinging to Colten's arm. "Playing a witch now? Pathetic."

Erica shrugged. She uncrossed her arms and let them hang loosely at her sides. "I warned you. Dead men don't listen."

Tires screeched lightly against the pavement. The black Maybach finally pulled into the valet zone, stopping right in front of them.

Colten turned to the driver. He wanted to prove to this crazy bitch just how powerless she was.

"Take Fifth Avenue!" Colten barked loudly, making sure Erica heard every word. "And don't you dare slow down at the 42nd Street intersection! Push through the yellow!"

The driver looked confused, but he nodded and opened the rear door.

Colten shoved Ivy into the leather backseat. He turned back to Erica, raised his hand, and flipped her a hard, aggressive middle finger. He climbed in and slammed the heavy door shut.

The Maybach's engine roared. The car shot out of the hospital driveway, speeding directly toward the intersection.

Erica stood on the hot asphalt. She watched the red taillights shrink in the distance. She glanced at her bare wrist, pretending to look at a watch.

She started counting down in her head.

Ten. Nine. Eight...

Three. Two. One.

A massive, sickening crunch echoed across the Manhattan skyline.

It was a deep, metallic explosion of sound, followed instantly by the shrieking of tires and the shattering of safety glass.

Inside the hospital lobby, people gasped. Patients and nurses rushed to the glass windows, pointing down the avenue. A thick plume of black smoke began to rise into the blue sky from the direction of 42nd Street.

Erica smiled. It was a cold, satisfied expression.

She turned around and walked back through the revolving doors into the air-conditioned lobby. She needed a computer. It was time to take back what was hers.

Her eyes scanned the waiting area. She locked onto a young guy sitting in the corner. He was frantically typing on a high-end Alienware gaming laptop.

The distant sound of sirens made the boy look up, stretching his neck to see out the window.

Erica walked up behind him. Her footsteps were completely silent, like a ghost stalking its prey.

She reached out and tapped him firmly on the shoulder.