First Girl by Ava Strong

Author:Ava Strong [Strong, Ava]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ava Strong
Published: 2025-01-22T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Under the afternoon sun, Layla strolled along the Venice Beach boardwalk, her movements deliberately exaggerated and performative. She wore oversize designer sunglasses, a crop top that exposed her midriff, and high-waisted shorts that showed off her long legs. In one hand, she clutched an iced latte with an artfully arranged swirl of whipped cream; in the other, she held her phone at arm's length, the camera facing her as she walked.

"Looking good, Layla," Mike's voice crackled through the tiny earpiece hidden beneath her carefully tousled blonde hair. "But maybe tone it down a notch? You're supposed to be bait, not a caricature."

Layla resisted the urge to roll her eyes, knowing the cameras were watching. Instead, she flashed a dazzling smile and tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Hashtag living my best life!" she chirped, loud enough for nearby tourists to hear.

The boardwalk was packed with an eclectic mix of people. Muscle-bound men pumped iron at the outdoor gym, their bodies glistening with sweat. Street performers juggled flaming batons and contorted themselves into impossible shapes, while artists hawked paintings and handmade jewelry from colorful stalls. The air was thick with the scent of sunscreen, marijuana, and deep-fried food.

Layla made her way to the skate park, where teenagers performed gravity-defying tricks on their boards. She positioned herself near the railing, making a show of adjusting her hair and makeup before holding up her phone to capture the action behind her.

"You sure about this?" Mike muttered in her ear. "We've got plainclothes officers scattered around, but if this guy is as careful as we think..."

Layla murmured, her lips barely moving as she pretended to check her reflection in her phone's screen. "If I’m reading him right, he’ll want to see the aftermath. He wants to see how the world reacts to his handiwork. He may not be looking for a new victim yet, but he won’t be able to resist, and if we wait too long, who knows where he'll go next? We need to draw him out."

She moved on, weaving through the crowd with an exaggerated sway of her hips. Every few steps, she'd stop to take a selfie or pan her phone around to capture the vibrant scene. To anyone watching, she was just another wannabe influencer, desperate for likes and follows.

But Layla's keen eyes never stopped scanning the crowd, searching for anyone who might be paying too much attention to her performance. She noted a middle-aged man with a camera who seemed to linger wherever she stopped, but his touristy attire and sunburned nose marked him as just another visitor.

She moved toward one of the caricature artists, studying the elderly man who wore a bright smile. He was a foot taller than most of his subjects but sat hunched on a small wooden stool that looked as if it might splinter under his girth at any moment.

As Layla approached the caricature artist's booth, she noticed a young man watching her intently from a nearby bench. He was lean and fit, with sandy brown hair and intense blue eyes that followed her every move.

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