Daddy's Debt by Eden Fortae

Author:Eden Fortae [Fortae, Eden]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-06-21T18:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Danica

Sunshine and blue skies give way to a troubling deep blue disturbance. Much like my driver and me. Tensions are at an all-time high, growing thicker every soundless second. We still have the music. Classic Rock doesn't seem like it would be Easton's taste until Bon Jovi's Wanted Dead Or Alive comes on. Then, I find myself trying hard not to laugh at the irony. A loan shark businessman and a retired con artist, in a Ferrari, fleeing death. God, life, or whatever the hell controls the Universe has a wild sense of humor. To put us together under such messy circumstances, then throw in a monster of a storm is pure comedy.

To show how funny things could get, a crack of lightning lights up the sky. Huge drops of rain wash out everything more than ten feet ahead of us. Blurred red lights mean flooded roads and drivers too scared to move. Obnoxious buzzing and beeping interrupt the song on the radio with a weather report.

Severe thunder and lightning with hail in some places, expected to continue throughout the night. Behind it, pockets of moderate to heavy rain for the next two days.

Easton drops his head back and scrubs his face with his hand. We're not going anywhere anytime soon. The thought seems to irritate him. Unbothered by the stop and his attitude, I unhook my seatbelt and put the seat back as far as possible. The two-seater doesn't provide much room, but if we're going to be stuck, I'm going to get comfortable.

Due to the rain, the windows are up. For whatever reason, Easton hasn't switched on the air. As a result, the mid-August humidity circulates quickly. The warm air is suffocating. Every inch of my exposed skin clings to the leather interior. Combined with the lack of breathable air, I can't help but fidget.

"Stop moving."

For the first time since evading my question, he speaks and has the nerve to be snippy?

Naturally, I ignore his ass. I'm sick of his attitude. After pressing random buttons, cool air blows through my hair. While removing my shirt, my elbow knocks clumsily into the window and Easton's arm. The loud whack and hiss of pain result in a glare. He watches me roll the window down to wet my shirt, then use it to clean the remaining blood from my face and hands. A person with a heart would've asked if I'm alright or need help. At this point, there's no doubt that this man lacks in that department.

Traffic moves ahead slightly. Easton's frustration becomes more apparent as he shifts in his seat. I'm purposely adjusting my tank top and fixing my hair. The first break in traffic he sees, Easton pulls into the right lane and creeps along until we reach the intersection. The rain hasn't let up even a little bit. Yet, we're blindly moving.

"We should probably pull over for a while."

The suggestion fell upon deaf ears. Easton continues to tap the brake more than he accelerates. He practically floors it when a motel sign shines through the water rapidly swept from the windshield.

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