Chapter 25 Tuesdays
Tuesdays
Un-fucking-believable.
Red brake lights. That was all I saw for the last four miles since Darren finally agreed to let me go on the freeway.
I couldn’t believe the traffic at this hour.
It was almost eight o’clock on a weekday, for fuck's sake. Shouldn’t people be home by now?
We’d been sitting in this traffic for almost twenty minutes, and my impatience was beginning to replace all the oxygen in the car.
“This is bullshit,” I muttered.
“Relax, Jaden. Deep breath. You’ll get to go zoom-zoom as soon as we’re through this.”
I huffed my sigh as I sank back into the seat, Darren’s dried cum still sticky on my inner thighs.
I still couldn’t believe I’d said what I said at the restaurant—my careless slip an embarrassing act of stupidity.
But I’d gotten caught up in the warm sense of nostalgia, the hope of a familiar experience disrupting my ruse of complacency. And my pussy was still paying for it.
“You did this on purpose, didn’t you? Had me drive right into a traffic jam just to slow me down.”
Some wedding anniversary this was turning out to be.
Darren scoffed. “Oh, come on, Jaden. Even I’m not that diabolical. This is torture for me too, you know.”
I groaned my disagreement.
Driving the Ferrari around before we hit the freeway had been incredible, the feeling of freedom flowing uninhibited through my veins and hair.
The car was a dream to handle, the shifting so seamless, and the acceleration time of the engine far too tempting for city streets.
That was why I needed to get the fuck through this traffic so I could finally go full throttle and experience everything I’d been denied over the past few years.
I’d only been allowed to drive a little here and there during my training sessions, most of it centered around evasive driving and quick getaways on specially designed tracks, but that was about it.
No leisure cruising for me. But the longer I was behind the wheel of the Ferrari, the more I realized how much I seriously missed it.
Maybe I could convince Darren to let me go on a few joyrides from time to time once he accepted that I was more than a competent driver.
Of course, that was to assume that his brother lived long enough for Darren to remain safe with me behind the wheel.
If Daniel ever bit the dust, and I had another opportunity like this, Darren was right to worry like he had earlier.
I’d release his seat belt so fast and whip the car around so hard, he wouldn’t have time to blink before his ass was ejected and smeared all over the fucking road.
It took several more minutes before we finally got to the cause of the traffic. A car had flipped on its side while another was sticking out of the median, the scene blocking two lanes—on the other side of the fucking freeway.
“Ugh! Goddamn fucking gawkers!” I growled as I quickly maneuvered around the ones still watching the cleanup crew, the roar of the engine matching my rage.
“I’ll allow that one,” Darren muttered through gritted teeth. “Given that I couldn’t agree more.”
I shook my head as I up-shifted, my speed climbing with satisfaction. With the open highway finally ahead of me, my blood rushed as I pushed the gas pedal to ninety miles an hour, jolting us forward. Damn, this car was fast.
“Hey, take it easy there, lead foot,” Darren griped as I sped down the curve of the freeway.
“You promised I could go zoom-zoom.”
“Just as long as your zoom-zoom doesn’t wreck my car.”
I scoffed with a laugh. “Don’t worry, pumpkin, I’ll buy you a new one.”
He snorted in response.
After turning up the radio, I opened the windows a little to allow the wind to blow through my hair. All the while, a very tense Darren remained pensive in the passenger seat.
Now this was the freedom I’d needed for so long. Just the open road, a full tank of gas, and some damn good tunes. Flipping through the radio stations, I scrolled for a few seconds until “Welcome 2 Detroit” by Trick Trick suddenly caught my ears.
“Ha ha, yes,” I cheered softly and turned the music up. Darren gave me a side-eyed glare as the bass of the song rattled the car, but those daggers he shot my way couldn’t penetrate shit. It was zoom-zoom time.
Speeding down the freeway, I spit out every word of that song. I might have endured a little disappointment over some mediocre California perch, but music would never let me down when I wanted a real taste of Detroit.
When the song barely finished, Darren turned down the volume and quickly changed the channel.
“Hey!” I protested.
“I said you could drive. Not DJ,” he rumbled, switching through the stations.
I scoffed as I steered us around the curving road. “That was a good song you just interrupted.”
“Why? Because it reminded you of Detroit?” he snapped, his tone setting up the trap question.
I shook my head quickly. “No, it’s just a good song,” I reasoned. “There are plenty of songs related to Detroit that I don’t care for. I’m not exactly the biggest Motown fan.”
A dark, seedy look flashed across Darren’s eyes. “Is that so?” he drawled, provocation dripping in his voice. And then a familiar piano solo began to play from the radio, the upbeat nostalgic melody making my stomach twist.
Oh no.
“Still a fan of this song?” he asked, his voice dripping with seedy provocation as he turned the volume back up.
The last time I heard this song…
“Don’t Stop Believin’” by Journey played through the speakers, immersing the cabin with notes of the ’80s and my harrowing regrets from the past. The words about a small town girl who lived in a lonely world was almost haunting.
My eyes shot to Darren’s, the devious expression on his face gleaming with challenge and predatory anticipation. I shook my head at him, unsurprised. He just loved to taunt me with his sadistic cruelty.
You fucking prick.
While the poison from his bait had already soured in my mouth, I dug deeper than I ever had before to channel my greatest inner brat and spit it back out in his stupid smug face.
“Born and raised in SOUTH DETROIT!” I shouted, singing the song with a vicious smile about a midnight train going anywhere.
You would have thought Darren would have been pissed that I’d thwarted his efforts to retraumatize me, but instead of the expected scowl, a wide wolfish grin curled up his lips.
Entranced by his surprise reaction, I let it fuel my confidence and sang the rest of the song with vigor and pure fucking spite.
The last time I sang it, a number of scared and helpless young girls sang along with me, filling their lungs with hope and a single molecule of joy. But it had quickly been forced down the drain with firehoses and the gang rape of a friend.
I steered clear of the song when I could, but now that Darren had foolishly forced me to endure it while driving his very expensive custom Ferrari, I reloaded the song with far more satisfying memories.
My heart was elated, my soul no longer encumbered by the burdens of my past sins and selfish mistakes. I literally sang the pain away like it was some kind of inner therapeutic liberation. And fuck, did it feel incredible to have that power again.
When the song finally died down, a triumphant smile absolutely wrecked my face.
“You can’t touch me, cupcake,” I teased Darren, shaking my head, rejuvenated by my victory. “Not in this state of mind. I’m impenetrable.”
Darren hummed a quiet laugh, the cruel sound nothing more than a bad omen promising swift retaliation. But right now, I couldn’t give one single fuck. I won the shit out of this round.
“Now it’s my turn to be proud,” he stated, genuine warmth in his words.
I smirked, surprised by his reaction, but said nothing as “Panama” by Van Halen filtered out the tension in the car.
Darren remained blissfully quiet as we sped down the freeway, his eyes acting as constant surveillance as he observed everything around us—my speed, the cars I flew past, even my relaxed grip on the steering wheel.
Every now and then, I’d catch him frowning, then texting something on his phone. With the music as loud as it was, I hoped it would drown out whatever regrets he likely had about letting me behind the wheel.
My dad had felt the same way when he taught me how to drive. He would sit in the passenger seat with his eyes glued to the road while he voiced every single concern, making sure I was aware of everything he saw.
He knew I was a lead foot and a bit reckless on my dirt bike, but after a few rides, he finally became comfortable enough to let me lead. After that, we’d crank classic rock in his old Trans Am and cruise down Jefferson Avenue until the sun went down.
Fuck, I missed my dad so much.
We’d been driving for nearly fifteen perfect minutes when Darren finally spoke again, ruining the whole damn thing instantly.
“It’s time to start heading back, pumpkin.”
I blew out a disappointed sigh but grudgingly signaled to switch lanes to exit the freeway. I wanted to protest, but I didn’t want to give Darren one single excuse to deny this again. I got far more allowances with calculated compliance than I did with defiance, so I would cooperate this time.
No matter how much it killed me inside.
As I switched lanes, I noticed a car coming up behind us a little too quickly for my liking. Once the car got close enough to where I could see the four passengers inside, the car slowed down behind another vehicle one lane over. It looked like a large black SUV.
Deciding to test my theory, I sped up, flying between cars to see if they would speed up to avoid losing us. And they didn’t disappoint.
“I think we’ve got a tail,” I said after turning down the radio.
Darren’s jaw clenched. “You’re just now noticing that?”
I frowned. Was that why he wanted us to start heading back already?
“Excuse me for paying attention to the road in front of me.”
“You know better than that. Roll up the windows,” he scolded, taking out his phone and pressing it to his ear.