2. Dante #2
Found a ride. Car still needs a tow. Be in the city soon.
Yes, sir.
"Hello? Dickhead?" The woman snaps her fingers in front of my face. "Were you listening to me?"
"Obviously not."
"I asked what you were doing out in the middle of nowhere with your fancy car, dickhead." She shoots me a look as she gains more speed. I'm not sure what the limit is out here, but it's definitely not eighty.
"Hiking," I snap back at her.
"Really? Hiking? In a three-piece suit?" She rolls her eyes and presses down on the accelerator again, jerking me back into my seat.
"Yup," I grunt. She snorts incredulously. Fuck, I hate her. I hate her slobby T-shirt and ratty shorts, I hate her messy curly hair, and I especially hate the little gold stud in her nose that glints in the sun.
The woman says something under her breath, and I roll my eyes back, mocking her. She coughs out a laugh and looks back at the road. I return my attention to my phone, tapping out another message to Roman.
I'll need $4k cash for this yokel who's driving me. Business expense, we can write it off.
Of course. Shall I meet you at your house?
Yep, thanks.
"Huh," I muse to myself. I never told her where I was going. "I'll give you four thousand dollars cash if you drop me off in Old City."
"Hmm? Sure, whatever." She doesn't even look at me. Who is this woman? Surely a few grand would pique her interest, but she keeps her eyes on the road.
I narrow my eyes and look her up and down.
She's squirming in her seat, flexing her fingers around the steering wheel.
Each of her breaths is a little pant, heaving her generous breasts with every inhale.
She peeks at me, and her pupils are blown wide.
I can barely see the tiny ring of honey-brown around the dark pools of black.
If I didn't know better, I'd say she's in some kind of ecstasy.
Now that I think about it, I don't know better. I don't know her at all. I cock my head to the side. "What's wrong with you?"
"What? Nothing." A sheen of sweat coats her forehead, and she grips the steering wheel hard enough to make the pleather creak.
"Pull over. I'm driving."
"No, you're not."
"That wasn't a request. Pull the fuck over; I'm driving. You're gonna get us killed." I put a little force into my voice, the same tone I use when an underling tries to second-guess me. It usually scares them shitless, but her? She smirks and lets out a tiny giggle.
"Whatever you say, Mister Dickhead," she replies in a singsong voice. I watch her reach down to the gear shifter in my peripheral vision… but this is an automatic.
"Oh, fuck!" I yell as she slashes out towards me with a knife—where the fuck was she keeping that?—and dodge out of the way just in time. She's cackling and yanking on the knife fully embedded into the headrest of my seat.
Fuck, fuck, fuck! She's swerving all over the road, and I lurch to grab the steering wheel, wrestling with her for control of this goddamn car.
We're going to crash into a tree or another car, and this is not how The Dantalion goes down.
I hear fabric ripping as she yanks the knife back out and aims it at me again, but I'm faster.
I snatch her wrist in one hand and the wheel in the other.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I shout in her face, but she's gone .
Her eyes roll back in her head, and she slumps over the wheel.
I toss the knife into the cluttered backseat and grab the wheel with both hands, steering us to the shoulder.
At some point, her foot must have slipped off the gas pedal, because the car slows to a jerky stop on the rough grass.
"Fuck," I pant out, my heart pounding in my chest, and mash the speed-dial for Roman again.
"Sir?"
"Change of plans. I'll explain when I get there. Have a medical team at the ready, and uh…." I push my sweaty hair out of my eyes and sigh. "Prepare a sedative."
"Of course, sir. May I ask—are you safe?"
I assess the catatonic woman in the driver's seat, watching her fluttering pulse and shallow breaths. "I am now."
Roman's eyes nearly pop out of his head as he sees me approaching in this dingy little car, but he quickly collects himself. The woman—I had to heft her from the driver's side to the passenger's side—slumps unconscious onto the dashboard.
In a flurry of professionalism, the medical team assesses her vitals and clears her. She seems to just be in a very, very deep sleep. Even her heart rate has returned to normal. I watch as Roman expertly slides an IV into her hand and administers a sedative through the cannula.
"What's next, sir?" Roman looks up at me as he caps the syringe. I hold up the wallet that I found in her purse while the med team was working.
"Interesting stuff in here, Ro. It seems that Miss Gutierrez lives in the very building I intend to purchase. Would you be so kind as to bring around the Range Rover? We'll need to drop her off at home, of course." I smile darkly. He nods and scurries off to the parking garage a block away.
I turn to the unconscious woman. "Nice to meet you, Melody."
She's perfect .