It’s just me, the driver, the guy who threw me in here in the row of seats behind me, and Knox in the seat next to me. He’s wearing a dark blue suit today. He’s looking even more ravishing than last night. And he does not look happy. I don’t have to ask where we’re going. It’s obvious we’re going back to the garage where this all began. I want to ask him how screwed we are, but I’m frightened of his response. Instead, we stare into each other’s eyes for a while, his jaw clenching and unclenching. I can’t take this anymore. “What are we going to do about Charlie?” “You’re not going to do anything. I’ll take care of Charlie.” “What do you mean by take care of? What are you going to do to him?” “You worry about doing your job and I’ll worry about mine.” “You can’t hurt him. He’s a prick, but he doesn’t deserve to get hurt.”
