Chapter 3 - The Armored Carriage
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I tried to protest, but arguing with James Whitmore was like trying to argue with a hurricane. He simply ignored my panicked excuses, bundled Chloe into her threadbare pink jacket, and ushered us out the back doors of the restaurant into the freezing winter night.
A massive, sleek black SUV was idling in the alleyway. The snow was falling heavily now, coating the dark streets of Seattle in a pristine layer of white.
A man in a dark suit immediately stepped out of the driver’s seat, opening the rear passenger door for us.
“Evening, Mr. Whitmore,” the driver said gruffly.
“Take us to Grace’s address, Marcus,” James instructed, gently helping Chloe climb up into the massive leather interior.
I hesitated on the curb, the freezing wind biting through my clothes. The inside of the SUV smelled of expensive leather and warm cedar. It was a world that I categorically did not belong in.
“I can take the bus, sir,” I said, shivering violently. “It’s only four stops away.”
“Get in the car, Grace,” James said. It wasn't a request.
I climbed in, pressing myself as close to the door as possible, terrified of getting snow or dirt on the immaculate upholstery. James slid into the seat beside Chloe, closing the heavy door and sealing us inside a quiet, heated fortress.
As Marcus drove us through the city, the glittering high-rises slowly gave way to the broken streetlights and boarded-up storefronts of my neighborhood. I felt my stomach clench with embarrassment. I didn't want him to see where we lived. I didn't want him to see the truth of our poverty stripped bare.
The SUV pulled to a stop in front of a crumbling, brick apartment building. The front door was missing a pane of glass, replaced by a piece of duct-taped cardboard.
“Thank you for the ride, Mr. Whitmore,” I said quickly, unbuckling Chloe’s seatbelt. “And for the dinner. Merry Christmas.”
I tried to open the door, but the child locks were engaged.
May you like
James looked out the tinted window at the dark, decaying building. His jaw tightened so hard I could see a muscle jumping beneath his skin.
“Marcus,” James said quietly, his eyes never leaving the broken front door of my building. “Keep the car running. We aren’t leaving them here.”
