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“All my clothes, items, valuables… fucking burned.” That’s what hasn’t struck me yet. As of now, I have no way of replacing such valuables, especially with their current market price tags.
Hearing the movement of the car, I look back to see him reversing to get back onto the driving path.
Without me.
“Wait!” I call out and quickly rush to the passenger side, only to tug on the handle and realize it’s locked. “What the fuck?”
“I’m sorry, Sir Leighton. I was instructed to simply drop you off, not to chauffeur you to your next destination. Mr. Leighton’s orders.”
“Fucking hell,” I curse. “I’ll pay you! How much?”
“Ah, it’s about ten thousand, Sir.”
“Ten fucking thousand dollars to drive me, what? Five fucking blocks?!” He’s insane. Madness. “I ain’t paying that!”
“That’s my rate, Sir,” he announces. “Your Father paid that to have you be driven here. If he had requested other destinations on the list, he would have paid my daily rate of twenty-five thousand.”
“You’re fucking lying.” He has to be pulling my leg.
“Did you think being driven by an Elite driver in a Rolls Royce would cost four figures?” he inquires and looks dumbfounded. “It’s best you review your finances, Sir Leighton. It seems you’re a bit outdated on the current prices for those deemed as royals.”
I want to insult him, but he’s rolling up the window.
“Have a good night, Sir. Hope you get to where you need to be by midnight. Fifteen minutes from now.”
The window shuts before I can rebel, and just like that, he’s speeding away, leaving me to realize he’s fucking right.
“Shit!” I curse, then I’m running at full speed to get to the rink.
I’m drenched in sweat when the cold air whiplashes me when I enter the familiar halls of the practice arena, turning right and running down another hallway.
I turn left and right by memory, catching a glimpse of the clock that displays 11:57.
Three fucking minutes…
I’m beginning to realize I may not make it despite dripping from head to toe in sweat while my limbs are aching in protest. When I finally reach the rink, I skid to a stop, realizing one thing.
It’s empty.
“No. Why is it empty?” I’m questioning myself, only for my eyes to widen as it dawns on me.
The banners in the rink were red…
I lift my gaze to acknowledge the banners around this rink.
Blue…
I’m at the wrong rink. The practice rink that we use to train.
The right one… is next to this one.
The one that is always cleaned after hours… meaning…
Someone will walk in and see the demise left behind…
“Fuck,” I whisper under my breath and run as fast as I can. The clock now shows 11:59:02, and I know I can get there in twenty-five seconds at a full sprint.
My heart hammers against my chest as my ears ring. I don’t want to admit defeat as each second passes, bringing me closer to my approaching doom.
