Page 10 of King of Wrath

I pull up marketplace and type in Ontario, looking for a car I might be able to buy.

“Where you headed?”

Irritation makes me sit up as my eyes flick back up and catch his gaze in the mirror. At least I think I catch it. His sunglasses are still on.

But I can see the cut of his jaw and the stubble that does nothing to hide that it’s square and deliciously masculine, his mouth full and sexy as hell with his half smile.

I blink away these thoughts. Why am I lusting after the weird Uber driver who keeps interrupting me? I don’t lust. I’d never give anotherman that kind of power over me. “Boston,” I say automatically, returning to my phone.

“What’s in Boston?”

“My date.”

“Ah,” he answers, pulling onto the highway. Relieved to finally have stumped him, I go back to my phone.

There is a Honda Civic dirt-cheap for sale right outside Ontario proper. “How do you like the Accord?”

“Surprisingly roomy,” he answers with a half grin in the mirror. The smile makes my stomach do funny flips.

I look away, my cheeks heating. “I guess I was wondering more about reliability or drivability. Is it easy to drive?”

“Both are excellent,” he answers, the car gliding smoothly along the highway. “Very easy driving.”

“Thanks.” I give a nod and then fire off a message to the seller, asking to meet tomorrow. The sooner I start on my trip east across Canada, the better off I’ll be.

Letting out a long breath, I wonder how long it will take the guy to respond to my request to see the car, when I see the airport sign up ahead.

My shoulders unwind. Every successful step puts a bit more distance between me and Toni Carcetti.

For a moment my eyes flutter closed. I don’t care how difficult freedom is, it’ll be better than the prison in which I’ve been living.

But the moment my eyes open, my chin jerks back in surprise. “Hey. You just drove by the airport exit.”

“Did I?” he says, not meeting my gaze in the rearview. “I’ll turn around at the next exit.”

I give the barest nod, my fingers clenching around my phone. I’ve got tons of time. I planned a whole hour and a half to first meet and then lose Gris on our date. Which means this is no big deal. But every hiccup makes me nervous.

Speaking of…I’m surprised Gris hasn’t texted. I should have been at the restaurant by now and so should he.

But maybe if he’s still running late, it’s a blessing.

The next exit comes up, but the car doesn’t decelerate, nor do we move from the middle lane, to the right.

“I thought you were going to turn around?” I say, real panic beginning to rise in my chest. Why didn’t we exit the highway?

He doesn’t look at me this time, nor does he answer as we glide past the exit. “Hey,” I say again, my voice getting louder, sharper. “I really need you?—”

“Nia.”

The name, my name, cuts me right to the bone. He called me Antonia when he first picked me up. I’m sure of it. Why would the Uber driver know my nickname?

And then he pulls his sunglasses down, his eyes meeting mine.

I recognize them instantly. He was at the Diamond the night I met Gris.

Even in the dark, illuminated only by the headlights of oncoming traffic, this close, I can see they are a piercing gray color, the intensity of them stealing my breath. “You.”

“You know who I am?”

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