Page 9 of King of Wrath

But then I see another message come through.

Got you an Uber.I’ll meet you at the restaurant.

Always a gentleman.I could give Gris that.

Awesome.Thanks. Tell the driver to meet me on Elm St.

Three dots appear again.Will do. He’ll be there in five. Black Honda Accord.

I let out a long breath.Five. I can handle five.

The truth isI was a bubbly, earnest kid, but being the victim of Toni’s tyranny has changed me, hardened me, made me tougher. But underneath that…

I start to pace, wondering if I should start walking. Get away from the house?

But just as my feet get so antsy I can’t stay still another second, a black car pulls down the street. It only takes a second for me to identify the H emblem on the front and I wilt with relief.

This is my Uber.

The car stops next to me. If the driver thinks it’s strange he’s not meeting me by the front door, he doesn’t say. “Antonia?” Under normal circumstances, I might wonder why the guy is still wearing sunglasses in the dark, but I’m just relieved he’s here. And I’ve heard enough stories about Uber drivers to know they can be weird.

I’ve never used one before, because Toni has us driven by the family driver everywhere, but I play it cool.

“That’s me,” I chirp and then make a dart for the back door, sliding into the car and pulling the door shut. “You’re quick.”

“I aim to please,” he says, as he shifts the car in drive and pulls away. “Acapulco’s?”

I shake my head to sayno, already pulling out my phone to check my flight info. The Uber makes this so much quicker and easier. I don’t have to go through the motions of starting the date with Gris, of leaving halfway through the meal. “Change of plans. I’d like to go to the airport.”

“The airport?” he asks, his deep voice tensing in a way I didn’t expect.

“Is that a problem?” Did Gris prepay or something? I can always have this guy drive me to the restaurant and then catch a cab from there. What I don’t need is complications, and I’ve got money if I have to pay for a ride myself.

I never spend my allowance, and so I’ve several thousand dollars in travelling cash.

“No problem,” he answers, clearing his throat.

“Oh good. I was worried.”

“It’s just not many guys get an Uber for their date to have her go to the airport instead.” He puts on the blinker and turns left toward the highway.

I slide back in my seat and pull out my phone again. Relief washes through me when my flight information pops up as on time.

But something is tickling the back of my brain. I raise my head again. This guy is way too up in my business. How does he even know it’s a date?

When I note his gaze is back on the road, silence settling again, I don’t ask. Why bother? I’m probably just being paranoid, considering my plan. Lifting my phone, I start doing the mobile check-in for my flight. I wish I could have packed more clothes.

I start to hum as I click buttons, relief and excitement, turning my humming into a soft song. If I have one place that still makes me feel, it’s singing.

“You’ve got a great voice,” the driver says, making me stop singing, my lips pressing together. But I appreciate the compliment.

“Thanks.” I’m hoping to use my voice to make some under-the-table cash while I’m hiding out in Canada.

I know it’s a little high-profile, but it’s also my best chance of working a little here and there without documentation. Paid in cash.

I had to use my regular passport to enter Canada, which I think means my father can track me.

At least I’ve got a fake Canadian ID to buy the car.

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