Page 62 of Bully Billionaire Dragon

My throat aches from crying the entire drive to my parents' house. There is just something about crying that I hate. My head starts to pound and my throat is raw.

Mascara must be flowing down my cheeks, my hands coming away with black specks on them from wiping my eyes so much.

The cab driver is silent the entire drive, and it doesn’t hit me that I’ve made it home until he clears his throat, reminding me that I am not alone.

Embarrassment flows over me in waves. I just bawled my eyes out in the driver's car for the entire ride.

I look up and see his silver-gray eyes staring straight into my soul. They have a mad glint to them, and it hits me. I never told him my address.

Lead fills my stomach as fear settles in me.

The man maintains eye contact as I put my hand on the handle.

I figure that I am just being paranoid, but when he smiles, my gut twists at his crooked teeth.

You will make it out of here alive, I say to myself as I prepare to flee.

“Thanks for the ride,” I say. “How much do I owe you?”

The man tilts his head to the side, “It’s on the house.”

His voice is gravelly, and I shoot him a small smile as I open the door, not wanting to show him that I am on high alert.

My heart relaxes as the door opens. “Thanks.”

I run up the short stairs that lead up to my parents' house and don’t look back. Almost dropping the keys, I shake my head at myself.

Keep it together, girl.

I slow down and put the correct key in the lock before slamming the door shut behind me.

Taking deep breaths, I try to relax. This guy gave me no reason to be suspicious besides vibes and knowing where I live. He drove me home, let me cry in his car, and then didn’t charge me.

Probably because he felt bad for me—I mean, I was losing it in the back seat of his car.

Telling myself all of this, I relax a fraction.

I look through the small window on the front door and see that the car is still there.

Why hasn’t he left?

The road is clear, no one is coming down the street.

Maybe he is just waiting for the next person to book a ride, or he is getting his GPS ready.

Yeah, that makes sense. If he’s a driver, he’ll be gone soon.

But wait. The car is silver, not a yellow cab, and I don’t remember seeing a Lyft or Uber sign in the window.

I take another peek, and again, the car is still there, and from my vantage point, I can’t see any rideshare signage on the car.

Okay, think positive thoughts, I say to myself as I keep watching, but after a few minutes pass and the car stays put, I start to panic.

Why is he still here?

What if he gets out of the car?

“Dad!” I call out into the house. “Mom?”

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