Page 91 of Dating Goals
I reach the end of the dining car and burst through to the next carriage—a sleeper section with narrow corridors. Perfect for a guy my size trying to outrun an assassin.
I squeeze past a couple returning to their compartment. “Excuse me, pardon me, killer behind us, maybe lock your door!”
The assassin shoves them aside and pulls out yet another weapon. Some kind of collapsible baton that extends with a flick of his wrist. He swings it at my head. I duck, and it smashes into a light fixture, sending sparks raining down.
“Do you just have an entire weapons store under your shirt?” I yell.
Somehow, I make it through the door at the end of the car, finding myself on one of those little platforms between train cars. Cold air hits me like a slap, and the ground below is rushing by at terrifying speed. Is this where I’m supposed to climb to the roof? Because my shoes have absolutely no grip.
Scarface bursts through the door behind me. His expression hasn’t changed at all. He looks almost bored. Like he’s thinking about his tax returns while trying to murder me.
Do villains file their taxes? I feel like that was a conversation James Bond had in one of the films.
“Can we talk about this?” I gasp, pressing myself against the railing. “I’m sure whatever I did to offend you, we can work it out like adults!”
He responds by swinging at my face.
I duck, and his momentum carries him forward. For one horrifying second, I think he’s going to topple over the railing, and I actually reach out to grab him because, apparently, my survival instincts are broken. But he catches himself and whirls around, now blocking my access to the next car.
“Look, I’m sure you’re a nice guy under all that leather!” I shout over the roaring wind.
He swipes at me again, and I jump back, my heel catching on something. I stumble, arms windmilling, and fall backward, and something triggers the door to open for me.
I land hard on my back.
This is another dining car, but a little less fancy, filled with passengers enjoying their lunch. Every head turns to stare at me sprawled on the floor.
“Sorry!” I call out, scrambling to my feet. “Just…enthusiastic about the dessert course!”
The henchman steps through the doorway, somehow making the simple act of walking look menacing.
In a panic, I look around for anything I can to defend myself and grab a silver serving tray off a nearby table and fling it like a frisbee. It spins through the air and…actually hits him square in the face.
He staggers back, giving me just enough time to sprint down the aisle.
“Sorry! Coming through! Emergency!” I shout, dodging passengers and knocking over some glasses. The resulting crash buys me a few precious seconds as the assassin has to navigate the sea of broken glass.
I burst through another door, finding myself in a luggage compartment. Stacks of suitcases line the walls, and there’s nowhere to go but forward.
Scarface appears in the doorway behind me, a thin line of blood trickling from his nose where my improvised projectile hithim. He looks annoyed now, which is somehow more terrifying than his previous blank expression.
“Okay,” I pant, backing up against the far wall. “Let’s be reasonable here. Whatever they’re paying you, I’m sure we can?—”
He throws a knife.
I drop to the floor on pure instinct, and the blade embeds itself in the wall where my head was a split-second ago.
“That was EXTREMELY unnecessary!” I yelp.
He reaches into his jacket and, because the universe hates me, pulls out another knife.
I grab the nearest suitcase and hold it up like a shield just as he lunges. The knife punctures the leather, stopping inches from my face.
I drop the suitcase and grab the closest weapon I can find, which turns out to be a pink Hello Kitty umbrella.
“Stay back!” I brandish the umbrella, totally not as calm and collected as Colin Firth in theKingsmenmovie. His umbrella was bulletproof. “I’m warning you;, this opens with ONE CLICK!”
Scarface tilts his head, unimpressed.
