My body freezes. Amara? Amara's grandson? Like the grandson of the Gift of Love? “You're Amara's grandson? You mean…of Cosmo?”
Amias lowers his head and blushes. “Yeah.”
My breath vanishes. My heart beats in my ears like a warning bell. My body locks itself from moving, and I don't have the keys to free myself.
What the fuck did he just say?
I try to catch some breath, but it keeps running out. It's as useless as keeping water in a net.
Wait! Erasmus! LikePrince of AmaraErasmus!
“H-he’s…in the military…” I stammer. That's why Erasmus’ name is familiar. He's a killer with a death count of hundreds. An expert at blowing off heads.
Particularly heads like mine.
That's not mentioning the death count of Amara, and how she loves to see life being squeezed from our necks.
Fuck... Fuck!
“Are you okay?”
I snap my head towards Amias, who leans closer, his eyes shining as they dart up and down me.
“Y-y-yes…” I manage with my heart lodged in my esophagus. “F-f-f…fine!”
He continues to talk to me, but I can't process the words. Not when death has its shit eating grin, staring at me from down the road. Waiting for me to get killed.
How could the one person who decides to help me be the grandson of Amara?
My head whips to the door. I need to get out of this damn machine.
I reach for the door, only to remember there's a strap restraining me to the seat. I yank at it, hoping for it to snap, but it's too strong.
Get me fucking out of here!
“Clara! Calm down!”
I yell only to find the strap is stuck in some square contraption between the seats. I pull at it, every attempt making me cry out. Am I trapped here? Does Amias know what I am?
Was this a set up?
“Pull over!” Amias shouts beside me.
The machine screeches and I'm hauled forward. I shout again. The strap’s not coming loose!
A hand presses on the buckle eating trap with a click, and I swing a fist at its owner’s head. Amias ducks before gawking at me. “Clara!”
Then the restraining strap gets sucked away from my body. Releasing me.
I don't know how the fuck it happened, but I'm free.
Now to get out of this fucking car!
I tug at the door handle. It doesn't budge. Every breath scraps up and down my windpipe as I pull at the handle once again. It doesn't open.
Did the belt mean nothing? Am I dying in this machine either way?
The driver, who must've got out at some point, comes towards the door. I take the opportunity as soon as he opens it, slamming the door into him as I sprint out of there.
