Page 55 of The Midnight Order
“Fuck, she’s pretty,” I mutter, more to myself than Milly.
She clears her throat awkwardly. “I wouldn’t touch that one.”
I turn on my heels, and my eyes land on her in question.
“That one’s Master Jasper’s.”
I bite my lower lip and open the door before sliding across the leather seats that cup me perfectly. It’s like the car was made for me.
“I’ve always wanted to drive one of these,” I admit as she pads closer, holding the door wide and looking at me apprehensively.
“If you’re sure, the keys are under the visor. But I’m telling you, this is the wrong one to take. Maybe the Audi in bay four would be better. That one’s Lowell’s, and his sensibility runs cooler than Master Jasper’s does…”
“I’m taking this one,” I tell her.
I know she’s probably right, and I should listen, but the thing is, they stole me.
The least they can do is allow me to live out a long-time dream of mine while I’m their captive.
And besides, it’s not like I can go far.
The town is like a fucking fishbowl I can’t swim out of.
If everyone’s watching me, no matter where I go, I might as well have some fun.
The engine cranks to life once I push the start button, and a thrill races through my veins.
“The garage door?” I ask Milly.
She sighs, pointing toward the visor again. “The middle button opens the door to this bay. Please, ma’am, be careful.” Her timid eyes plead with me, and I give her the flash of a grin as I hit the button and reach for the door, closing it as I rev the engine.
I speed out of the garage, not bothering to close the door behind me as the tires crunch on the gravel drive.
I find my way off the property and to the winding road as I let the windows down and gun it, screaming at the top of my lungs when the car hums and vibrates beneath me.
“Fuck yeah!”
I’m going to be in so much trouble.
Chapter 15
Jasper
When I returnfrom meeting the contractors at Silver’s place, I find the second bay in the garage open, which ismybay.
“Milly!” I shout as I realize my Bugatti is missing.
“Yes, Master?” she asks, stepping out from the empty pantry with a duster in her hand.
My rage is simmering just below meltdown level, and I try to keep it at bay as I look over the elderly housekeeper.
I made her, and it’s well within my rights to kill her, but I like her.
I keep reminding myself of that fact as the image of my missing Bugatti flicks through my mind.
“Where is my car?”
Her brows pinch together in confusion. “Which car?”
