The Silver Fighter | ✓

Satan's Personal Lap Dog

'Okay, so I just have to wait this out while Theo's men are in position until Bert rears his ugly mug. Easy.'

And for about fifteen minutes, I killed time by doing random test drive actions like doing donuts, testing the car's limits, and, just to make sure, the brakes.

For about fifteen minutes, everything was fine.

I mean, I felt like shite since my head felt like it was stuck in a vice. But other than that, I was okay-ish.

For about fifteen minutes, I had the nerve to think that Bertinelli wasn't going to actually come after me.

For fifteen minutes, I was a bellend and dilly-dallied like an overly self-assured idiot.

Until the time mark hit sixteen minutes. Then, I heard the sound of a car engine.

No. Not a car.

Multiple cars.

'Son of a-'

Suddenly, I heard Scar's voice in my ears, "Grace. You've got company." Her tone was sharp as she tried to notify me of the situation.

I checked my rearview mirror to see about five or so cars; all of them were high-end and expensive sports cars that I knew would be pretty slick on the road.

And guess who I saw driving right beside the one leading the pack.

The fucking Burnt Feet fuckers that tried to kill me at the race a couple of days ago.

'Son of a fucking buiscit.'

With gritted teeth, I jerked the steering wheel to do a u-ee, which caused me to feel even worse, and then shifted the car until I was facing the other drivers head-on.

When my vision cleared, I noticed I was correct. There were five cars about half a football field away from me, all of which were filled with scary-looking men inside.

And do you know who was in the one in the center of them all?

Take a good fucking guess.

...

You got your answer?

Did you say Bertinelli?

Good job! You aren't a total idiot and are instead, a normal functioning human. Becuase guess what! You're right!

Bertin-fucking-elli. 

In a fucking three-piece suit with an onxy black metal cane like some fucking celebrity.

'If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was Satan's personal lapdog.'

His greying hair was pulled into a manbun and his grey beard did nothing to make him look appealing. Due to his time in prison, he was ripped beyond fairness and actually looked semi in shape.

His blue eyes, however, were starting to yellow and the same for his teeth.

He looked the same as he had years ago and I gritted my teeth in anger at seeing him look unfazed by the whole situation, tempted to get out of the car, walk over there, and punch him in his smirking, dickhead face.

'I'm going to put this bastard six feet under even if it kills me.'

I clenched my jaw as I saw him get out the passenger's side of his car, bracing myself for the impending, inevitable fight.

"Hello, baby Stanton." He greeted calmly. A fake innocent look then took over his face. "Or should I say Harrison? I can never keep up with your aliases." He continued innocently and then shrugged haphazardly.