Code Name: Rose

Chapter 13: My Mclaren P1

WARNING: The following chapter contains offensive language. Please read at your own risk.

Chapter 13:

I'm sitting at an outdoor table of a cafe, eating something called panna cotta, with Thyme sitting across eating what the waiter said was Focaccia. I thought I was ordering some kind of Italian pancake when I asked for panna cotta but he came back with a pudding. A white pudding, gorgeously decorated with some red syrup, a strawberry and mint leaves. It's sweet. So sweet that it just melts in my mouth and I have to say, it is the best pudding-like thing I've ever eaten. 

Thyme's focaccia looks like bread pizza. It's some kind of baked bread with, what looks to be, Italian herbs, onion, garlic and sun-dried tomatoes. To be completely honest, I was craving savoury and when the bread arrived, it's all I wanted. The panna cotta is great and all but it's sweet. And I want savoury. And I'm watching my mortal enemy devour it right before my eyes. 

He looks up and his dark eyes startle me. His fork is halfway to his mouth which is half open for the incoming bite. He smirks. Props his elbow on the table and waves the piece of bread right in front of my face, it's scent filling my nose. 

My face screws up, anger slipping from my control, I lunge for the bite and rip it from the fork with my teeth. Leaning back on the chair, I chew, completely and utterly satisfied. Thyme is shocked. His fork still hangs in the air on the tips of his fingers and his mouth makes a perfect, dramatic O shape. Slowly, his eyebrows draw together and his nose screws up. 

"Did you just steal my bite?" He almost snarls. 

"That's what you get for being a jackass." I say, swallowing my bite of heaven. 

He grunts and grumbles, swearing in some language I've never heard before but I don't pay attention because an absolutely breath-taking beauty has just arrived. I stop eating and gape. Thyme notices and gives me a side-eye before noticing the gorgeous spectacle and mirroring my face. 

Mclaren P1.

She... she is something I'd die for. I'd die 100 times for her because god fucking damn is she hot. She's a sheer red and she glistens so so beautifully in the sunlight. God, she's so sexy. That... is my kind of ride. 

"Dibs driving!" I yell at Thyme and run to the Mclaren, laughing and letting my hair whip the wind. A man steps out and hands me the keys.

"You have her until 6pm tomorrow. Any damage will cost $100,000." He says.

I nod furiously and don't wait for him to leave before I jump into the drivers seat. I hold the wheel, caressing it. We're really low to the ground but who cares. I'm sitting in a fucking Mclaren P1. My life is complete. 

"You hired a Mclaren P1???" Thyme climbs into the passenger seat, wincing as he struggles to fit long ass legs. I'm a little surprised that he even recognises the car. Seems like I may have something in common with a douchebag.

"Yup!" I say, excited for the first time since I arrived in Italy. "If I'm going to die on this mission, I'm going to use the SSI's money to the max and live out my life before I do."

He nods slowly. "Respect." He gives a two finger salute and buckles his belt, pausing briefly and adding, "You.. do know how to drive, yes?" 

I give him a 'what kind of useless moron are you mistaking me for' look before I start the engine and get on the road, her vibrations echoing through my bones.

"I'd love to get shot right about now." I say. I wasn't planning on talking to Thyme on this 4 hour and 45 minutes drive but I'm too inflamed from the reality of driving a Mclaren that I just don't care. I need to let it all out.

I feel Thyme's side-eye as he says, "Yeah? I'd like to volunteer." Waits a hearbeat then adds, "why though?" And I realise that Thyme has a curious personality. He acts all tough and stoney but he's actually curious enough to ask me why I'd like to get shot right after volunteering to be the one to pull the trigger. 

"Because I want to die happy. And right now, I'm so, so unbelievably happy." I glance at him and genuinely smile for the first time in 5 days. Surprise flashes in and out of his deep blue eyes before turning dark. He turns his face away and stares out the window. 

Hmph. I shouldn't have wasted my beautiful smile on this jackass. 

I turn the radio on.

Buon pomeriggio, signore e signori. In una giornata cosi bella e soleggiata nella citta di Roma, penso che meritiamo qualche brano!

The song I'm Good by David Guetta starts playing and I'm just glad the songs are English. 

We drive in silence, the songs changing throughout the hours. I think it's been about 3 hours and the toll of all-nighters and 3 hours sleep starts hitting me. 

Thyme notices the low speed and says, "Want me to take the wheel?" 

I shake my head. I want to drive the Mclaren. 

He's quite for 2 minutes before saying, "Pull over."

I look over at him and he gives me a hard glare. Sighing, I pull the car off the road but don't move as he steps out and walks over to the drivers side. 

He yanks the door open. "Get out."

I don't move, turning my head away from him. I can feel my eyelids becoming heavier but I won't let him have his way. I've had enough of his bullshit and mysteriousness, and there's no way I'm just going to do as he says. I'm not his whore. 

He exhales sharply and suddenly I feel a strong arm on the back of my knees and another along my shoulders and I'm out of the car.

He's carrying me. 

HE'S CARRYING ME.

I thrash and scream at him, pushing and punching and shoving and kicking but the stupid fatigue creeping into my muscles and bones makes it impossible to make him flinch. He throws me into the passenger seat like I weigh nothing and buckles me up while I'm screaming "YOU FUCKING SON OF A BITCH WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE TRYING TO SEPARATE ME FROM MY BABY YOU FUCKING KIDNAPPER GET LOST YOU STUPID IDIOTIC DOUCHEBAG GET YOUR FILTHY ASS HANDS OFF ME YOU FUCKING-" but it's all useless because now I'm in the passenger seat, my legs propped on top of the glove compartment, arms crossed over my chest, an ass-kisser driving my car and sleep moving in slowly in an attempt to calm my anger.

This time, I don't fight it. And I don't know if someone turned down the radio or if my sleepiness gradually blocks out all sounds as my eyes flutter closed and darkness awaits.