“You don’t have the key?” Marcus yanked at the handcuffs, chaining his wrist to the steering wheel. The metal clinked, sharp, final. “What do you mean you don’t have it? Where’s the key?”

Sunlight reflected off the chrome cuffs, flashing straight into his eyes. No sunglasses? Zero mercy from the star. His hangover pounding behind his temples like a war drum wasn’t helping at all. Three seconds. That’s all it took—him and Doug climbing inside Sandy’s navy blue Ford Probe, reeking of clove cigarettes and coconut-vanilla body spray.

The interior of the car reminded Marcus of a landfill. Fast food wrappers from Burger King and Taco Bell. Crushed cigarette packs, Djarums, Camels, and a few Marlboro lights. Add to that a few Starbucks cups. A sweet scent of vanilla and sweat clung to the fabric seat covers like a ghost. Sandy swore she retired from dancing. “Exotic dancer,” she protested. “I’m no stripper.” Labels didn’t matter much to Marcus. But that distinct smell? It said all that needed to be said.

But it wasn’t the syrupy smell of perfume. Or the trash. Or Marcus’s missing Ray-Bans. What really got to him was the sound.

The click.

That immediate snap.

The feel of cold steel on his wrist.

Doug did it wicked fast—too fast. One second, Marcus, eyes closed, was rubbing his temples. The next? Shackled. Detained. And shackled to the steering wheel like a prisoner being taken in for questioning in an ongoing police investigation.

Doug leaned back in the driver’s seat, eyes closed, hands behind his head, and a smirk on his lips. “I don’t have the key.” It was as if it was a joke. Marcus didn’t find it funny. “But I know where to get one.”

He lit the Camel, squinting and exhaling smoke into the morning air. “It’s not funny,” Doug said, grinning wider. “It’s freaking HILARIOUS.” Laughing and exhaling smoke, Doug burst into a coughing fit.

Marcus hissed through his teeth. “Then whose cuffs are these if they aren’t yours?” He yanked again. No give. Reaching into Doug’s pocket, Marcus snatched a smoke and lit it with a lighter he didn’t remember owning. His body was shaking, making it difficult to light.

“Eric’s,” Doug said, still lounging, still smug. He whistled through his teeth, his hand moving like a plane taking off from an airport.  

Marcus turned sideways, back to the windshield, the sun baking the back of his t-shirt. “Wait. Last night’s party—wasn’t that for Eric?”

Doug cracked one eye open. “Yep.” He checked his scratched-up watch. “And his flight’s probably taking off right about now.”

Marcus froze. “Flight?”

“International,” Doug said, eyes closed again. “Gone for two, maybe three weeks.”

Marcus’s mind reeled. Last night was a blur—booze, music, greasy food, and dancing. Doug’s mosh pit always left purplish-yellow bruises. Like clockwork, Doug’s Mom’s house was the spot to be in the Berkeley hills every two months. Cassandra traveled extensively, some for work, but this, and subsequent trips, were leisure. Not one of Doug’s friends asked why, just calling it the Mom Goes to Rio party.

“He left the country?” Marcus asked, voice rising. “And the key is with him?”

Doug nodded, still smiling. “Yep.” He shifted in the driver’s seat, taking one last drag and flicking the smoke in the gravel. Smoldering for a second, it stopped burning. “More than likely.”

“For how long?”

“Long enough,” Doug muttered. “Doesn’t change the fact that he’s got the key.” Stretching, he fished out his Camels, then put them back as his stomach growled. “Man, I’d kill for a breakfast burrito from Sal’s.”

Marcus stared at him. “Does it look like I’m going anywhere?” He blew a stream of bluish smoke in Doug’s face. “You can’t drive with me like this.”

Doug flipped down the sun visor, grabbing his mirrored sunglasses. “Wanna bet?” he said, sliding them up his nose and turning the key. The Probe roared to life, sounding more like a kitten than a lion. Then again, what did you expect from a four-cylinder 110-horsepower engine?

“Doug—seriously.” Marcus twisted back, doing his best to sit on the edge of the passenger seat. “How is this,” he clinked the handcuffs, “going to work?” Marcus wasn’t worried about Doug’s driving, more like his sense of recklessness. After the military, it felt like Doug, to Marcus anyway, didn’t worry about the repercussions of his actions, taking huge risks wherever they went. That included how he drove.

Doug grinned, looking over the top of his shades and raising his eyebrows. “Watch.”

Crunching over the gravel driveway, the Probe rolled ever so slowly forward. Doug, laughing as he did it, spun the wheel around a few times to see if he could drive with Marcus connected to the steering wheel. The car swung wide to the right, left, and then in a full circle. “Seems to be working okay.” Doug laughed, stopping at the edge of the gravel, ready to turn right onto the main blacktop road.

This was going to be a hell of a ride.

Have you ever had an experience like this one? Leave me a reply in the comments!