Vincent roared down the highway on the stolen motorcycle, wind slapping his cheeks and tearing at his hair. The speedometer needle was kissing numbers most sane riders would never touch, but sanity had never been one of Vincent's strong suits. He tilted his head back and laughed, the kind of reckless sound that turned heads as they flew by cars stuck in traffic.
"Woo! This is living, huh?" he shouted over the roar of the engine.
Behind him, Marcus clutched the seat with both hands, knuckles pale. His posture was rigid, his jaw set, like he was praying to invisible gods to end this hell ride.
Vincent craned his neck just enough to smirk. "What, scared of a little wind? Relax, old man! It's just the road making love to us."
Marcus didn't answer. His eyes stayed glued to the blurred lines of the asphalt, calm in a way that made Vincent frown for a second. Most people screamed or begged when Vincent drove like this. Marcus just…watched.
Vincent shrugged it off. If the guy wanted to be a zombie, fine. More fun for him.
They stopped at a shabby roadside diner after an hour, neon lights buzzing, paint peeling from the walls. A faded sign promised "Best hot dog and popcorn in the State"—but the entire 'hot' word from hot dog and letters 'p' , 'o' , 'c' from popcorn flickered until it looked like 'best dog and p-orn in the state'
Marcus tried to read that word from the sign board, " best .. dog and p*rn in state ??" Realisation made Marcus face go red
Vincent chuckled seeing his face," ohh ohh don't worry ,cariño .. this place is bit messy but not down right indecent Enough to play p*rn in theater"
Marcus stuttered , " I know .. I know , it's.. it's just simple , sign board mistake"
Vincent parked the bike and hopped off with swagger, tossing the helmet to a stunned valet who hadn't even offered to take it. Marcus followed more slowly, adjusting his shirt as though the ride had wrinkled his composure.
Inside, the diner was packed. Grease clung to the air, mingling with the sharp scent of coffee. Waitresses bustled in retro uniforms, heels clacking against the tiled floor. Vinyl booths creaked under the weight of truckers, couples, and families.
Vincent slid into a booth and whistled at the nearest waitress, a blonde with tired eyes and a forced smile. "Evening, sugar. Bring me the good stuff, huh? Steak—sirloin, dripping in garlic butter, thirty-five bucks, don't hold back. Oh, and lobster tail, fifty. Truffle fries, twenty. Chocolate lava cake, fifteen. And keep the bourbon coming. The expensive one, twenty-five a shot."
The waitress raised an eyebrow but scribbled it all down. "That's a hell of an appetite."
Vincent leaned back, spreading his arms across the booth with a grin. "What can I say , sweetheart" His hands were smooth as his words , gliding to the waitress's hips , while Marcus shifts his seat uncomfortably
"Honey, I've been living off prison gruel. Tonight, I eat like a king."
The waitress taken a back by the fact prison, she didn't move a inch nor try to take off his hands , she nodded to Vincent and turned to Marcus
"May I know your order , sir"
Marcus sat opposite him, folding his hands neatly on the table. "I'll have…a margherita pizza. Small. And a Coke."
Vincent blinked. "That's it? Come on you give a Rich pretty boy like appearance and wallet and you're eating like a broke college kid?"
Marcus gave a small, amused smile. "I don't need more."
Vincent rolled his eyes. "Suit yourself. More for me."
When the food arrived, Vincent dug in with exaggerated moans of delight, tearing into the steak as juices dripped down his chin. He licked his fingers, smacked his lips, and made jokes loud enough for nearby tables to glance over in annoyance.
"God, this steak is practically moaning for me. Want a bite?" he asked, waving a bloody slice at Marcus.
Marcus shook his head, calmly cutting into his plain pizza. "You're enjoying yourself enough for both of us."
The bourbon burned Vincent's throat in the best way. By the time the chocolate lava cake arrived, he was grinning, belly full, satisfied in a way that almost made him forget his real goal. Almost.
The bill landed on the table with a soft thud. Vincent didn't even glance at it. He slid it across the table with two fingers, a smirk tugging at his lips.
"Your treat,cariño."
Marcus looked at the check, then back at Vincent, almost apologetically. "I don't have cash."
Vincent snorted. "Of course you don't. Who carries cash these days? Use the card."
The waitress returned with a portable card swiper. Vincent's heart skipped with excitement. Finally, the golden chance. He leaned back casually, but his eyes sharpened, watching every flick of Marcus's fingers.
Marcus took the card from his wallet—Vincent's gaze devoured the shiny plastic—and slid it into the machine. He began punching the pin. Vincent's breath slowed, eyes narrowing, ready to burn the numbers into memory.
But the screen flashed red. Wrong pin.
Marcus tilted his head, frowning faintly. "Ah…I only remember it at the ATM. My memory works…differently."
Vincent froze, then blinked in disbelief. "You're kidding me."
Marcus handed the card back to the waitress with a calm shrug. "I can't use it here. Sorry."
Vincent slammed his hand against his forehead. "You've got to be—" He cut himself off, groaning. From the thick bundle Marcus had given him earlier, he peeled off cash and slapped it onto the bill tray.
The waitress looked amused as she took it away.
Vincent glared at Marcus. "You've just gave me twenty grand to me just i released some stupid cuff, and I'm the one footing the bill. What the hell kind of joke is this?"
Marcus only smiled faintly, sipping his Coke as though nothing in the world could bother him.
Outside, Vincent lit a cigarette, dragging in the smoke like it might calm his irritation. His eyes lingered on Marcus, who stood gazing at the horizon with that same strange serenity, like he was both lost and exactly where he wanted to be.
Vincent exhaled smoke in a sharp laugh.
"Oh god, I don't even know how hard this is going to be—to steal the damn card from this stupid man."
But in the back of his mind, a darker thought whispered: Maybe Marcus wasn't stupid at all.
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PLEASE SUPPORT PRETTY LADIES AND HANDSOME GENTLEMEN,
WITH FRUSTRATION,
VINCENT 🤯
AND
WITH NOTHING ,
MARCUS 😶🌫️