Hot Driver - S01 E96

Story 3 days ago

Hot Driver - S01 E96

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 96

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That Night – Bennett’s Hotel

The hotel had launched just two months earlier and already stood as the most sought-after in Creston, and within one of its most exclusive suites, Ivory and Duane finally found themselves alone.

The wedding dress was gone. Only Ivory’s sinful little nightie remained — and not for long.

Their lips met over and over, breath hitching, bodies pressing close, and within minutes the nightie had joined the dress somewhere on the floor, forgotten entirely.

“Tonight,” Duane murmured against her throat, lifting her easily and laying her against the bed, “is going to be the best night of your life.”

He entered her slowly, reverently, and the rest of the night unfolded soft and unhurried, the city lights blurring beyond the window as the hours passed.

He was right.

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One Year Later – Prison Yard

Beauty swept the concrete slowly, one hand gripping the broom, the other pressed briefly against her ribs where a fresh bruise still ached.

Another inmate spat at her feet as she passed, and Beauty said nothing, kept sweeping, kept her eyes down.

I was happy once, she thought, the memory arriving like it always did, unbidden and cruel. Before all this. Before I decided I had to have something that was never mine to take.

Saliva struck her cheek this time, rolling slowly down toward her mouth before she could wipe it away, and she tasted the disgusting wetness of it before she could stop herself, swallowing back the urge to gag along with the sob building in her throat.

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A Solitary Confinement Cell – Same Prison

Alice sat against the cold wall, knees drawn to her chest, exactly as she had for the past year, ever since new evidence — an old, half-buried case involving a nurse she’d once tried to eliminate for getting too close to the truth about a stolen infant — had resurfaced and sealed her fate entirely.

Life imprisonment. No parole. No visitors, most days.

She caused this, she thought, over and over, the same guilt circling endlessly with nowhere left to go. Maeve’s dead because of what I did. My son won’t even look at me. I have nothing left.

Curtis had come, weeks earlier, wearing tattered, filthy clothes, looking like the most pitiful, broken version of the man he used to be. She’d barely recognized him.

New tears slid down her already raw, red eyes, and she bit down hard on her own fingertip, the small, sharp pain the only thing that still made her feel remotely present in her own body anymore.

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