Kingsman: The Devil's Gamble

Chapter Seven

Several hours had passed, and Whiskey and I were still on the road. The last time I checked, we were in Springfield, Illinois, which is one of many cities that I've never been to. I've been to plenty of places—I mean, it seems like it—but there's still plenty of places that I never got the chance to see with my own eyes.

Whiskey had driven on the road for several hours. I believe it was four, but I did know that he'd been driving since we got out of Cleveland.

"You'd been driving for a while, babe," I pointed out as we stopped at a gas station to refuel. "You want to switch it up, so I can drive a bit?"

He shook his head. "Nope. I'm okay, sugar."

"Are you sure?" I asked. "Because I can drive. I'll just need a soda or somethin' so my energy can stay up."

Still, Whiskey was adamant. "I'll get ya something here once I get this truck refilled, but don't worry about driving, sugar."

"You sure?" I asked once more.

"Definitely," he confirmed. "You're my passenger princess. It's your job to just sit back and look pretty."

"Do you want me to do that now?" I asked.

Whiskey nodded. "Absolutely. Just sit back and hold down the fort, while I go in and get ya something. Anything particular?"

I shook my head back and forth. "I can't decide between an ICEE and a cold Pepsi. Maybe even some snacks so that we both don't get hangry."

He nodded. "Good thinkin'. I'll get right on that. You hold down the fort and don't let nobody steal this truck."

I nodded, giving Whiskey two thumbs up and a bright, wide grin. "You got it, dude!"

It only took five minutes of me sitting in the truck, clenching my fists just in case anyone tried to steal the truck. Luckily, no one did. I apparently looked mean enough. Hey! As long as the truck wasn't stolen, I could care less about how I looked. Mean, excited, or anything else.

But my internal thoughts quickly disappeared when Whiskey came back out to the truck, with two loaded-to-the-brim plastic bags tightly in his grasp.

"Jesus Christ, Whiskey!" I exclaimed. "Did you buy out the entire gas station?"

He shrugged. "Not quite, Rocky, but I did get us enough snacks and drinks to last us a while." He started to go through some of the different items he had. "I got you your favorite ICEE, a cold Pepsi straight from the fridge, some pretzels, trail mix...You know, shit like that."

"It looks like you bought a lot," I said.

He nodded. "I did buy a lot, mainly because I wanted you to be satisfied."

"I would've been satisfied with an ICEE, cold Pepsi, and maybe something to snack on," I said.

Whiskey gave me a look as though I was dumb. "Sugar, I know you too damn well. You weren't gonna be satisfied with just that. That's why I stocked up."

I smirked, my dimples clearly showing for Whiskey to see. "What did I do to deserve you?"

He shrugged. "Nothing, sweetheart. We just both patiently waited for the right one, and, well—God sent us to each other."

"He sure did," I agreed.

Soon, Whiskey and I were back on the road, becoming paranoid that Balor's men were following us. Turns out, they weren't. We just always have that feeling of caution on our shoulders. We've had this feeling ever since this manhunt started two years ago. I guess that feeling is bound to become latched onto you for a while when you work in this field.