"You will pay with your life for this ride."

☆

"Drive."

That one word caused the fear of God to rush through his bones. It wasn't an unusual request… to drive the car he was sitting in. He was a taxi driver after all. He drove for a living. But the difference here was that on this occasion,  he had a gun pressed against the back of his skull.

"W…where to?" His voice trying its best to sound calm considering, as he glanced up at the rear view mirror to see the man. His face flush as if he has been running. His hair clinging to his forehead from sweat, or maybe it was the heavy rain torrenting from the sky on this darkened night.

"Just drive!" Comes the threatening shout from the passenger, as he looks out of the back window, seeing the silhouettes of running bodies getting closer into view. The taxi driver puts his foot on the accelerator, the wheels skid from the wet surface beneath them, as the dark taxi pulls away. "Wh…what are you doing?" The man suddenly questions, hand tightening around the gun, as he sees the driver press a button on his dash.

"Starting your fare"...he hears a click to the barrel against his head."

"You will pay with your life for this ride. Just fucking drive." Comes the response as the metal presses a fraction harder into the back of the driver's skull.

"Ok,ok." Both hands return to the wheel, as the car's speed finally seems to create a distance between the running men and the vehicle. He sees in the mirror, the passenger once again glancing behind him.

The pressure of the gun seems to ease a fraction as the passenger once again looks behind him. He turns back, seeming to rummage for something in his pocket, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. He throws it into the driver's lap. "There, on the papar. Take me there." He orders.

The driver takes in the address on the crumpled note, "that….that's miles away."

"Well, you'd better get going then. Drive!" Comes the demand once again, with the gun again pushing against his head. He again focuses on the road ahead of him. Hands feeling clammy as they grip onto the leather bound wheel. The destination at least 100 or so miles away. This was going to be one hell of a long drive.

The passenger gazes out of the window. The rain seems to have stopped. leaving the buildings outside to shimmer in the orange glow of the street lights. The moment of calm gives him a minute to process his actions up until this point. He feels for the small fabric pouch in his jacket pocket... yes this was worth it, all of this. His moment to shine. To show them he could do better. No more would he be overlooked. No more would he be classed as second best.

"I've just realised something."

"What?" The man's irritation is evident as the voice of the driver distracts him from his own thoughts of triumph.

"You can't pull the trigger." The driver glances at him in the rear view mirror, seeing the furrowed brow on the other man's face.

"Are you testing me? Don't test me. You think I won't pull this trigger on you if I need to." The weakening grip on the pistol again tightens as it is now rammed against the driver's head with force. "I can and I will."

"Then you're a fool." The driver dares to say.

"You call me a fool? The passenger laughs at the notion. "I'm not the one with the gun pointing at my head!"

"Think about it." The driver carries on, again making eye contact with the man's deep brown, almost black eyes, which looked far from amused. "You pull that trigger, we both die. This car won't drive itself." He sees the man's expression change, his mouth briefly opening then closing as if he cannot find a response to what was a very valid point.

"Ok. fair point." He lowers the gun from the man's head. Letting it rest by his side on the seat, with his finger still firmly on the trigger. "Maybe I can't put a bullet through your brain...yet."

"Thanks." comes the reply. The driver feels his body relax if only just a fraction. He again glances at the man in the back seat, just for a moment. His tousled bkack hair looked a mess. His deep red shirt, opened at the collar, ruffled and unkempt, with an unbuttoned black jacket over the top. "So, this destination. Business or pleasure?" He again boldly asks. It makes the passenger chuckle at the brazeness or the man.

"Shit! you don't know when to shut up do you? "That…  is none of your business."

"Well it kind of is now, because, y'know. I will have to explain this unpaid fair to my bosses and…"

"I will fucking kill you if you don't shut the fuck up!" The gun is raised and a shot is fired…