Crashed by a Rolls-Royce, I Sent Him Straight to Hell

“I’ve still got a passenger. Move your car.”

The bystanders watching the commotion gasped.

“Holy shit, this kid’s got balls—he hit Tony Moretti’s car and dares to talk back?”

“Tony runs half the Midwest crime districts. Even the cops don’t mess with him after midnight.”

“Poor bastard. Wrong car to hit. Even if he doesn’t die tonight, he’ll be skinned alive.”

As the whispers grew louder, Tony’s grin widened.

“Kid, if you want to run, at least make up a better excuse. What passenger? There’s no one in your back seat.”

But I noticed the spirit’s aura flaring redder. If I stalled any longer, she’d lose control.

“Tony Moretti, right?”

“If you value your life, you’ll kneel at my rear bumper and knock your head to the ground forty-nine times—or else…”

“Or else what, punk?” Tony rolled up his sleeves and charged at me, reeking of booze.

“Dodge again, I’ll kill you!”

I didn’t strike back—I only slipped out of reach. Not because I feared him, but because of my father Gabriel Hale’s warning when I first entered the trade:

“As a ferryman, you guide souls. Never entangle yourself in mortal grudges.”

A psychopomp never raises a hand against the living lightly. If we do, the result is always fatal.

Vince Moretti, Tony’s lackey, lunged at me with wild swings. Every punch missed, only enraging him further.

“You bastard, still dodging? Fine! You just wait.”

He pulled out his phone right in front of me.

“18th Street, Chicago—bring the boys and the hardware. Now!”

Meanwhile, some sympathetic drivers dragged me aside.

“Kid, you’d better run. Once his men arrive, you won’t walk away.”

“Yeah, his crew are real monsters. You’re on your own—you’ll get crushed.”

“You’re too young to throw your life away over pride.”

I was baffled.

He was the drunk driver, yet they expected me to run? Just because he was some mob boss, he could defy every law?

And what about the college girl in my back seat—the one he’d killed tonight? Was her life worthless?

My fists clenched until my knuckles popped.

“Calling in backup, huh?”

“Fine. But until you apologize to my passenger, I’m not going anywhere.”

Tony burst out laughing.

“Didn’t think I’d meet such a crazy bastard tonight. All right, I’ll show you exactly what the Morettis can do in the Midwest.”

I ignored him and slid back into my car.

My defiance earned me a grateful look from the spirit.

“My name is Emily Carter. Today was my twentieth birthday.”

No wonder her resentment burned so strong. It had been her birthday when she died.