Three hours into driving the stolen – borrowed – blue BMW from that fast food chain restaurant, Keira admitted that she could still clearly hear the resonating doo-doo, doo-doo-doo-doo.
By the scowl Nate sported beside her, the very original background music of a Baby Shark also played on repeat in his head. Depressing, indeed.
Another five hours on the road and the faint Baby Shark finally ceased to exist, living rent-free in their brain.
"I think we should stay here," Keira said as they finally reached Fargo. "You need the rest."
Nate nodded. She made sure that the room he booked earlier was correct.
'Two Presidential Suites for Mr. Wolfe and Miss Hawkins, respectively,' the hotel's receptionist had said when she phoned them to ask about it.
Keira had no plan of sharing a room with the mafia lord again. Who knows what he would do next, stripping bare before her eyes, probably.
