Fifty-Eight: Kidnapped.

“Shit.” That was never a good sign.

“Shit!”

“Shit!” Though Oscar knew the last thing he was probably supposed to be doing was driving himself across the highway, he still hopped into his Mercedes as the only way he could get out of there.

The day had already began bad given it was his father’s funeral but there was no way he had an idea that it would turn out way worse.

His fingers clenched around the leather steering wheel and he tried so hard to quiet the ravaging thoughts in his head. He was breathing heavily and on the edge of his seat. His eyes were blurred and his feet was still pressing into the gas out of anger.

He sped at past a hundred and twenty kilometers per hour and even the building ls beside him had turned into a hazy blur. The sound of his revving engines were the only way to silence his thoughts and for a moment, Oscar didn’t care if he were to die then and there. The pictures of Sofia and all their moments flashed behind his eyes and he could feel himself grow angri