The migraine in my head throbbed in time with the uneven rhythm of the vehicle's engine. I slouch so far down into the cracked leather of the shotgun seat that my tailbone was practically scraping the floorboards. I pulled the hood of my dirt-smudged jacket over my eyes to block out the world.
It didn't work. Nothing could block out the sharp, grating sound of Frayer’s voice.
"You know, Kelsie, if you had possessed even an ounce of operational intelligence," Frayer nagged, his knuckles pale as he navigated the potholed roads back toward the main part of the city, "we could have saved six gallons of fuel, four severe heart attacks, and the complete destruction of my custom-tailored leather jacket!"
"Shut up, Frayer," I groaned, pressing my palms against my face.
"I will not shut up!" he
