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“For two years,” Kelsi continued, sliding into the driver’s seat, “you picked me up. You chose the locations. You decided when the cameras rolled. Part 1 was me surviving your bus. Part 2 was me turning the tables on a single passenger. But Part 3?” She turned the key. The engine roared. “Part 3, I drive.”
She tossed a contract onto the dashboard. “New deal: I drive the BangBus. You three—Rico, Mike, and the audio guy, Steve—are my ‘hitchhikers.’ I pick the spot. I set the pace. And the camera stays on you for once.”
The Vegas heat shimmered off the desert asphalt like a mirage. The BangBus—a nondescript white van with blacked-out windows—sat idling in the parking lot of a defunct truck stop. Inside, the crew was restless.
Kelsi stepped inside the BangBus, planted her heels, and held up the tablet. On screen was a live feed of the van’s own exterior camera. “See that limo? Inside is a producer from a major network. He’s offering me my own spin-off. But first… I get to reverse the script.”
A knock on the side door made everyone jump. The door slid open to reveal Kelsi Monroe. But she wasn’t in the usual “hailing a ride” outfit. Today, she wore aviator sunglasses, a black blazer over a sports bra, and held a tablet. Behind her, a stretch limo idled.
“Out,” Kelsi said, jerking a thumb. “All of you.”
Kelsi glanced in the rearview mirror, a slow smile curling her lips. “Don’t worry, boys. I’ll be gentle. For the first five minutes.”
End of Part 3.
