COVENANTS OF CHAOS

Chapter Three: The Accident

The rain fell intensely, striking the windshield of Lucas' van as he sped down the nearly deserted streets. The wipers squealed against the glass, striving to operate, but they battled to keep up with the tempest. He leaned forward, gazing through the rain, one hand securely on the wheel while the other tapped on his phone mounted on the dashboard.

“Rerouting,” the GPS announced for the third time that evening.

“Of course, you are,” Lucas muttered. He glanced at the clock. Ten minutes past the delivery window. Another late order. Tony was going to chew him out again, and he couldn’t afford another paycheck deduction. Not with the Morettis breathing down his neck.

The phone buzzed, and Tony’s name flashed on the screen. Lucas groaned, tapping the answer button.

“Yeah, I know,” Lucas said before Tony could start. “I’m late. The GPS is—”

“Don’t give me that crap, Lucas!” Tony barked, his voice loud even through the cheap Bluetooth earpiece. “This is the third time this week! You think customers are gonna wait around forever? I’ve got half a mind to—”

“I said I’m on my way!” Lucas snapped, cutting him off. “It’s not like I’m sitting here twiddling my thumbs. The rain’s insane, the GPS is screwing up, and—”

“I don’t care about your excuses,” Tony interrupted. “You’re replaceable, Kane. Don’t forget that. You screw this up, and I’ll find someone who actually gives a damn.”

Lucas gritted his teeth, his free hand tightening into a fist. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“You’d better,” Tony growled. “And don’t forget to *smile* when you hand over the bag. These people are paying for service, not your attitude.”

The connection was lost. Lucas pulled the earpiece out and flung it onto the passenger seat, where it fell beside a pile of unpaid bills and an empty energy drink can.

"Sure, I appreciate it, Tony." “Genuine motivational speech,” he said, his tone laced with sarcasm.

Lucas veered onto a tighter road, the van’s tires splashing in the puddles. The rain rendered the road slippery, and the dim light of streetlights scarcely penetrated the gloom. He looked at the GPS once more, wishing it had finally resolved the issue.

“Take the next left,” the robotic voice instructed.

“Finally,” Lucas muttered, yanking the wheel to follow the turn. He didn’t notice the pair of headlights appearing in the distance, growing brighter as they sped toward him.

His phone buzzed again, vibrating on the dash. He glanced at it—a text from his neighbor.

**Moretti’s guys came by again. They’re not happy. Be careful.**

“Great,” Lucas muttered under his breath, snatching the phone to read the message again. His eyes flicked back up just in time to see the headlights barreling straight toward him.

“Sh—!” Lucas barely had time to slam on the brakes.

The approaching vehicle did not reduce its speed. It veered into his lane, racing toward him like a missile. Lucas yanked the wheel sharply to the right, causing the van to slide on the slick road. The beams of light flooded his sight, dazzling him. The final sound he registered was the overwhelming clang of metal and breaking glass.