Eliza

Rebecca Chambers: (gently): “Hey, Hey, no. It’s okay. Let it go. We’re good they didn’t hit us.

Jill Valentine: (calmly): “follow them.”

Chris Redfield: (sternly): “Nope. No. Pull over. I’m driving. Get out.”

Claire Redfield: (yelling): “YEAH FUCKING IDIOT LEARN HOW TO USE A FUCKING TURN SIGNAL YOU MOTHER FUCKING STUPID ASS BITCH.” (Crashing out with you)

“You’ll be fine, babe, just—“

“Over my dead body I’m getting in that thing, Christopher.” I snapped. “I’m not doing it.”

Chris laughed at the use of his full first name and at my dramatic response. “Babe, it’s not that bad. It’s an SUV, not a tank.”

I scoffed. “It’s a lifted Bronco. Chris, I’m not driving your giant ass car. What’s wrong with my Miata?”

Chris laughed again and shook his head, amused. “You’ll be alright. Come on.”

“No…” The complaint left my lips as Chris hoisted me up over his shoulder. “No, no, no.” I patted his back. “Christopher, just get in my car.”

“You gotta get comfortable driving my car. What if there’s an emergency? You’re not going to hit anything. Well… maybe a curb, but that’s what it’s there for.” Chris chuckled again, way too amused for my liking.

“Chris!” I kicked my feet a little. To which he responded by adjusting his hold on me and swatting at my ass. “Hey!”

“Mm? Are you done throwing your tantrum?”

I relaxed over his shoulder completely, defeated. “Yeah.”

Another one of Chris’s chuckles vibrated through me before he brought me out into the garage and set me down. His hands lingered on my waist to make sure I was steady before letting go. The keys to his Bronco dangled from his hand in front of my face. I groaned and snatched the keys from him.