“Condom,” she grunted between moans, the thought of protection crossing her mind for the very first time. She couldn’t remember if he’d used one earlier, but it certainly didn’t feel like he was using one now.
“No,” he replied, pressing himself deeper inside her. She bit her lip and thought no further of contraception, reveling in the dirtiness of it all. Eventually, his thumb grew tired of exploring her nether regions, and something much larger replaced it. Shawna pushed herself towards him, welcoming the new experience. Jack’s weight pressed down on her, his breath hot and desperate on the back of her neck.
When it was over, she slept more soundly than she could ever remember.
***
Georgia
They were about an hour outside of Atlanta when Jack’s wife called. Shawna hadn’t realized he was married, but then she knew very little about him. They rarely spoke, except to request the thing they both wanted from each other. She was sure that 90% of their communication to date had been dirty words exchanged on the increasingly wrinkled sheets of the sleeper cab behind them. She didn’t know where they were going, and Jack hadn’t asked her where she wanted to go. She wasn’t thinking about that anymore.
“We miss you, honey,” a cheery southern accent announced on speakerphone. Shawna said nothing, the revelation that Jack was married entirely uninteresting to her.
“Aw, I miss you too, pumpkin,” Jack said, his hand drifting across the cab and resting on Shawna’s breast, his forefinger and thumb caressing her nipple through her shirt while he drove.
“You’re still going to make it back for my recital next week, right?” a child’s voice asked over the line. Shawna bit her lip and guided Jack’s hand down to her waistline. She pulled her breasts free of her shirt, rubbing her hands over them. Jack’s fingers probed lower.
“Sorry, kiddo,” Jack said, his eyes on the road, his fingers moving inside Shawna. “Took on a new load back east. Gonna be another couple of weeks.”
Shawna gripped the overhead handle, biting her lip hard. Spasms of pleasure rocked across her body, and she choked back a cry, oblivious to the disappointment in the voices of Jack’s family.
“That didn’t bother you?” Jack asked after the call ended.
“We have a deal,” Shawna said, looking out the window at the wall of trees that grew right up to the edge of the interstate. She didn’t want to admit it, but she had enjoyed being the other woman. “You hold up your end, I’ll hold up mine. I’m no one to judge.”
He grunted and continued driving in silence. They barely spoke at all in the ensuing hours, until they stopped for the night at another truckstop. The bed wasn’t as soft as the mattress in Jack’s rig, but it was larger, giving them room for a more acrobatic experience than the truck had allowed. Jack handed her a small bottle of cheap whiskey, and Shawna drank it dry, letting the night blur into the morning until it became hard to say where one day ended and the next began.
Jack would drop off a load and pick up another, but Shawna no longer kept track of where they were. They passed through the mountains once, she thought, but she was so loaded that she could barely see, a thermos of gin in her clutches at all times. She had no books, no phone, no computer, nothing to pass the time except the Oldies station Jack kept the radio tuned to, so mostly she just drank, keeping herself in a stupor until Jack was ready to climb on top of her.
He still didn’t use condoms, but Shawna was beyond caring at this point. She’d gotten used to cleaning up the mess he left behind on her stomach or the small of her back or the cleft of her breasts. Sometimes he finished inside her, which was worrisome, but at fifty she doubted she would be getting pregnant. When she was sober enough to direct him, she preferred to simply swallow it, eliminating any need for cleaning up.
A week had gone by, at least at her best estimate, when Shawna found herself lying naked on a motel bed, a fifth of gin in her hand while the news played on the television. Jack had stumbled down to the community showers, even drunker than she was tonight, leaving her alone with her thoughts. They were near Tulsa, according to the weather report. She’d never been to Oklahoma before, she realized, taking a deep gulp of gin and tossing the empty bottle aside.
“In national news,” said a thin brunette anchor in a plain red dress. “Connecticut state authorities are asking for anyone with information on the whereabouts of Shawna and Brooklyn Lamont to come forward.”
“As our regular viewers know, we’ve been covering the story of the Lamont family all week,” an older male anchor said from the next seat over. “Edward Francis Lamont IV, great-grandson of the railroad tycoon of the same name was found dead in his home, along with his girlfriend and two of his three children. His remaining daughter, Brooklyn, is still missing.”
“Shawna Lamont, Mr. Lamont’s estranged ex-wife, was last seen just a few days before the tragic killings,” the female anchor said. “Police aren’t sure how she is connected to the incident, but she is considered to be a person-of-interest. While the Lamont family fortune isn’t what it used to be, their name still holds a lot of significance in New England, and Mr. Lamont sat on the boards of several charities, not to mention Lamont University, which was endowed by his grandfather nearly a hundred years ago.”
The camera panned to the older anchor. “Our hearts go out to the—” The TV went black, and Shawna sat up in the bed, the remote wavering in her hand. She’d never been a passive person her entire life, but this past week she’d just found herself submitting to Jack, waiting for him to use her. It was just easier that way. As long as he called all the shots, she just had to tag along. He kept her fed and satisfied—if only briefly—that never-ending itch the demon had left her with. But none of that did anything to solve her problems. The demon was still out there in Brooke’s skin.
“Bottoms up, you filthy slut,” Jack said, nearly falling over himself when he entered the room. He tossed a fifth of whiskey towards her, but she made no attempt to catch it. Jack stared at the bottle where it landed on the bed, blinking in confusion. “I said bottoms up,” he repeated. “Get that little ass in the air so I can pound it raw.”
“Not tonight,” Shawna said for the first time since she’d climbed into Jack’s rig. Jack teetered towards her, his upper body swaying so widely that Shawna thought he might fall over. He snatched the bottle up from the bed and pressed it into her hands.
“Drink,” he ordered, his face red beneath his beard.
“No,” Shawna said, shoving the bottle back towards him. He didn’t take it.
“What the hell did you just say to me?”
“I need to get back east,” Shawna said. She didn’t know where the demon was, but she knew where it wanted to go and that it had a long, sick road trip planned along the way. It wouldn’t move too fast, maybe just a few counties down the interstate each day. It was probably barely into Pennsylvania by now. Her week with Jack had certainly taken her far away from anywhere the police might have been looking for her, and if she headed east now, she might be able to head off the demon in Indiana or Ohio.
“You’re going wherever I say you’re going,” Jack growled, a huge hand gripping Shawna by the throat. He wasn’t being any more domineering than usual, but Shawna wasn’t in the mood to be submissive anymore. Unscrupulous sex wasn’t the only vice the demon had exposed her to in their time together. She had killed people, watched eyes go cold, her arms slick with their blood up to her elbows. That had been a thrill all its own.
“If you aren’t going east, that’s fine,” Shawna said calmly, her fingers tightening around the bottle. “I’ll find someone who is.” She pushed past him, and he grabbed her arm, fingers digging into her flesh. She spun, breaking the bottle across the side of his head. He went down, clutching at his face while blood streamed between his fingers, and Shawna threw on a sweatshirt and leggings and headed for the door, gym bag in hand.
She made it out to the parking lot before she started to cry between a pair of big rigs, the yawning
hopelessness of her situation once again taking hold of her. She didn’t regret her week with Jack. They’d both needed something, and they’d both gotten it. But those needs weren’t compatible anymore. She supposed she would have to finally dip into her savings, find a taxi to get her far away from this place and back on the demon’s trail.
“You okay, sister?” a woman asked, appearing from behind one of the trucks. The gap between the trailers was narrow, and Shawna couldn’t go forward without passing by her. The woman was about Shawna’s height, but fifty pounds heavier, her hair a tangle of brown curls. The leathery skin of her face pulled back in a smile. She had no front teeth. What teeth she did have were yellow or brown, and Shawna would have given nearly anything to have the woman shut her mouth for even just a moment.
“I’m… I’m fine,” Shawna said, wiping tears from her eyes with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “Just needed a little fresh air.”
“Ain’t much of that ‘round here, honey,” the woman said, half-cackling. “Name’s Peg. You ridin’ with Big Jack?”
“How’d you know?” Shawna asked, surprised that the woman seemed to know her companion.
“Please. Every working girl from here to Akron knows Big Jack.” The woman sucked her lips and looked Shawna over from head to toe. “You’re too good for that cheap S.O.B.,” she declared. “What happened, honey? You find out ‘bout his wife? He slap you around? Merk can set him straight for you.”
“Merk?” Shawna asked, glancing beyond the woman to the rows and rows of tractor trailers lined up in the vast lot, their lights dark but most of their engines still rumbling. She was sure if she screamed, no one would hear it.
“Merk the Jerk,” Peg said. “But don’t call him that to his face. He runs the lot. Takes care of girls like us, makes sure the johns don’t get too rough, bails us out when the cops pick us up.” Her eyes narrowed, and she wagged an accusing finger at Shawna. “If you’re working this lot, you gotta talk to Merk. Those are the rules, honey. You wanna work, you pay the jerk.”
“Oh,” Shawna said, letting out a nose halfway between a laugh and a hiccup. Jack had told her about the girls that hung around the truck stops and motels. “I’m not a lot lizard.”
“Huh,” Peg said, biting her lower lip and scrunching her already wrinkled face. Shawna couldn’t tell whether it was a scowl, but it felt like one.
“There you are, bitch,” Jack said from behind her, blood still dripping from his temple. Shawna tried to push past Peg, but the other woman blocked her way. Shawna shoved her, but Peg was stronger than she looked. Jack grabbed Shawna by the wrist, spinning her back to face him.
“You gon’ pay for that?” a voice asked, and its owner climbed down from the cab of one of the adjacent rigs. He was a big man, even taller and broader in the shoulders than Jack, his curly black hair hanging past his shoulders. He wore wide-rimmed sunglasses even though it was night, and the hems of his Hawaiian shirt fluttered loosely around the thighs of his jeans.
“Huh?” Jack asked. “This here’s my lady, Merk.”
“She ain’t no lady,” Peg said, letting loose a laugh like a crow. “She a lot lizard.” The way the last two words were emphasized made Shawna suspect they were more offensive than she’d realized.
“I’m not,” Shawna said, struggling against Jack’s grip. “I was just getting a ride.”
“Just getting a ride?” Merk asked, laughing as he came closer. Jack released Shawna and took a step back. Merk grabbed Shawna’s chin with his hand, metal rings pressing into her throat. “You know how many drugged-up, skanked-out, lyin’-ass whores have used that line to get out of paying the piper? This here is my lot. If you are a girl and if you are working my lot… you work for me.” His hand tightened around her chin. Shawna should have been terrified, but instead, she just felt numb—for once, the emptiness the demon had left inside her proved beneficial.
“I wasn’t working,” she grunted.
“That true?” Merk asked, glancing over to Jack. “How much you pay her?”
“Nothing, Merk,” Jack said. “I swear. I picked her up back east hitchhiking along the interstate. She’s just a rig rider. I look after her—”
“And she looks after your rig,” Merk interrupted. He looked back to Shawna, taking his hand away from her. “How ‘bout that? You his lady? You riding Big Jack’s big rig just for the thrill of it?”
Shawna’s eyes shifted from Merk to Jack, wondering how she should answer. If she agreed, it seemed like Merk might actually believe it—but she’d be back in Jack’s clutches. She was a divorced housewife with an accounting degree. Nothing in her life had prepared her for this. She let herself sink into the icy blackness of the demon’s empty space. It would have known exactly what to do. She closed her eyes, and the answer came to her.
“No,” she said, her eyes snapping back open. “Sure, I rode his rig. But it was purely transactional.”
“Purely transactional?” Merk said, chuckling to himself. “You’re a purely transactional bitch?”
“That’s right,” Shawna agreed. “I’m a purely transactional bitch.”
“This here is a lady after my own heart,” Merk said. “So we got ourselves a conundrum! Jack says she’s his lady, Peg says she’s my ho, and she says she’s a purely transactional bitch. So how do we work this out to everyone’s mutual satisfaction?” He clapped his hands together, and Jack winced.
“What’s in the bag?” Merk asked, ripping Shawna’s gym bag off her shoulder. He threw it to the ground and knelt beside it. “My, oh my, someone has been holding out on us,” he declared, rising back to his feet with Shawna’s savings in his hands. “Must be about seven grand here.”
“You said you were broke!” Jack hissed.
“I think our solution just presented itself,” Merk said. “Jack and I are gonna split this cash. You buy back any claims Jack has against you, and you buy yourself forgiveness for working my lot without cutting me in.”
“No,” Shawna said. “I need that money.”
“Oh, you’ll get it back,” Merk said, handing half of the cash to Jack. “But you’re gonna work for it.”
Two
Oklahoma, August 2014
“Breaker, breaker, any commercial carriers out there?” a voice called over the CB radio. Shawna stood with the other girls, sweating in the confined space of the safe truck. Merk had several trailers spread out across the lot that were designated as safe trucks—sanctuaries for his girls to retreat to if the cops showed up or a customer got belligerent. She was wearing a pair of jean shorts and a red sequined top that left her stomach exposed, but even in that minimal bit of clothing she was soaked with perspiration.
“Roger that,” Merk replied over the radio. “What color’s your house?” Merk and his customers spoke in code over the CB. Johns reported their rig colors and put out requests for services needed, and Merk made sure the right girls got to the right operators.
“You’re up, sugah,” Peg said, patting Shawna’s bare shoulder. “Got a blue house that needs a quick rub and tug.” It had been three days since she’d found herself penniless and in Merk’s employ, the fire raging between her legs still barely soothed despite her—and Merk’s—best efforts. Certainly, she’d never imagined a scenario where prostituting herself seemed routine, but it had actually come easy to her—not that she had much of a choice after watching her savings vanish in an instant. She’d meant to keep track of how many customers Merk sold her services to, but that had quickly become a daunting task. Most of her sessions lasted just a few minutes, her hands and lips masterfully summoning a climax in the most expedient fashion. She could easily turn five or six tricks in a single hour, and more than once now she’d managed at least ten.
Merk opened the trailer gate, slapping Shawna’s backside as she passed by. It had become his habit, and as demeaning as it was, it was now so routine that she would have felt out of place if he skipped it. She found the blue rig that contained her latest customer, and six minutes l
ater she climbed back down, her breasts still sticky where he’d marked her. It was the adrenaline that kept her going more than anything else, the surge of power she felt every time she turned a trick. She knew those truckers saw her and dreamed of spending hours with her, but somehow that desperation in their eyes nourished her, warming the darkness of the demon’s void. On occasion her own desires got the best of her, and she took her time, letting them use her like Jack had. But this was a business, and by and large she treated it as such.
“Damn, woman,” a trucker called out when she passed a patch of grass where three bearded men sat around a barbecue pit drinking beer in the shade. “Show us your tits!”
“Thirty bucks,” Shawna said, matter-of-factly. It was three times what the other working girls charged, if they charged at all, but Shawna was fit and polished, which very few of the others could say. No one had grumbled about the price yet, and the trucker that had propositioned her reached for his wallet without complaint. Shawna slid his cash into her waistband and tugged at her top, letting her breasts spill into view. “Each,” she added sternly, rotating to give the other two truckers a full view. They immediately pulled out more cash, and two hours later Shawna stumbled, bowlegged and sore, but still unquenched, back to the safe truck, a thousand dollars richer after her especially lucrative transaction with the three operators.
“Took it slow today, huh?” Peg asked, squinting at her as she climbed back into the safe truck. “Some of us actually had time to make some money today without you hoggin’ all the johns.”
“Just doing my job,” Shawna said, dutifully pulling piles of wadded up banknotes out of her britches and placing them on Merk’s desk near the CB radio. The big man immediately began counting them, and Shawna could practically see the calculations going on in his head. He would be satisfied with the numbers, since she’d resolved to herself fairly early in the process that she would play by the rules of this world. They actually weren’t difficult—work hard for Merk, don’t lie to Merk, give all your money to Merk, and don’t complain about any of the above—and so Shawna found herself in the awkward position of being the boss’s favorite.
Demi Mondaine: Volume One Page 18