Truck Stop Tryst

by Daniels, Krissy

  A call from Rafael, but no word from Tito or my father, meant my family was in trouble. Trouble I had most likely caused. I had to right my wrong.

  I needed to leave.

  I’d scoped out every possible escape route in the house. Thanks, Dad, for drilling that skill into my brain. I’d taken note of the household vehicles, where the keys were kept, which set belonged to which car. I knew the front door opened quietly, while the back door stuck in the left corner, squeaking every time it opened. I knew I would not fit through the bathroom window. Tucker’s bedroom window had been painted shut.

  Tucker’s Jeep had a tracker, one that had been modified, so I couldn’t risk stealing his car. Lettie’s truck was the best option, being as James’s Ford was tucked nice and safe behind a garage door that was entirely too loud when it lifted.

  Tucker read to me, about what was happening to my body and what to expect in the second trimester. I faked a yawn, rolled to my side, and pretended to fall asleep. He continued to read. For crying out loud, the guy was into the baby-brewing shit. He hadn’t even noticed I’d fake passed out. Soon, his dreamy voice, along with the boring script, lulled me to slumber.

  I woke with a start. A large hand caressed my stomach. Warm lips pressed against my left temple.

  “Good night, Bambi,” Tucker whispered before rolling off his side of the bed. “I’ll take care of everything, I promise.” He landed another kiss on my cheek, and it took all my will power not to turn around and pull him on top of me.

  He wanted to take care of me. Problem was, only I could take care of me. And I didn’t want Tucker pulled any closer to my ugly life.

  I listened to his footsteps and waited for his bedroom door to close. Fighting the pull of exhaustion, I set my alarm for one hour.

  It beeped all too soon.

  My foggy head begged for more sleep. My guilty conscience forced me upright.

  The house was dead silent, and the only thing I could hear was my own heartbeat tapping a warning against my chest, don’t do this, don’t do this.

  I had no choice.

  I’d fallen asleep in my clothes, so I grabbed my suitcase and my shoes, and tiptoed out the door and down the long hallway. Lettie’s car keys would be in her purse, which I’d noted earlier that evening had been left on a chair between the front door and the coat closet. I rifled through her private belongings, searching for the keys. When I found them, I mumbled a thank you, thank you, thank you, to no one in particular.

  My stomach soured. God, I hated abusing her trust—their trust—that way.

  I didn’t slip my shoes on until I’d reached the last step of the front porch. Heart in my throat, I dashed to her truck. I heaved my things, then myself into the massive vehicle and put the keys in the ignition. I started the engine and rolled down the long driveway, praying I hadn’t woken anyone.

  I drove into the darkness, and it wasn’t long before I found highway signs leading me east.

  Leading me home.

  WHILE MOST PEOPLE SLUMBERED peacefully in warm houses, under warm blankets and soft pillows, young girls, desperate for the temporary warmth of a cab, or their next fix, offered themselves for dirty money they’d never get to spend. Beautiful girls made ugly, so fat, balding pedophiles, selfish and loathsome, could blow their loads, and pretend their lives hadn’t gone to shit.

  If I hadn’t a moral compass, I’d kill them all.

  For the time being, Carl, as the man had introduced himself over the radio wave, would have to take the brunt of my rage. I hit him one more time, for good measure, tied and gagged him, then dropped him like the piece of shit he was, into the tall grass behind his Lonestar.

  I climbed behind the driver’s seat and settled in. The evening air held a nasty bite, yet the prowlers came out anyway, dressed in low-cut blouses, heels, and jeans that never fit right.

  Pulling the lid of my cap lower, I hunkered deeper into my seat, hugged my jacket tighter around myself, and waited, watching.

  The right girl would show. She’d be easy to recognize. Young. Awkward. Eyes vacant and hopeless.

  I thought of Aida. Ached to be in bed with her. Imagined her naked and underneath me. Fuck, I needed to hold her.

  But the call had been too strong. Before I could wholly commit to Aida, I needed to hunt.

  One more girl, I told myself.

  Get them out of my system. Purge the venom. Be clean for the beauty waiting for me at home.

  As if hearing my silent plea, a small brunette, wearing leather boots, a mini-skirt, and a ratty, faux fur coat buttoned tight around her neck, hobbled out from behind a blue minivan.

  When she hesitated, eyes darting from one truck to another, I knew she was the one. The one “Carl” had called for. My hopes were confirmed when another girl gave her a firm push from behind, pointing into the lot and barking directions in her ear.

  A virgin.

  Before another fucker could lay claim, I flashed my lights, signaling for her to come my way. The woman pushed her again before retreating to the passenger side of her vehicle.

  I watched the child place one foot in front of the other, slow, hesitant, and not convincing in the slightest. Knobby knees, wobbly ankles, and hunched shoulders betrayed her age. I guessed fourteen.

  Definitely a virgin.

  My scars tingled with painful pinpricks. I shifted, adjusting my cock to relieve the ghost pains. When she approached, I rolled down my window.

  “Hi.” Her voice, so soft and timid, made my blood boil. “Carl?”

  When she leaned closer, placing a trembling hand on my door, I damn near lost my shit. So young. So soft and pink, and fucking innocent.

  “I. Um. You want—”

  No time to waste. The poor thing was terrified.

  “What’s your name?” I asked, forcing a ton of calm and cool into my voice.

  “Misty,” she replied with a quiver.

  “You pick that name, or did they give it to you?” I nodded toward the van that had moved deeper into the shadows of the lot.

  “I, uh. I picked. I mean.” She swallowed hard and shook her head. “That’s my name.”

  “Get in.” I popped the latch on my door, and she moved to the side while it swung open. I hopped down, offering my friendliest smile and gesturing for her to climb in.

  Misty looked over her shoulder, toward where the minivan had been waiting, before hoisting herself up.

  Her captors had driven deeper into the lot, out of sight, but I couldn’t shake the feeling we were being watched.

  As she stepped up, a bare pussy flashed from underneath her sorry excuse for a skirt. Fuck. I bit my lip to keep from shouting profanities and climbed in behind her.

  She sat, knees pinched together, arms tucked tightly against her sides, fingers curled into the edge of the passenger seat. I turned my bucket seat to face her, then turned her chair, bringing us face to face, and lifted her chin to meet my gaze.

  “This your first time? I want the truth, not what they told you to say. It’s okay.”

  “Yes,” she mumbled.

  Thank God. I wanted to smile, but I held it together for Misty’s sake.

  “You carrying a weapon? A gun. Knife. Taser. Anything?”

  “No,” she said, licking her lips and clutching her purse.

  “Mind if I check?”

  She pulled the handbag tighter to her chest. “Why?”

  Now was the time to inject some real fear into her. I stood and slid my jeans and underwear down past my hips, lifted my shirt and jacket, and held my flaccid penis out of the way. “This happened when I didn’t check a girl first.”

  She leaned closer, eyes widening and filling with tears at the sight of my scars. Misty backed into the door behind her, shaking her head. “I have pepper spray, but I promise, I don’t want to hurt you.” She reached behind her for the door handle.

  It wouldn’t open. I’d jimmied the locks earlier.

  I had to work fast. The fucking driver I’d beaten unconscious
would wake soon. “We don’t have much time,” I said, dropping back into my seat. “They’re watching us.” I pointed out the window. “They’ll keep an eye on you. Only, it’s not you they care about, Misty. I could do horrible, vile things to you right now, and no one would come to your rescue. I could make you suck my mutilated cock, I could fuck you hard, until you’re bleeding and sore, or I could just beat the shit out of you. You could scream, and cry, and beg for help, but no one would come. They only care about the money.”

  Tears poured down her face, her cheap mascara drawing creepy lines down her cheeks.

  I hated spouting such ugly words at a child, but I’d learned early on that cold, hard truth was what these babies needed most. No coddling.

  Fear was the most reliable and effective motivator.

  I lifted my syringe from the dash. “Now tell me, Misty, how old are you?”

  “Fifteen,” she cried. “I’m fifteen. They made me say I was fourteen. You asked for a fourteen-year-old. I didn’t want to lie, but they said they’d kill my mom and baby sister if I messed up.” Her gaze darted back and forth, from the syringe to my face, and finally landed on the needle. “Please don’t hurt me. Please.”

  “Shh. Shh.” I wrapped my fist around her skinny arm and pulled her toward me.

  Although the cab was cloaked in darkness, I couldn’t be sure if they were watching from the van. It was important to make it look as though Misty was performing as directed.

  “Get on your knees.”

  “No. Let me out. I want to go. I don’t want to do this.”

  Bile rose in my throat as I gripped her shoulders and forced her to the floor. “This will all be over before you know it.”

  Good for her, I thought as she fought against me. Her lanky frame was scarcely a challenge, but she put up a good fight, and the fighters had often proved to be the most rewarding.

  I yearned to hug, comfort, and tell her everything was going to be okay.

  Instead, I drove the needle into her thigh and pushed the plunger.

  Misty struggled for freedom, slapping my hands away. As the sedative took hold, she collapsed, temporarily at peace. I guided her head into my lap and brushed tangled hair off her face. “I’m sorry, sweet girl,” I whispered.

  A heavy guilt blanketed me, causing me to question my actions. I shrugged the emotion away, scooped the unconscious child off the floor, and laid her in the small bed in the back of the cab.

  So, as it turned out, sneaking away in the middle of the night while pregnant, wasn’t the wisest of plans. Such was my nature. Acting on impulse. The very thing that had landed me in my unfortunate predicament.

  I had to pee like nobody’s business. I was exhausted. As much as I wanted to put distance between me and Tucker, as much as I needed to get back to my father, I knew that if I didn’t pull over and catch some sleep, I’d be a danger to myself, and anyone I shared the road with.

  That’s how I ended up at the Lovelace Truck Stop, off Interstate 94, sixty-something miles east of Billings.

  I pulled into the line of pumps and filled the tank. I used the facilities, which, to my horror, were not much more pleasant than the porta-potties at the fair. After scrubbing my hands twice, I pulled Lettie’s truck around back to where at least twenty semi-trucks were parked, and found a spot in the far corner of the lot, out of sight.

  I’d snuggled in and had been about to close my eyes, when I caught a sight that disturbed even me.

  A young girl climbed out of a light blue minivan. Short skirt, high heeled boots that she’d yet to master, and a horrible, synthetic fur jacket. She was scared. Terrified even. When she hesitated, another girl came up behind her and pushed her forward.

  Curling my fingers around the steering wheel, I squeezed tight, forcing my anger into the plastic.

  Sure, it was hypocritical of me to be angry. I had, after all, taken care of my father’s escorts for years. However, Dad’s women were just that—women. Not girls. Not innocents like this child being forced into the cold night, apparently against her will, by another child who couldn’t have been much older.

  Instinctively, I felt for my knives, an unholy rage churning in my guts.

  Up ahead, parked in the dark shadows much like myself, a large sleeper cab flashed its lights. The girl headed that direction, struggling to remain composed, and upright.

  I watched, whispering to myself, “Don’t do it. Please. Turn around and run.” Bile rose in my throat. Blood pounded a daunting rhythm in my head. I had to stop her. I had to do something.

  I gripped the key, still in the ignition, unsure of my next step, knowing only that if she were my daughter, I’d want someone to help. I was about to start the engine, when the truck door opened and a tall, shapely man wearing a baseball cap stepped down. Red flannel jacket. Faded jeans. Heavy boots. A silhouette too familiar.

  I leaned closer, squinting to get a better look—as if that would help in the dark. At the same time, the man turned his head my direction, and I caught sight of his face.

  A face I knew all too well.

  The face of a man I had left behind a little over an hour ago. Or so I’d thought.

  My stomach cramped. The truck was all at once too hot and too small.

  No. No way. It couldn’t be him.

  Dumbstruck, I watched as he climbed into his cab behind her. I couldn’t discern their features, but the outline of their bodies told a vivid story. Sickening as it was, I couldn’t turn away.

  After a short conversation, or transaction, as it appeared, Tucker stood and freed his cock from his pants. The girl, clearly not excited about giving head, backed away. Tucker sat back down, forced her to the floor, and although I couldn’t see what was happening below the dash, I knew what came next.

  My body vibrated with disgust, heartache, and vile, vile rage.

  I knew he’d been hiding something.

  I didn’t know it would destroy me.

  Fucking pedophile perverts. Fucking lot lizards. Fuck me for caring.

  I barely made it out of the truck before I vomited something fierce. When the heaving stopped, I searched Lettie’s vehicle for a weapon. Found nothing. So, I picked up the largest rock I could hold in my hand and headed toward the cab, hell-bent on bashing his fucking skull.

  I’d covered half the distance between us when Tucker’s Jeep pulled out from behind the cluster of pine trees directly behind the eighteen-wheeler. When he passed under a street light, I could see his face clear as day. The girl was slumped in the passenger seat, head resting against the window. “Fuck!” I screamed. What the hell was he doing?

  I ran back to the truck, turned the ignition, and followed behind.

  I’d trusted that man. I’d given more of myself to him than I’d given anyone.

  I’d never experienced an ache so deep. In my flesh. In my bones. Soul-deep and unbearable. It was only putrid anger that kept me from crumpling into a blubbering heap of pathetic female emotion.

  I didn’t want to believe what I’d seen, or admit I could’ve been wrong in trusting Tucker. I didn’t want to live with this … heartbreak.

  Oh God. I’d turned into a girl. I’d gone soft. Aida from six months ago wouldn’t have hesitated. She would’ve stormed into that cab and sliced the child rapist to pieces, no hesitation, no questioning what she’d witnessed with her own eyes.

  So, when Tucker’s Jeep turned onto the on-ramp heading west, back toward Billings, I stepped on the brake, and paused to consider my options. Should I head east toward home, to the familiar, or west, to pain, to answers, to saving a kid who wasn’t my responsibility?

  Shit. The girl.

  I couldn’t abandon an innocent, helpless child.

  I followed them west, knowing that when I caught up, I might have to murder the very man I’d almost lost my heart to.

  Good thing I hadn’t fallen in love with Tucker.

  Love was bullshit.

  “You’re bullshitting me.”

  “No, son. Your
mother’s truck is gone. Lola was going ballistic, woke us up scratching to get outside. You weren’t in your room. Aida wasn’t in hers. Where the hell are you?”

  “Took a drive. Had some thinking to do.”

  “And Aida?”

  “Not sure, Dad. But I’ll find out. Don’t worry. Tell Mom I’ll get her truck back.”

  Fucking Aida. Fucking hell.

  I should’ve known she’d bolt. Damn. Not what I needed at the moment. I regretted smashing her cell phone. I regretted leaving her bed.

  I did not regret Misty, though.

  She was the last, or so I told myself, which made it imperative I finished what I’d started.

  I was done with the girls. No matter how many nights I hunted, how many innocents I plucked from the dark shadows, how many times I held them and told them it would be okay, it did nothing to ease the heavy burden of guilt. They weren’t Nicki. They couldn’t erase the stain she’d left on my soul.

  I had to let her go. Let them go. Move on.

  I pulled up the long, dark drive leading to the Compton estate. The willows that lined the path were hauntingly beautiful in the dark, and as I neared the three-story home, my nerves tingled, and I winced at the flood of memories that struck hard every time I delivered my offerings to the couple whose daughter I had killed.

  I hadn’t alerted Christopher that I was coming, so his state of undress, disturbing as it was, didn’t surprise me. Long, plaid robe. White wife beater stretched over a hard, round belly. Boxers that hung crooked over skinny white legs. White hair that stuck straight up on one side. Shotgun raised, butt to his shoulder, nuzzle to my face.

  “Tucker.” He lowered the weapon, scratched his head, and peeked out the door, checking the property to the left and then the right. “Shit. Wasn’t expecting you. What time is it?”

  “Don’t suppose you have any vacancies?”

  “Of course I do. Always prepared for these beautiful babies.” He moved to the side, opening the door to make room, eyes widening at the sight of the still unconscious girl in my arms. “She’s a young one, isn’t she?”