Her hands tighten on the steering wheel. “Well, why not? I thought we were friends. Won’t you miss me?”
It kills me how open she is with her emotions, how free she is with her affection. She grew up in a cold environment and then had to live on the run for months. She should have been hardened by now, like me. “I’m kind of annoying, that’s why,” I say lightly. “I call you up at two in the morning and make you drive around the city.”
“It’s part of your charm,” she says ruefully.
I’ve never called her out in the middle of the night before, but I’m not a chat-over-tea kind of person either. “I will miss you,” I tell my reflection in the car window, unable to face her.
Her hand is warm on my arm. “Will you please tell me what’s wrong? Maybe you don’t have to leave. Maybe there’s some kind of solution to whatever it is. Is it money?”
I shake my head. There’s only a few bucks in my jeans pocket. I have a much larger stash back at my apartment, but I can’t risk going back. Ivan has stationed men all around there. I survived on twenty dollars when I was sixteen years old. I can do it again.
“Is it—” Her voice cracks. “Is it Ivan?”
Clara has always been nervous about him, which is understandable. She’s nervous about all men, which is also understandable considering what happened to her when she was younger.
“It’s not him,” I say, “but you can’t tell him you saw me tonight.”
She gives me an insulted look. “Duh.”
I know she’ll be loyal to me. It’s one of the reasons I called her and not anyone else. Even Lola, who’s probably my best friend, would crack under the pressure once Ivan started questioning her. Besides, I don’t want to cause a rift between her and her fiancé, Blue, whose company manages security at the Grand. But actually no one really knows that Clara and I kept in touch. I’m counting on that. There won’t be any trail for Ivan to follow.
Chapter Thirteen
It’s raining by the time we reach the truck stop and say our goodbyes. Clara doesn’t want to leave me here, but in the end she’s solemn and dry-eyed. The heavy knowledge looks strange on her sweet, almost babyish face. I watch the taillights disappear before I turn my attention to the inventory.
I’m humming “It’s Raining Men” under my breath as I size up each rig and driver. I get a few catcalls, some offers of cash for sex. One is particularly colorful, offering to wash up first.
Charming.
Most of the men here are little more than animals. They’d take what they want from me if given the chance, whether I consented or not. Only the thinnest veneer of manners keeps them from surrounding me right here in the parking lot. They could take me down—a full pack against one weakened gazelle.
Luckily, I have a lot of experience training lions. I’m a fucking ringmaster.
Head high. Don’t show any fear. Walk like you own everything you can see.
I find the one I need near the back, in one of the shittier parking spots. He’s a little young. Definitely horny. And the way he looks at me tells me everything I need to know. He admires me, he wants me. But most of all he looks up to me, the way I look up to Ivan. This one wouldn’t offer me sixty bucks to suck his dick, clean or otherwise. And he’d never force me. Hell, he’d probably give me all the money from his wallet if I asked him to. He’d beg me to refuse him an orgasm. Perfect.
“Give a girl a ride?” I ask.
He licks his lips, looking from side to side. Nope, no one is standing right next to his rig but him. “Where you heading?”
“Where you going?”
“Gainesville,” he says too quickly. God, he’d be a dream to train. If only…
“Then that’s where I’m heading,” I say with a smile.
He nearly trips over himself to clean the cab of his truck in the minutes before we leave. It’s exactly what I’d expect from him. Fast-food wrappers and porn magazines with women in leather. The industrial-grade lights in the parking lot illuminate his blush as he shoves everything under the seat.
I put my hand on his arm. We need to get out of here sooner rather than later. As in, right freaking now. Ivan will be coming after me when he notices I’m gone. More than that, I’m worried about whoever left those messages at the Grand. I don’t think I’ve been followed here, but it never hurts to be careful.
Most of all, I’m a little nervous about the other truckers who are gathering around us.
“Hey, mister. This is real nice. Thank you for making me comfortable.” I give his arm a little squeeze. “But I wonder if we could get going now?”
“Oh, right!” He looks around at the men who’ve advanced on us, just a few feet away from the truck. They aren’t making a rush for us, and I heard the locks click. But at least one of those men is packing heat, and I really don’t want to test these windows. Apparently my little subbie trucker doesn’t either. He guns the engine, and we speed into the night.
* * *
My chauffer’s name is Charlie, and he’s from Kentucky. He’s driving his uncle’s rig, since his uncle broke his leg playing street hockey. I can’t figure out if that’s a euphemism for something.
I let Charlie ramble and blush and stammer. He’s really a sweetheart. Once we’re ten miles out, he stops for some food and drinks. I slurp on a huge tub of soda and watch him drive.
“So, Charlie.” I draw out his name, infusing it with the kind of sultry sound that earns me double the tips at the Grand. “Do you have a girl back home?”
“N-no,” he says, and I believe him. At least, I believe he doesn’t have the girl. But he wants one.
“What’s her name?”
“Alyssa,” he says, then turns beet red. A-freaking-dorable. “But I’m not—we’re not—”
“It’s okay, Charlie. I understand. Unrequited love is a bitch.” I understand more than I want to. People act like love is a gift, but it’s not. It’s theft. It’s a goddamn tragedy.
Love is losing a vital organ to a man who will never give his in return.
Charlie studies the black expanse, dotted with red and white and yellow. “I figure if I can get my own rig, she might look at me different.”
“Older or younger?” I ask.
“She’s older,” he says. “But I don’t mind.”
“Of course you don’t,” I assure him. He prefers it, actually. “And what does she do for a living?”
If I thought he was red before, now he is an actual tomato. “She’s a…well, she’s a stripper. But she doesn’t, you know. It’s not like that.”
Oh dear. I have a feeling I know exactly what it’s like. Alyssa does her job very well. That’s what it’s like. “Well, I don’t know Alyssa, but I’m absolutely sure that one day you will find the perfect woman for you. One who loves you. One who understands you. One who will tell you exactly what to do to please her.”
His eyes grew wide, a mixture of shock and arousal swirling in his light brown eyes. “You really think so?”
I’m saved by having to reply by the earsplitting whoop of a siren. A second later blue and red lights bounce off the tall columns of rearview mirrors on either side.
“Shit,” Charlie says, fumbling for the blinker. “I wasn’t even speeding.”
I narrow my eyes at the cruiser as we pull over, bouncing on the rough interstate shoulder. “I don’t think they’re here for you.”
“Oh fuck,” Charlie breathes. “Are you in trouble? Should we make a run for it?”
I soften. “Charlie, you’ll make a really amazing boyfriend one day. And to do that, you need to not be dead. So no, don’t make a run for anything. Just sit there and do whatever the cops say.”
We don’t have to wait long. The cop that comes up to the window is familiar. He shines his flashlight inside, taking in both of us. At least he doesn’t flash it in my eyes. “Good evening,” he says in that drawl of his. I really hate that fucking drawl.