Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 52663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
His touch is rough, but not cruel. Still—my pulse jumps anyway.
“See that?” he says quietly.
Out by the pumps, a group of women in stilettos and short skirts linger near the rigs, laughing with a handful of truckers.
“You don’t know what a lot lizard is, do you?”
“A what?”
He huffs. “You’re following one of their scripts. Pretend to be lost. Ask for a ride. Blowjob. Cash.”
My stomach flips. “That’s not what I was doing. I didn’t know—he didn’t seem—”
“‘No, thank you.’” He quotes the guy from earlier, and now I want to hurl.
He finally steps back, gaze raking over me like he’s still deciding whether to call the cops.
“You’re welcome,” he mutters.
I blink. “Thank you.”
He pulls open the cooler, grabs a bottle of sweet tea like nothing happened. “How’d you even get out here?”
“I was ditched.” I exhale. “My boyfriend left me.”
“He should be your ex-boyfriend now.”
“I doubt he cares.”
“I do.” He looks at me again, long and hard. Then he pulls a worn leather wallet from his back pocket and hands it to me. “Hold this.”
“What for?”
“You’re getting in my car. Best case, you make it home. Worst case, your fingerprints are all over my ID and I get caught before I even finish burying you.”
“Charming.”
“Realistic. Don’t you watch Dateline?”
“SVU.”
He smirks—just slightly. “Same shit. Open it.”
I do. And then pause.
Two driver’s licenses fall out.
One says Cole Dawson – New York. The other: Cole Banks – Pennsylvania.
“What the hell…” I look up at him. “This screams sketchy. Do you know how many heroines in horror movies die because they ignore things like this? I’m pretty sure I just became one of them.”
“Possibly.” He shrugs. “You’ve got about thirty seconds to decide.”
My instincts scream at me to run. But the truth is, if this guy wanted to hurt me, I’d already be in the trunk. And there’s something about him—something dangerous and dark, yeah—but also something... genuine.
He grabs a pack of gum and a protein bar and moves to the counter, paying for my things too.
Outside, his car waits. It’s not a truck like I expected—it’s a jet-black vintage Dodge Charger, sleek and deadly-looking, like something out of a movie.
He opens the passenger door for me and doesn’t say a word until we’re both inside. He doesn’t even ask me for my name.
As he pulls onto the road, I exhale for the first time in minutes and mutter under my breath:
“I hope my Dateline episode gets good ratings.”
He glances over, eyes flicking to my mouth. “You always this dramatic?”
“No,” I say. “Usually I’m worse.”
2
COLE
The girl in my passenger seat is humming something soft and slow. Dark lyrics fall from her lips between breaths like she doesn’t realize she’s saying them out loud.
“Strangle you until your last breath…”
“Death looks good on you…”
If I were smarter, I’d turn the car around.
But I’ve never been good at listening to my gut—especially when someone looks like they need help. This? This exact moment is the kind of shit that’s gotten me into trouble for most of my life.
She’s curled into the passenger seat, soaked through in a clingy pink hoodie and cutoff jean shorts. Every few seconds, I catch her glancing over at me. Not shy. More like cautious curiosity—like she’s debating whether to thank me or claw the door open and roll.
Her eyes are unreal. Green like old glass in sunlight—fractured, sharp around the edges. Her mouth is full and slightly chapped, her lashes thick and wet.
She doesn’t look soft. She looks like something I’d want to paint in charcoal and oil—moody lighting, dripping water, tension in every line of her body.
“Can I ask you something?” she says.
I nod once.
“I was out there because I was planning to lose my virginity.”
I blink.
“That’s a hell of an opening line.”
“You always tell that to the guys who save you from murderers?”
“No. Just the ones who look like they could use something to think about while they’re driving.”
I don’t respond. If I do, I’ll say something I shouldn’t.
“I was with my boyfriend,” she mutters. “Or... I guess he’s not anymore.”
I keep my focus on the road. “You’re either incredibly brave or incredibly reckless.”
“Can’t I be both?”
“Depends. You still planning to climb into cars with strangers?”
“No.”
“Then maybe you’re learning.”
She glances over again. “You haven’t asked for my name.”
“I figured if you wanted me to have it, you’d offer it.”
She goes quiet after that. Then shifts her attention to my left arm, watching the ink that wraps around my wrist and vanishes under my sleeve.
Her gaze lingers. I let it.
“You always make it a habit of rescuing girls from gas stations and buying them snacks?”
“Not usually.”
“But you gave me your wallet.”
“I did.”
“And the condoms?”
“You gonna hold that against me?”
“Not yet.” She pauses. “You have two licenses.”
She caught that. Interesting.
“I move around a lot,” I say. “And I don’t always use the same last name.”