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Chapter One
Kane
The thick scent of diesel smoke fills the air as a herd of eighteen-wheelers idles in the truck stop’s side lot. Some of the truckers have already bedded down for the night, tucked away in the small compartments in the backs of their cabs. Others—like me—still sit behind the wheel. Watching. Contemplating.
Decrepit lot lizards stroll by, their faces caked with makeup to cover the wrinkles of age or the scabs from drug use. They seem to know only one hairstyle tonight: stringy and greasy. They scuttle from truck to truck, more like insects than lizards. Parasites.
I draw a cigarette from my front pocket and light it. None of these women look interesting enough to pick up, so I lean back and inhale a cloud of cigarette smoke rather than spent diesel fuel. My body begins to relax as the nicotine finds a path to my mind, and I flick the ash out the cracked window. I wouldn’t want to dirty my house, and for long-haul truckers like me, that’s exactly what my cab is. My home.
“Hey, daddy!” a blonde catcalls from across the lot. She waggles her stubby fingers at me, trying to catch my attention.
I turn my head as if she’s not there. I’m not interested. If I see someone I want, she won’t need to beg for my attention. It’s like a rig this size crashing into me when I see the right woman.
If it seems like I’m being picky, it’s because I am. I like a very specific type of woman. Someone who still shines through the filth. Someone who isn’t too far gone, unlike all the women skulking through the lot tonight. It’s too late for them. The grime sinks to their bones, tainting them.
“You looking for some fun?” the blonde says as she reaches my window and scratches her cheek until blood rises to the surface.
I raise the window, stifling her voice. Cigarette smoke fills my cab, but that’s better than having to listen to the lot lizard’s attempts at begging. She gets the hint and wanders to the next truck, her metaphorical cup still held outward.
Settling back in my seat, my eyes catch on a raven-haired woman standing on her own. She lacks the brazen confidence the experienced women possess. As she clutches her elbows and peers through a sea of metal and asphalt, she looks so out of place.
I look twice, just to make sure she isn’t an apparition born from my desperation. When I’m certain she’s real, I roll down my window, lean out, and whistle toward her with a wave of my hand. Greedy, drug-hazed eyes turn toward me from all directions, but I’m only focused on her. I whistle again, struggling to be heard over the rumble of engines, but this time she turns her dark eyes toward me.
She points to her chest, asking a silent question. I nod, and she shuffles toward my truck.
“You need a ride?” I ask when she reaches my window.
Her eyes run the length of my truck before landing on me once more. She licks her lips and says, “Yeah, I do.”
We don’t discuss the logistics of where she needs to go because she doesn’t actually want to go anywhere. She wants me to let her into the back of my cab, fuck her, hand her some money, and let her out again. She’ll wait around and do it over and over to make her quota for the night.
“Hop in,” I say, a forced smile on my face. I’m naturally gruff and intimidating, with tattoos all over my body and a tall frame packed with muscle. If I don’t force a smile, even the most desperate lizard will run off.
She opens the passenger door and climbs inside. My riding companion, a brown mutt I call Pup, barks at her. Pup doesn’t like anyone, which is probably why we get along so well. We make an odd couple—a big, burly trucker with a small, furry dog—but she’s the only other living being I can trust.
“Quiet down,” I say to the dog, and her barks shift to an agitated whine.
I stand up and head toward the back, knowing the girl will follow me. She has one thing on her mind, after all.
And so do I.
Pup tries to follow as well, but she’ll only get in the way.
“Stay,” I command, and she settles in the seat again.
I motion toward the bed in the rear of the cab, and the woman steps past me. Beneath the filth on her face, I can see glimpses of how pretty she could have been, but then my eyes focus on her neck. Her heartbeat pulses beneath the thin flesh, and I can’t look away from it. The whore takes my steadfast gaze as a sign of unbridled attraction, so she leans into me and ghosts her fingertips over my chest.
“What do you want?” she asks.
She wants to know what I want her to do to me, whether I want her to suck my dick or let me put my cock inside her worn-out cunt. I don’t want her to do anything to me. I couldn’t do anything, even if she tried her best. Physically, I’m broken in that way. Realistically, I’m broken in too many ways.
I gently grip her hands and ease them away from my chest.
“Oh, come on, baby,” she says. “You didn’t let me into your truck to talk about the weather. What do you want me to do to you?”
“Nothing.”
This woman would harden any other man’s cock—she’s fuckable, even if she’s a lot whore—but mine remains limp.
