Page 8 of Stalked By the Trucker

"I’m yours," I reply, my voice husky with the remnants of desire.

His rough thumb brushes over my cheek, wiping away a sheen of sweat or maybe a tear—I can't tell anymore. Emotions swirl like the dust trails we leave behind on those endless highways. But for now, we're parked, stationary in a world that doesn't stop spinning, and I savor this quiet center with him.

"Get some sleep, baby girl," he whispers, kissing my forehead gently. The endearment sends a warm glow through me, more intimate than any carnal act we've shared.

"Stay with me," I plead, not ready to let go of this moment, of him.

"Always," he promises, and I believe him. With Bronx, I might just have found my anchor in the relentless chaos of life on the run. And as his breathing evens out, signaling his drift into sleep, I realize that for the first time in a long while, I feel truly, deeply safe.

I close my eyes, letting the rhythm of his heartbeat lull me toward dreams filled with endless highways, the roar of Ol' Faithful's engine, and the man whose arms I never want to leave.

CHAPTER FOUR

Bronx

The sun is a lazy spectator, slinking away behind the endless stretch of highway as I pull us into the safe harbor of this deserted truck stop. It’s just me and London now, the world outside fading to a blur. She's curled up in my lap, her slender body fitting against mine like she's always belonged there. The cab of my Peterbilt is our secret cocoon. The hum of idling engines and distant laughter from other drivers can't touch us here.

"Bronx," she whispers, her voice a sigh against my neck, and damn if it doesn’t send shivers right through me. Her fingers trace the lines of my salt-and-pepper beard, and I can't help but lean into her touch. Every rough edge in me softens at her caress.

"London," I murmur back, my hands exploring the curve of her waist, feeling her shudder under my touch. Everything about her screams delicate, but I know better. There’s steel in this girl, a fiery core that keeps her standing tall no matter what life throws her way. I pull her closer, lips finding hers in a kiss that starts out slow but quickly heats up, igniting something raw and desperate within us both.

It's a dance we're perfecting, her small frame against my bulk, a contrast that only seems to pull us tighter together. My world narrows down to the taste of her, the sweet scent that clings to her pink hair, and the way her nails dig slightly into my shoulders as if she's afraid I'll slip away.

Not a chance in hell.

"Fuck, Bronx..." she gasps between kisses, and that's all the invitation I need to lose myself in her, to let the hunger take over. But then?—

"Look what we have here."

That voice, snide and unwelcome, slices through our haze of lust like a cold blade. We freeze, London's breath hitching in her throat as recognition dawns on her face, mirroring my own shock. Our bubble bursts, leaving us exposed, and I'd do anything to claw back that privacy.

"Isn't this a quaint picture?" The old acquaintance from London's past leers at us through the window, his shadow looming over our intimate sanctuary. His grin is wide, vicious, and I feel London's body tense against mine. Her brown eyes are wide, the flicker of fear in them igniting my rage.

I gently push London behind me, a human barrier between her and the past snapping at our heels. "Get lost," I growl, but the bastard outside just laughs, the sound grating against my nerves like sandpaper.

"Bronx, isn't it?" he sneers, his voice oozing contempt. "You think you know her? Little Miss Innocent?"

Anger flares hot and fierce in my gut, but I keep it leashed tight. Can't afford to lose it, not when London's counting on me. My hands curl into fists, knuckles white with the effort of restraint.

"Spit it out if you've got something to say," I snap, voice low, dangerous. I'm not about to let this prick rattle me. Not in front of London.

"Ah, where to begin..." He chuckles darkly, taking a perverse pleasure in dangling secrets like bait. "How about we start with the fact that London here once tried to auction off the most precious thing she had—her virginity? Yeah, that's right. Wanted to sell herself to the highest bidder for a chance at a better life. Bet the little whore didn’t tell you that."

My heart clenches at the words, but not in disgust. Hell no. Instead, there's this fierce surge of protectiveness that wells up inside me. So what if London's been through some shit? Haven't we all?

"Thought she could escape the dirt and the grime of her little nowhere town," the slimeball continues, venom dripping from every syllable. "But she didn't have the guts, did she? Ran off the stage before a single bid was placed. Been running ever since."

"Enough!" My voice is a thunderclap, echoing off the walls of the cab. "You think that changes anything? Think that makes me see her any differently?"

The silence that follows is heavy, loaded. London's presence at my back is a steady warmth—she's not alone in this. Never will be as long as I'm breathing.

"Fuck you," I say, the words cold and hard. "Whatever London's done, wherever she's been—it doesn't matter. She's with me now. So, I suggest you beat it buddy because if I step out of this truck I’m wiping the payment with you.."

The guys laughs, but then it dies off when he looks at me again.

Yeah, finally, he’s starting to get it. I’m motherfucking serious, and I owe him one anyway for calling my baby girl a whore.

My fists clench. The fucker’s eyes flick down to my balled fists and he puts his hands up and backs away. “Okay, okay. Just warning a guy.”

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