Page 71 of Merciless Desires

"Ooh girl, he is tall, dark, and scary-hot. And he’s checking you out. You know I’d have served him in a heartbeat—on my knees, on a mattress, in the back alley..." She waggles her penciled eyebrows suggestively and I laugh. Maggie usually swaps with me and takes his table.

“You were so busy tonight. I didn't feel right asking.” Heat crawls up my neck as I glance over again. “But he creeps me out.”

Maggie snorts, nudging my arm. "You're too nice, girl. Don't let him intimidate you, whatever his deal is. Hey, want me to play Sheriff Maggie and run the guy out of town?"

I give a small smile, cheered briefly by her protectiveness. "I think I've got it covered. But thank you."

With an encouraging wink, she adds, “I wish he’d stare at me like that,” before she disappears into the kitchen, an exaggerated sway in her step.

I steel myself with a deep breath before approaching the corner booth. Time to firmly convey the message that I'm off limits. But when I arrive with the bill, ready to inform him we're closing, he’s gone. His coffee cup is empty and a fifty-dollar bill lies beside it. The generous tip does nothing to ease the cold trickle of apprehension down my spine.

Stop it, I scold myself, stuffing the fifty into my apron pocket. You're being paranoid. He’s likely just some recently divorced lonely businessman passing the evening hours here in a crowd rather than going home to whatever high-rise building around here he lives in. He’ll probably meet some sexy executive soon and they'll start dating and he’ll never step foot in this place again.

I try to shake off my unease as I finish my closing duties. The few solo diners remaining at the counter get the hint when I start shutting off lights and flipping chairs onto tables. Jose, the bored-looking young line cook gives a mock salute as he slips out the backdoor, leaving silence behind.

Still, I find myself rushing through the rest of closing duties, my nerves wound tighter than a cobra about to strike. As I usher the last two customers out the door, I switch the glowing "open" sign off, lock the door behind me, and practically leap into my Honda.

Only once the diner's neon lights fade in the rearview mirror do I breathe easier.

The trailer park where I rent a thirty-year-old single-wide is only a few miles up the highway, tucked just out of sight of the main road. Home sweet home, for whatever that's worth. At least it’s a roof over my head, which was a relief to find in those first few weeks after Mom's funeral.

My headlights cut a feeble swath through the darkness as I pull into the dirt and gravel driveway. Something skitters under the trailer, probably that possum I keep hoping will get bored and move on to richer dumpsters.

With a jaw-cracking yawn, I slide my key into the perpetually sticking front door and shoulder it open. Pitch blackness greets me. The crappy wiring must have shorted again. With a sigh, I fish my phone from my purse and flick on the flashlight. I'll deal with the breaker in the morning.

I kick off my sneakers and shrug out of my uniform, the grease smell a constant even after dozens of washings, then I slip on my worn flannel sleep shorts and a tank top before shuffling to the bathroom.

I splash water on my face and use a soapy rag to wipe away the sheen of diner grime. Staring at my reflection in the dim light, I press my fingertips to the shadows under my eyes. Twenty-two going on forty from stress and lack of sleep. Can't afford to quit, though. My job is all that's holding my life together right now.

After scrubbing the day away, I slide between cool sheets with a grateful sigh, turn off my phone light, and drift toward sleep.

Just as I slip into dreamland, a sharp crack shatters the silence. My eyes fly open and I startle hard. Breath frozen in my lungs, I stare blindly into the darkness. Please let it be that possum knocking over the trash again.

But even as the hopeful thought forms, the unmistakable sound of footsteps reaches my ears. No possum can sound like that.

Oh god. Someone’s in my trailer.

Fear like a dumpload of cement pours into my veins, paralyzing me. No, this can't be happening. Not here. Who the hell would want to break into a crappy, rundown trailer?

A rustling sound spurs my frozen body into action. I sit straight upright in bed, scrambling for my phone with shaky hands.

Stay calm, call 911, get help—

Strong fingers seize my wrist before I can place the call, twisting sharply. A cry of pain bursts from my lips as I'm wrenched around.

The glow from the cellphone screen illuminates his face, all sharp angles and... Oh my god, it's him. My stalker from the diner. How can he... How does he... Why...?

"Please," I gasp out. "Just take what you want and go."

His hand clamps bruisingly over my mouth before I can say more. "Shhh. Not a word." His low voice holds no warmth, only icy menace.

I have no choice but to comply as his arm bands around my waist and he drags me forcibly toward the front door. I thrash weakly, bare feet scrambling for purchase on the cheap linoleum. But his iron grip doesn't relent, pulling me stumbling into the pitch-black night.

The scream builds in my throat, primal terror overwhelming me. If I let him force me into the car idling nearby, I'm as good as dead.

With desperation-fueled strength, I twist sharply in his grasp. His hand slips enough for me to sink my teeth into the meat of his palm, biting down fiercely.

He grunts in pain and surprise, grip loosening enough for me to wriggle free. I run blindly, gravel digging into my bare soles. No plan except to escape this monster.

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