Chapter 1: The Pickup
The sun was a brutal bastard, beating down on the cracked asphalt of Route 66 as Riley stood on the shoulder, thumb out, backpack slung over one shoulder. At eighteen, he was all sharp edges—short-cropped hair, binder tight under a faded black tee, jaw set like he could chew through steel. He’d been hitchhiking for hours, running from a small-town past that didn’t fit, chasing something bigger, something his. Sweat trickled down his neck, and he wiped it away with a curse. Then, the rumble of a semi-truck growled closer, slowing to a stop with a hiss of brakes.
The driver’s window rolled down, revealing a man in his late thirties, all rough stubble and sly grin. His name patch read ‘Hank,’ and his eyes dragged over Riley like he was sizing up a prize. 'Need a lift, sweetheart?' he drawled, voice thick with something that made Riley’s skin prickle—not entirely in a bad way.
'I’m not your sweetheart,' Riley shot back, crossing his arms. 'And I’m a guy, so watch it. You going west?'
Hank chuckled, low and dirty. 'Sure thing, kid. Hop in. I’ll take you wherever you wanna go… maybe even further.' His tone dripped with suggestion, but Riley ignored it, climbing into the cab with a grunt. The door slammed shut, and the truck lurched forward, the hum of the engine vibrating through the seat. The air inside was stale, smelling of diesel and cheap cologne, but Riley didn’t care. He just wanted miles between him and yesterday.
'So, what’s a pretty little thing like you doing out here all alone?' Hank asked, one hand on the wheel, the other resting too close to Riley’s thigh on the gearshift. His smirk was infuriating, but there was a heat in his gaze that Riley couldn’t quite ignore.
'Call me little again, and I’ll knock that grin off your face,' Riley snapped, shifting away. 'I’m not a girl, and I’m not here for your bullshit. Just drive.'
Hank laughed, undeterred. 'Feisty, huh? I like that. Bet you’re a real firecracker under all that tough talk, aren’t you, darlin’?' He leaned closer, his breath hot against Riley’s ear. 'I can see it. A good girl like you just needs the right man to show her how it’s done.'
Riley’s fists clenched, anger and something darker—something hungry—twisting in his gut. 'Say that again, and you’ll regret it,' he growled, but his voice wavered just enough to betray him. Hank’s hand slid up, brushing against Riley’s leg, and damn it, the touch sent a jolt straight through him, heat pooling low despite his fury.
'Oh, I think you want it,' Hank murmured, his voice a rough purr. 'Look at you, all flushed and squirming. Bet you’re already wet for me, huh?' His fingers pressed harder, and Riley’s breath hitched, caught between shoving him away and the traitorous ache building inside.
The truck slowed, pulling off onto a deserted side road, dust kicking up around them. Hank’s eyes were dark, predatory, as he turned to Riley fully. 'C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s see how good you can be.' His hand moved higher, and Riley’s resolve cracked, a mix of rage and raw need surging as he glared back, ready to fight—or fall—into whatever came next.
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