Burned(Devil's Blaze MC 2)(38)

I try to breathe and consider my next move. When I climbed up into the rig, Mr. Hands made a big show of helping to boost me up. In reality, it was just so his hand could cup my ass, hence the nickname I gave him. Since then though, he’s been okay. I’m just letting him drive and tell me about how little women like me need to be careful, how I need a man to protect me, and how if he was my man, he’d spoil me like a queen. Do women really fall for this stuff? I don’t get it.

Then again, I’ve never had use for a man past one night. Never even thought about it. I ignore the way an image of Torch comes to mind. Okay, so I thought of keeping him longer than one night. I would have never done it. Never. He’s a player and I will never fall under the spell of a man like Bethie did. Never. Did I mention never? Because it’s true. Definitely true. Never, ever, ever. Freaking never!

“Wait. What are you doing?”

“You’re too keyed up, sweetness. I’ll show you how a real man works that out of you. Then, we’ll see about getting you some clothes.”

Fuck! Suddenly, I’m reminded of how my shirt is ripped and my bra shows through. I’m also reminded of Torch calling me “sweetness” and how I kind of like it, but when this guy says it, I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.

While I’m reminded of all this, Mr. Hands is pulling off into a seedy motel. If this is how he treats the women in his life that he wants to make his queen, it’s no fucking wonder the man is single. Though, I bet if the truth was known, he has some poor schmuck of a wife sitting at home who has no idea what her man is up to while on the road.

“Listen, I appreciate your help, but I’m not going into that motel with you. This is where I find another ride,” I tell him, and before he can say anything else, I unlatch my seatbelt, open my door, and climb down.

I’m thankful I have my boots on because, honestly, I’ve done more on my leg in the last few days than I have in months. The pain is constant, but I’ve dealt with it, and my boots give me extra support which helps. Still, when I jump from the bottom step of the eighteen-wheeler to the ground, I land wrong and my ankle curls. Pain shoots up my bad leg and it’s so fucking intense that I cry out.

“Whoa there! I got you. You should have waited on me. A woman like you with that fine little body, you aren’t made to handle big rigs like this,” Mr. Hands says, and surprise, his hands go around me and hold me by my ass.

I jerk away from him. “I’m fine. Like I said, this is a no-go for me. I’m going to go find a different ride. Thanks for your help back there, but I think I’m done with men for a while.”

I push away from him and turn to walk back to the road. Hopefully the next person to pick me up won’t be some horny trucker with an overactive libido. Or an axe murderer; not really wanting that either. I make it a few steps when he grabs me from behind. This time, his hands are on my boobs. What is it with my luck lately?

“I’ve got a ride for you, sweetness. I got a nice long hard ride for you.”

Oh, God.

“Listen. You don’t really want to do this,” I warn him.

“I do, and I can guarantee you that I’ll make you want it too,” he says, and yeah, that pretty much seals his fate.

No one is making me want shit.

I bring my elbow back and slam it into his abdomen. I stick my ass hard into him while he’s bent down. My hands go up behind my head to lock around the back of his neck and I use the force of my body and his motion to propel him over my head. Really, my self-defense instructor would be proud. He falls to the ground in a puff of dust, looking up at me like he can’t believe what I just did. I use that same foot to slam down on his crotch, grinding the steel-toe so damned heavily, I figure his balls might burst. He cries out, which brings me a small level of joy. He’s curled into a ball now, but I know he’ll get up quick, and because Torch has my clothes and took away the weapons I normally carry, I’ve got to move fast. Shit. Shit. Shit.

I run—well, mostly hobble—to the big rig. I climb up on the driver’s side. The key is still in it. I can drive a six speed dually; surely this can’t be that much different, right? Luckily, it’s old-school; no fancy push-buttons, so I’m not completely lost. I’m ridiculously helpless at backing up anything with a trailer, even my jeep, so I cut the wheel deep and pray. I manage to only side swipe the back end of one car before I complete my turn, then go back onto the road. I won’t be able to drive this for long because soon, I’m sure the cops will be on my ass. Still, if I can manage ten minutes, that should get me on the freeway and off to the next exit. Hopefully I can find another ride, or else a less conspicuous car to hijack. It takes some gear-grinding, and each time I have to use the clutch, my foot screams in agony. Despite it all, I find my groove and get the hell out of dodge.