Chapter 11
Idid not cry.
Let the record reflect... I did not cry.
I stared out the passenger window of Buck's ridiculously large truck, arms crossed so tight I was basically hugging myself, and I absolutely did not cry.
Did my vision maybe get a little blurry?
No comment.
And even if it did, it was from the dust in Buck's truck. Had to be. Because (I repeat) I did not cry.
"Kid."
I sniffed aggressively thanks to my allergies and turned my head a fraction so Buck couldn't see the tears that weren't there from the dust in his dirty truck. "If you call me 'kid' one more time, I will launch myself out of this moving vehicle."
Buck didn't even look at me. He just kept his eyes on the road, one hand loose on the wheel like he had all the time in the world. "Door's locked, bud."
Rude. I huffed and went back to glaring out the window hoping to get control of myself.
And you know what? Even if there were one or two lonesome tear drops, who could blame me?
The universe wronged me! It sent me the most perfect Daddy in the whole wide world.
Teased me with him. Let me have the barest of a taste and then ripped him from me.
It was almost like… like… I had to watch my damned home planet get blown up!
I swallowed hard.
Nope. Not crying. Not at all.
"So," Buck tried again after a minute, his voice calm and annoying because I had a feeling whatever he was about to bring up something I didn't wanna talk about. "You wanna tell me what that was back there?"
I laughed. So what if it came out a little cracked?
"Wow," I said. "Where do I even begin? Do I start with the part where he absolutely ruined me for anyone else in a motel room while simultaneously ruining me, and then ghosting me without so much as a 'thanks for all the fish', or the part where he made it clear that getting shot at is just like.
.. a normal Tuesday for him, and I should just go away? "
Buck's mouth twitched.
Did I mention… Rude!
"Man's got a point, though," he said.
I whipped around to stare at him. "Excuse me! Who's side are you on anyway?"
He shrugged at me. "Goldie's, and I'm pretty sure she'll be on the side of you not getting shot at before breakfast."
"Low blow, Buck. Low blow." I huffed again, any thoughts of possible tears finally forgotten as I crossed my arms in front of my chest again.
"I know he said it was for me," I muttered as I scrubbed my hand over my face, resting my head on the rest behind me.
"Like... I'm too... I don't know... stupid to know what's good for me or something. "
Buck was quiet for a beat. "He's not wrong, kid."
I froze.
"I hate repeating myself, Buck... but excuse me?" I glared at him.
"You're bright," he said simply. "You're like sunshine, and he's a big ass thundercloud that's going to dim your brightness."
Aaaah. That was so sweet.
And oh so wrong.
"You have no idea what you're talking about."
He snorted. "You can think that, but it doesn't change that he sees it that way," Buck added.
I angled my head to the side so I could intensify my glare. "I'm sorry, did you just agree with the man who fucked me and then abandoned me in a motel room?"
"Didn't say I liked what he did," Buck said. "Just said I get why he did it."
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Then opened it again. "Okay, no, we're circling back to 'abandoning me in a motel' because I feel like that's wildly being under appreciated."
Buck's laugh rumbled low and unexpectedly cut me off mid rant. And annoyingly it helped. Even if it was just a little.
We drove in silence for a while after that. It was the kind of quiet that let your brain keep talking even when you wish it wouldn't. By the time the gas station came into view I was emotionally exhausted from going over everything that happened in the last twenty four hours.
Which felt unfair, considering I had felt like I was thriving like just three hours ago when I was on my way to my Daddy.
Well, the man I thought would be my Daddy.
Nope. Not going there.
"Do you want anything?" Buck asked, indicating the gas station.
And I did.
I wanted enough chocolate to make myself sick, and a slushie big enough to drown in.
"Please," I muttered, refusing to think of the last time I found myself in a gas station with a big, burly man who drove a too-big truck. "I'm gonna hit the bathroom first," I added, already unbuckling as he pulled to a stop.
I made a beeline for the bathroom, pushing the door open with my shoulder.
Empty. Goody.
I stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind me, and finally—finally—let my shoulders drop.
“Okay,” I murmured to my reflection, gripping the edge of the sink. “We’re fine. We’re hot. We’re—”
The door creaked.
I frowned, glancing up.
“I thought this was a one-person-at-a—”
Something cold and sharp pressed against my side.
My breath hitched.
“Don’t,” a voice said quietly behind me. “Not a sound.”
Well.
That was new.
My heart slammed against my ribs, every instinct I’d been aggressively ignoring suddenly screaming at full volume.
Slowly, carefully, I lifted my hands.
“Okay,” I said, because apparently my coping mechanism in life-threatening situations was still talking. “So this is already not my favorite gas station experience, and I once got food poisoning in—”
“Turn around.”
Right. Yeah. Probably a bad time for jokes. I swallowed hard and turned around as ordered.
He was tall, which I immediately hated for some reason, and the stubble on his jaw looked like it would win in a fight with a chainsaw.
He grinned at me. His teeth were beautifully white and dangerously pointy.
The smell of something chemical clung to his jacket.
I couldn't see the blade, but I didn't doubt it was there, pressed against my ribs just under the hem of my shirt.
“Hey, friend,” I said, raising my hands a little higher and turning my head so he could see my profile. “Look, I really do need to pee, but I can totally come back in like, five minutes if—”
He pressed the blade harder and the grin vanished. “You’re coming with me.”
Uh. No. I don’t think so. I might have a taste for deliciously dangerous Daddies. But my taste did not stretch to icky creepy teeth guys.
There was no time to panic. I mean, obviously, my brain was panicking on my behalf, running around in circles screaming "we're gonna die, we're gonna die, we're gonna die" in a shrill internal voice, but externally, I just stood there, hands up, acting like this sort of thing happened to me every day.
Spoiler: it did not.
The guy fished a rag and a tiny bottle out from the inside pocket of his jacket and, before I could even say 'hey, what’s that?
' he had the cloth mashed over my face. A burning, wickedly sweet smell hit me like a truck.
I tried to jerk away, but he was way stronger than he looked.
Or maybe I was just weaker than I thought.
My knees buckled. My hands flailed, desperately searching for the door, for the sink, for anything to hold onto as the world started to tilt sideways.
And then I was sinking, arms heavy, and everything around me going dark.