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    Filthy Love
    Filthy Love
    Filthy Love
    Ebook118 pages1 hour

    Filthy Love

    By Celia Crown

    ()

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    About this ebook

    She was standing there with her suitcase at the truck stop, so innocently curious and stupidly naïve to the stares of all the men around her.

     

    That girl exuded sunshine rays from her sweet smile, luring men with vile intentions to take her, and hitchhiking with no protection whatsoever.

     

    My heart swelled at her defenselessness and the trusting nature in her voice. I want to protect her and give her the safety that she needs when she travels.

     

    She's going to get kidnapped, so I did her a favor and picked her up first.

     

    I'm saving her—from me going mad with the obsessive need to dominate her and from the elusive murderer on the highway.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCelia Crown
    Release dateApr 20, 2023
    ISBN9798223622307
    Filthy Love

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      Book preview

      Filthy Love - Celia Crown

      Chapter One

      ___________

      Nell

      So many strong men.

      I have a hard time keeping my eyes on just one of them because I keep getting distracted by yet another one walking by.

      While I have no sexual attraction to any of them, I still admire how they keep a layer of muscle on their bodies. They’re mostly truckers doing long hauls, sitting for hours with nothing to do.

      I applaud them for having this daily routine. I don’t have an interest to do it myself; I need some variety in my life every day.

      I turn my gaze away from the pack of men talking and laughing while they devour their food. My eyes land on the plain suitcase beside me, the handle tied with an identifiable blue ribbon.

      It signifies the endless sky, representing freedom as the tails of the ribbon flutter in the wind.

      Another boisterous round of laughter comes from the rowdy group of truckers. This spot is known by locals as a rest stop for long-haul workers. That is why I made my way here to catch a ride.

      They’re going somewhere, and I need somewhere to go, so I might as well hitch a ride and hope I don’t come across a serial killer on the highways.

      The risk of running into one is significantly higher, but I don’t have a choice. I have been doing this for a while, and it always turns out fine. It’s not what the media portrays; truckers are not as despicable as they are depicted.

      Some have told me their life story and revealed their problems just because they are often so isolated. I was bored, so I listened and gave my perspective if they asked for it.

      As I scan the truck stop, the number of people coming through here is insane. I have lost track of those who left because even more people are coming in. But I do notice a crowd betting on the winner of an arm-wrestling contest.

      From the corner of my eye, something big and black fills my vision. I turn, and my heart nearly breaks through my ribcage.

      It’s a man, tall with thick muscles rippling under his tight clothes and an impassive expression I find intimidating. Nothing about him stands out, yet everything about him stands out.

      He’s not obnoxious; the clothes are casual, and the hair isn’t a bright color. He is tatted from his arms to his neck, and his monstrous frame is enough to draw attention away from other people hoping for a ride.

      The other truckers seem to be used to his presence, so the only other eyes that stay on him are those who are not used to his daunting presence.

      I have never felt this kind of thrill in my heart.

      I haven’t been able to put my finger on this feeling as I watch him, but I do know that I’m a bit too intrigued by him.

      He’s indirectly telling people to back away if they value their lives. The way he stares down the freeway is so aggressive that I can’t look away.

      Someone goes up to him, but he doesn’t respond. He either didn’t hear the girl with a big backpack, or he’s ignoring her. The girl with the look of lust on her face doesn’t give up and reaches out to touch his muscled arm.

      He dodges her like the plague and glares at her, lips tight as he spews something hurtful at the girl. The girl jerks back and looks offended, but only yells at him before tilting her nose into the air as she walks away.

      Suddenly, I wish I were closer to hear what was said. I’ve been so bored these days that any entertainment captures my attention.

      I get up from the bench and grab the handle of the suitcase. It clicks into place as the wheels clunk against the grainy ground. One of the wheels gets stuck, and I frown at the inconvenience; no time for this.

      The man is going to leave, and I can’t let that form of entertainment escape my grasp.

      Here, let me help, someone offers.

      They don’t wait for me to answer before lifting the suitcase with the tip of their construction boot. I glance up at the stranger and notice how different he is from the truckers I had been observing.

      He’s not one of them; he’s part of a construction crew working on a new shop.

      Thank you! I say as I beam at him.

      I have always prided myself on my manners. They get me what I need much better than being curt with strangers does.

      Hey, you need a ride? Another man just comes up and interrupts the first man.

      This one is a trucker, but thoughts of being in a confined space with any trucker are sickening.

      Oh, I mumble quietly. Yeah.

      I sneak a glance at the guy who had gotten my attention earlier and left me thinking about his broad back. He’s still standing where he had shooed the girl away, but he’s not making any moves to leave.

      His dark eyes, so keen on staring into my soul, gaze into mine.

      He narrows his eyes dangerously, and the two men in front of me disappear from my mind. I only have eyes for him, so big and strong.

      You look sick, girl, the trucker in front of me notes as he waves a hand in my face.

      I blink and shake my head, the dryness causing tears to pool in my eyes. The two men, without an ounce of hesitation, begin to squirm.

      Anyone in the vicinity would criticize the hell out of them for making a young girl cry. It’s not their fault; this place is just a lot dustier than I had thought.

      Whoa, don’t cry, the construction man mutters frantically. I didn’t know your suitcase was that important—wait, wait, just stop, stop crying.

      This suitcase is my entire life, but I would never cry over it being touched. It has a lock with a passcode known only to me. So, someone would have to break the lock off to get the stuff inside it.

      Let’s go, a deeper, much more velvety voice grumbles.

      It sends hot chills down my back as the baritone vibrates in my heart.

      My shoulders draw up in a frightened response to the rumbling tone. It does ease the uncomfortable tension in me from being surrounded by two strangers.

      I look over my shoulder and eye the thick chest for a moment, contemplating whether I should look up to confirm what I already know. It’s the same man who made my brain turn into a mushy mess when I first saw him.

      What are you waiting for? he asks demandingly.

      I swallow and nod wordlessly as he turns around to stalk away. I am trying to follow him when the other trucker jumps in with a sneering frown.

      Don’t go with him, girl, he says. He’s not fun at all. He’ll bore you to death.

      I never said anything to anyone about seeking entertainment on rides.

      The man is assuming based on his experience with other hitchhikers. I don’t care what others are looking for, I have an ardent interest in getting to know the standoffish man.

      Now, the other man says, cold and curt.

      He’s not the first man to have that type of personality, but he is the first one to make the nerves under my skin go haywire.

      Thank you, I say vaguely as I tug on my suitcase to go after him.

      The other two don’t stop me, but the trucker seems to have profound hatred towards the aloof man. It makes me wonder if they have some sort of history that neither of them wants to address since they are acting like they don’t know each other.

      A strangled noise flies out of my lips when the suitcase gets stuck in a crack that just won’t let go of the wheel. I whine and yank it harshly, but it won’t budge.

      Then, a tatted arm stretches around my side and traps my hand on the handle. His grip is painfully hot as he tugs on the luggage. It breaks free of the crack, and he lightly taps my hand.

      He takes the suitcase and cocks his head. I quickly stumble after him, wide-eyed and curious. The man leads me to his truck, making me wait while he shoves the suitcase into the small space behind the seats.

      That place is usually reserved for easy-access items, but

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