Hitched: A Dark Hitchhiker Romance (Ride or Die Romances)

Lex

A shiver rakes my skin as the rain pelts me. My shirt sticks to me, the water pressing the fabric tight against my body. It’s horrible, but it’s better than where I came from. I’d walk through a hurricane as long as I was heading away from the guarded world I ran from.

Despite the rain worsening by the minute, I keep walking. Every bad decision I’ve ever made put me right here, on the side of the road, in the middle of the night. During a fucking storm.

Another pair of headlights washes over me and breezes by. I scoff, exhaling drops of water that cling to my lips. I can’t be mad, though; I wouldn’t pick up someone like me, either—a large, rugged, tattooed man, as dangerous as they come. A very real threat to society, as I’ve been told in front of a jury of my peers on more than one occasion. There are two types of people in this world: those who stop for a stranger on the side of the road and those who keep on driving.

If they’re wise, they keep on fucking driving.

Regardless, being on the side of the road in this storm is better than prison. I’d endure a tsunami if it meant I was outside my fucking cell.

I had just gotten back my privileges when I escaped. I might have gone a little overboard with the newfound freedom they gave me. Took a whole fucking yard instead of an inch, but that’s how I’ve always been. Men like me don’t deserve freedom, but we sure as shit chase after it.

Another car drives by, kicking up mud and a torrential roar of water as it passes. I squeeze my eyes closed and try to center myself like they taught us in therapy. The only useful thing I learned in prison was how to deal with the things I can’t control. But I hate losing control . . . now. Didn’t mind it so much as it fueled the rampage that landed me in prison in the first place. Didn’t mind it when the loss of control made me kill one inmate who was trying to fuck another. I didn’t really care about the man pinned against the wall. How could I when consent never really mattered to me, either? But he had stabbed me, and it was an opportunity to catch the fucker with his pants down—literally and figuratively. He was too interested in the meal in front of him to notice me or the white t-shirt I used to strangle him. His last breath meant nothing to me because I was already a lifer.

The best part about life in prison was that it kind of became a free-for-all. They kept slapping more time onto my sentences, but I still only had one lifetime to give them. All that blood I shed in prison was essentially free. Anything I did cost me nothing. Even my little escape won’t matter.

I’ll enjoy it while it lasts, before they shove me back into isolation with only my fucked-up mind for company.

And fucked-up it is.

SelenaContent provided by NôvelDrama.Org.

My fingers thrum against the wheel. I lean forward, trying to see for the millisecond after the wipers whoosh by before the rain obscures my windshield again. I hate driving in the rain, especially when it’s a downpour like this. My wipers can’t keep up, and the glare from signs and lights fucks with my eyes. It’s already hard for me to see at night without the lines in the road melding with the rain-covered asphalt.

I pull over, flashing my emergency lights. I’ll get myself killed at the rate I’m going, blindly driving down a highway at night. I turn off the car and sit in the near silence. Only the patter of hard rain against the car breaks the quiet. It makes different sounds as it collides with windows or the car’s metal frame—almost like music.

Fog climbs from the hood, clawing at the windshield. There’s a knock on the glass, and I snap my attention to the passenger-side window. That sound definitely isn’t the rain. It’s too loud and purposeful. My heart skips several beats and climbs into my throat.

The wind shifts and the rain changes direction, and that’s when I see the shadow outside my car. The giant hand knocks on my window again. I turn off the ignition and lower the window a mere inch. Even with such a small gap, the rain finds its way down the window and onto the seat.

“Can I help you?” I call over the pounding downpour.

“Would you be willing to give me a ride to the next exit?” the shadow asks.

I look around. The road is empty, with deep pools of rainwater everywhere my eyes land. It’s miserable outside. Torn between being smart or kind, I don’t answer him. I’d want someone to help me if I was stuck in the rain. Thunder crashes and makes me jump.

“Miss, it’s okay if you don’t want to,” he says with a smile. All I can see against the dark night are his white teeth and a soaked, light-colored shirt. “Sorry to waste your time. Drive safe.” He pats the roof of the car and walks away.

I take a deep breath and watch him meander through the storm-cut beam of my headlights. Their weak glow gives me a little more information about him: he’s a big guy. Massive, really, with flimsy, wet material hugging his muscles. I lean forward and watch him as the wipers make another pass.

Don’t, I remind myself.

He doesn’t even have a jacket, I argue back. Nothing but that short-sleeved shirt, which is plastered to his body, and there haven’t been any other cars on the road for a while now.

No, Selena, don’t even think about it.

He tugs at my heartstrings. If he’s so bad, he wouldn’t have walked away, I rationalize with myself. I take off my seatbelt, lean over, and prop open the door. The wind pushes back against my hand as water assaults my skin. I struggle to keep it open.

“Hey!” I call out. When he doesn’t turn around, I beep my horn.

He stops, looks back, and seems to consider my invitation for what feels like forever as the cold rain soaks my skin. He heads toward my car. I’m tempted to close the door and lock it before he gets here, but I’ve committed. I already opened the door and invited him inside. The pressure of the wind comes off the door as he swings it open and leans down. The dome light casts a gentle glow, and I’m able to see more of him. He’s maybe in his forties. Up close, his stature intimidates me more than when he was just a giant shadow leaning into the car.

He looks hesitant, maybe because I’m younger than him. If he’s in his forties, I’m half his age. Maybe he doesn’t like the idea of getting in the car with someone so young.

“You sure about this?” he asks.

I focus on the way his full lips hide a hint of a smirk. I swallow hard and nod. I’m not sure about anything. This isn’t like me.

He sits down, saturating the passenger seat. I feel immediate regret. It’s a new car, and I didn’t think this through. “Sorry,” he whispers when he realizes I’m staring at the now-soaked seat.

“It’s fine,” I say, as calmly as I can.

He smells like a storm—a wet, polluted smell that fills the small space. He flashes his blue eyes up at me as he buckles his seatbelt and waits for my move. My jaw clenches with tension over what I’ve done. It just feels wrong, and his good looks only make it worse. Why would someone who looks like him be walking along the highway in the middle of a storm? Where the hell did he come from?

“Are we going?” he asks, ripping me out of my panic.

I look around and struggle with the simple motions of putting the car in drive. I can’t even take my foot off the brake. “I really can’t see,” I say. “Can we wait?”

His eyes dart as he looks behind us. “I can drive,” he says, and unbuckles his seatbelt.

I shake my head. Handing control of the car to a stranger is the definition of a bad idea. I’ve already compromised my safety by letting him inside the car, so I’m not about to hand over the damn keys.

He blows a breath and wipes a hand through the wet hair clinging to his forehead. “God, I did not want to have to do this.”

My heart races as soon as the words leave his lips. The hairs stand up on my neck. My peripheral vision fades to a white blur as my body panics before my brain knows what the hell is happening. He brushes a hand through his hair, exposing a tattoo of a skull with a bullet hole right beneath his hairline.

Alarm bells explode inside my head.

The man leans over and yanks something from the back of his pants. “Either you drive, or I’ll drive,” he says calmly. Even though I’ve never really seen one this close, there’s no mistaking the ominous weapon in his hand, but he doesn’t aim it at me until I go for the door handle. “Don’t do something stupid, pretty girl.” His voice is soft, almost sensual. He isn’t panicking, but his calm demeanor is making me panic.

I remove my hand from the handle and put it on my lap.

“Now drive.”