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

Lex

The fear on her face makes me feel a moment of guilt about what I’ve done and what I’ll have to do. I hoped to carjack some piece of shit and leave them on the side of the road—probably dead—but no, I ended up in the car with a sweet-faced young girl. It isn’t ideal, but it is what it is. I won’t let her gender affect what I plan to do. It’s all in motion, and there’s no turning back now.

I grip the pistol I stole from a simple B&E on the way here. I had hoped to find some money, but this would do. It’ll get me money, one way or another. An armed robbery would just be another item on my lengthening list of felonies. At this rate, I’ll have a scroll of them come next week, and I have no intention of actively avoiding them. It’s just who I am at this point.

A felon.

Her hands tremble on the steering wheel. There’s a diamond on her left ring finger. I tighten my lips. Married? Fan-fucking-tastic. Part of me hopes I won’t have to make this girl’s husband a widower, but the other part of me doesn’t really care if I do. Everyone is a stepping stone on my path to freedom. I don’t care who it is. I don’t care who this girl or her goddamn husband are, for that matter.

“Where are we going?” she asks. Her voice is so small I almost don’t hear it over the rain.

“Just keep driving south.”

“I can’t.” Her eyes widen and breaths rush from her mouth. The fear on her face doesn’t come from me, which makes no fucking sense. It’s different.

I look at the purple rabbit’s foot hanging from the rearview mirror and chuckle too low for her to hear over the rain. It sure isn’t her lucky day. “You don’t have a choice. What are you so afraid of, rabbit?”

Her eyes leap to mine, and I nod toward her good-luck charm.

“You don’t understand . . .” She shakes her head as if she doesn’t want to explain herself to the man with a gun on his lap, which is fair.

“Then make me understand!” My raised voice makes her tremble harder, and the car swerves on the road. When she shakes her head again, I lean over and put a hand to her throat. She squeaks as my warm skin wraps around her, but I don’t squeeze. “I’m asking you once more, rabbit. What are you afraid of? Besides me.” She feels so small and vulnerable in my grasp.

Her dark eyes widen, and she lets out a wavering exhale. “He’ll kill me,” she whispers. The words pinch past her lips, as if it hurts her to say them.

My jaw ticks. Who has this girl so damn scared? Who does she fear more than the escaped felon beside her?

I remind myself why I’m there in the first place. Her personal life doesn’t matter to me. “Not my problem. You’re going to drive where I tell you, then you’ll be free to go.”This is the property of Nô-velDrama.Org.

Her throat bobs against my palm as she swallows, and she makes a point of dropping her gaze to the road in front of her.

“That’s a good girl.” I pull my hand away and let my fingers crawl down her neck, nearly reaching the swells of her breasts before I pull away. I can’t help stealing this moment. It’s been so fucking long since I touched a woman. She’s lucky I have more control than I did over a decade ago. The trip would have gone much differently then. And felt a lot fucking better.

Selena

I am so exponentially fucked. I shouldn’t have allowed him inside my damn car. He’s running from something, but I need to run home to something. The clock on the dashboard flashes the time, ticking ominously toward nine.

My phone rings, and his name pops onto the screen. My fingers rush to ignore the call, but the man beside me grabs my wrist and hits the answer button instead. I look at him and shake my head. He squeezes my wrist harder.

“Selena?” The voice blares from the car speaker. I’m frozen in fear. The man beside me slaps my cheek hard enough to shake me back into the moment, and I can only hope my husband doesn’t hear him.

“Hi . . . hello, sorry, bad reception from the rain,” I say, my throat tightening.

“Why aren’t you home?”

“I had to pull over because of the rain. I couldn’t see anything in front of me.”

“You know that’s not true. I’m watching the tracker on your phone. You’re going the wrong direction.” Accusations lurk within his words, as if he thinks I’d run away from him. I’d never be able to.

The man’s face tightens. He grabs my phone off the cradle on the dashboard, drops it on the floor, and smashes it beneath his boot. My mouth gapes as the gravity of it hits me.

“Tracking you?” he asks as he shakes his head, which is really fucking judgmental for a man who’s holding me at gunpoint.

“It’s complicated.”

He stares at me before dropping his gaze. “Drive, rabbit.” He gestures forward with the barrel of his gun.

Rabbit? I hate that he calls me that. I don’t want a nickname from him. I want to yell at him and tell him to call me Selena or nothing at all, but when I open my mouth, the words stick in my throat. I catch a glimpse of his strong jaw and realize he probably wouldn’t care if I told him I hate the name. I know nothing about him, but he doesn’t seem like the understanding type. He seems like a psychopath who’s judging me for my life choices, but I’m not the one carjacking a woman to escape whatever they’re running from.