Page 2 of Claimed By the Hitchhiker

Is she that innocent? If so, then she needs someone to protect her. Someone to make sure no one takes advantage of her. Someone to keep her safe.

Someone like me.

She clears her throat. “Cat got your tongue?”

I don’t miss the slight tremor in her voice. If she’s so scared, why the hell is she offering me a ride? Unless she has a companion hiding in the backseat waiting to strangle me from behind.

Maybe.

But fuck. I won’t pass up the chance to ride with her and get to know her.

All my life, I worked and worked and worked. Worked till my head felt like it was full of cotton. Worked till my muscles screamed. Worked till my eyes stung from lack of sleep. Worked till I was palpitating so hard from the caffeine pumping in my blood.

For some reason, this girl I just met has me already thinking of a different path, a different future. A life with her.

Well, shit. Look at me already thinking of making her my wife and binding her to me with a child. And that’s even before I’ve gotten a closer look or even talked to her. If she ever finds out what’s going on in my mind, she’ll be speeding away like a maniac in no time.

“Yeah, I do. Need the ride, I mean.”

I open the door and slide into the passenger seat, welcoming the rush of warmth but not the unmistakable stench of fear. I am good at my job. Brilliant even. I didn’t become a top detective by half-assing things. I’m observant to the core and notice even the smallest things.

Right now, I notice her. All of her.

Her face is ashen, and she’s chewing on her bottom lip. Something’s way off. But with the way she tries to hold herself together, I know I shouldn’t pounce on her, especially since she just helped me.

“You okay? Should I take you to the hospital or the nearest police station?”

She waves a hand. “I’m a little shaken but I’m alright.”

“Did somebody die?”

“No.”

She shifts the gears and the truck lurches forward. She doesn’t take her eyes off the road but keeps glancing at the rearview mirror. “Where you headed?”

“The next town. You?”

She opens her mouth and closes it. Pursing her lips, she grits out, “As far as I can go.”

“Escaping someone? A boyfriend maybe?”

She laughs, but there’s neither warmth nor humor in it. The laughter doesn’t reach her eyes, and the sound seems to claw its way out of her throat. “Not boyfriend.”

So she is running away.

Her tone indicates she’s done talking, so I steal glances at her once in a while, staying silent the entire time. Her eyes are flat and cold, her mind elsewhere.

There’s dirt under her fingernails, her long, billowy dress with muddy smudges and torn at the hem like she got stuck between branches and thorns and they snatched at the fabric. She’s also barefoot, thin lines of red crisscrossing her ankle and the sides of her heel.

There’s a story there, and I intend to find out. I will help with whatever mess she’s involved in.

She’s clearly not alright, and I should be ashamed of the way I’m already stripping her and exploring her petite body in my mind.Fucking hell, Damien. Get a grip. You’re not a hormonal teenager. Focus, dammit. Focus.

“Don’t you know it’s rude to stare?”

“I know, but I also know when someone’s not okay. You wanna talk about it?”

“Why do you wanna know?”

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