Beneath Blackwater River Leslie Wolfe (me reader txt) 📖

She wasn’t going to stop now or turn back to serve as a naked blow platter for her stepdad and his homies. Even if it killed her, she’d move forward. She’d get herself to San Francisco somehow, then find a job, doing anything, no matter how menial, as long as it was honest work. She’d live with little and get herself on her own two feet before long.

Moving slowly, she brought herself up to her knees at first. Grabbing the side of the guardrail for support, she stood on her left foot, then tested putting some weight on the right. She clenched her teeth, a tense breath of air escaping with a loud hissing sound when she felt the pain traveling up her bones.

It felt better if she put most of the weight on her heel, and that sounded like a plan, at least for a while. Then, she’d catch another ride and she’d be able to rest her leg a little longer. Hazel’s money had made sure she’d get to where she wanted to. Maybe one day she’d look her up and repay her kindness somehow.

She climbed over the guardrail slowly, careful not to fall again, the loose gravel at the side of the road treacherous and slippery. Then she leaned against the railing, holding her hand up in the air whenever a vehicle approached.

It was mid-afternoon when a car finally slowed down, stopped, then reversed toward her, probably when the driver had noticed her limping and realized it was going to take forever to wait. The car was luxurious, not a make she was familiar with, in a stunning gray-blue color that sparkled under the sun’s dimming rays.

A twenty-dollar bill clenched in her sweaty palm, she peered inside the car through the open passenger side window. She was prepared to pay for her fare. Behind the wheel, a man dressed in a suit smiled kindly at her.

“Where are you headed?” he asked, his smile revealing two strings of perfectly white teeth.

“Um, San Francisco,” she replied. “I can pay—”

“Nonsense. Hop in, let’s get the weight off that foot.”

Her suspicion flared. He was used to giving orders, and to people obeying; that was clear in the way he spoke. Could he have been a cop?

The thought sent shivers down her spine, as she saw herself arrested, then dragged back home, where nothing good awaited her. But no, that man wasn’t a cop. No cop she knew of could afford that car, those clothes, or the fine scent that filled the space around him.

With a timid smile, she grabbed the door handle and opened it. “Thank you,” she whispered, feeling choked for some reason. Not with fear, but with something close, intense, something between excitement and the instinct to run. But that was ridiculous. This man wasn’t the eighteen-wheeler driver from the night before.

“What happened to that foot?” he asked, genuine interest and concern coloring his voice.

She smiled, glancing briefly at him then looking away. He was over forty, maybe even fifty, but that didn’t seem to matter, not when she looked at him, not when he smiled at her. He was appealing, his elegant charm a powerful, numbing force, despite his age. She’d never felt that in a man, not ever. “I slipped on some loose gravel. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay.” His smile widened. “If you say so.”

“Are you, um, going to San Francisco?” she asked, unfamiliar with the kind of emotion that strangled her throat dry with an iron-gloved fist.

“Yes, I am.” He kept his eyes on the road, barely looking at her, but she could hear the smile in his voice. “Thanks for keeping me company. These trips can get boring really fast.”

She couldn’t think of a single thing to say, so she stayed silent, hating herself for appearing dumb and mute at the same time. She kept her eyes riveted to the pristine carpeting lining the car’s floor, and the contact it made with her mud-soiled sneakers. She feared he would be mad when he saw the mess… But maybe it didn’t matter. What mattered was she’d soon get to San Francisco, where she could start her new life.

When she dared look around, she started noticing details about the man. His charcoal suit, appearing brand new. The shine on his shirt’s collar and cuffs, just like satin. The monogrammed cufflinks. The polish of his black leather shoes, impeccable as if it never ever rained in his world.

“Listen,” he said, shooting her a brief glance. “I was going to stop by the house anyway, to drop something off. Would you mind if we made a quick detour?”

Her heart skipped a beat. Terrified, she clasped her hands together, kneading them without realizing. Could she say no, and risk infuriating the man and losing her ride? It was soon going to be sundown, and that meant another night spent in the woods, in complete darkness, soaked to the bone by mist clinging to her clothes and chilling her to the core. But to go to this stranger’s house? Every instinct in her body screamed against it, despite a streak of excitement prodding her to take the leap. She’d probably never meet anyone like him again.

Looking at her and clearly reading her like an open book, he added, “We could grab a quick bite to eat, and I’m sure you could borrow some dry clothes from my wife’s closet. She won’t mind, I promise.”

She released a breath when she heard him mentioning his wife, but she still wasn’t sure she could trust him. Being around her con-artist stepdad and his buddies had taught her never to believe a word anyone was saying. An angel from the heavens could stop by to help her, and she’d treat her with suspicion. That’s what life had taught her so far, and she wasn’t even fifteen yet.

“Um, I’m not sure,” she mumbled, an apologetic whisper the best she could do.

He took the next exit, slowing down. Kirsten stiffened in her seat, her blood suddenly chilled.