Chapter 13

She looked at her watch. Forty minutes had passed since Vivienne’s call. She was still miles from home, with only twenty minutes left to cover what felt like an insurmountable distance. Panic, sharp and cold, clawed at her throat.

Elara began to walk, her shoulders hunched against the oppressive afternoon sun, her heart sinking with every aching step. The road was empty, nothing but endless fields stretching into the horizon, dotted with distant, unmoving trees. Just as despair threatened to overwhelm her, a large, dusty truck, an old hauling rig with a grimy trailer, rumbled down the road and slowed as it approached. It pulled to a stop beside her, its massive engine idling with a low growl.

The passenger window hummed down, revealing a burly man in the driver’s seat, his face weathered and kind, etched with a lifetime of sun and wind, but his eyes holding a familiar, assessing glint. Next to him, a young girl, perhaps a year or two younger than Elara, sat quietly, her small frame dwarfed by the spacious cab. She had sharp, intelligent eyes, unnervingly observant, that seemed to take in every detail of Elara’s disheveled appearance – the smeared makeup, the torn clothes, the lingering signs of her trauma.

“Hey there, little lady,” the man rumbled, his voice surprisingly gentle, a deep bass that vibrated in the air. “You look like you’re in a spot of trouble. Need a ride?”

Elara’s gaze flickered frantically between the man and the quiet, observant girl beside him. She glanced at her watch again. Twenty minutes until Vivienne expected her home. She was already cutting it agonizingly close. “Like, yes, Sir,” Elara stammered, her voice still hoarse, a thin, reedy sound of desperation. “I ... I live pretty far out. I can ... I can pay for the ride. Any way you want.” She forced herself to meet his gaze, trying to project the slutty confidence Brittany demanded, despite the fresh nausea and the ever-present ache in her bruised body.