Hitchhiking into Hell - Chapter 3: Chapter 3

Vanessa handed me a menu of options, each more exhilarating than the last. I wanted to try them all—every single one.
But the hitchhiker persona called to me the most.
Walking the Sichuan-Tibet Highway, surrounded by rough, sun-leathered men with filthy mouths—what a rush just imagining it. My pulse kicked up at the thought.
A few days later, I told my husband I was taking a girls' trip.
And then I left.
Alone.
Vanessa arranged a ride that dropped me on a lonely stretch of Highway 318.
Game on.
I wore a sports bra, cutoffs, and combat boots with a windbreaker knotted at my waist. My bare legs gleamed under the dying sun as I walked the asphalt.
My targets? The big rig cowboys.
Perfect. I'd finally crossed my own line.
My stomach fluttered with nerves—and yes, fear.
Every news story about hitchhikers and truckers ending in blood or worse played in my head.
But Vanessa had promised safety.
"Evelyn, breathe. This is therapy, not a death wish. I've got a tail car following whatever truck you pick. One SOS text and you're out."
The other women piled on.
"Pfft, hitchhiking's tame. Try being stranded with eight foreign dudes babbling nonsense on some island." She shoved her phone in my face—a video titled "Island Diaries." My jaw dropped.
"Spill every detail later, newbie. We live for this."
These women were feral.
Then again… so was I.
The idea of tangling with strangers sent liquid heat through my veins.
I didn't even need to thumb a ride. Trucks crawled to a stop like flies to honey.
Too old, too ugly, too weak—I let them pass.
An hour in, with twilight purpling the sky and wolf cries echoing, I found my match: a hulking rig with two drivers—one grizzled, one green.
The older one hung halfway out the window before they'd fully stopped. "Holy shit, Danny—check out this snack. Pull over!"
His stare burned through my clothes as he audibly swallowed. "Where you headed, sugar? We got room."
Cigarette stink and sweat hit me—perfect. My pulse hammered.
I activated the group livestream. Voices exploded in my earpiece:
"Jackpot. Old guy's a pro, and that rookie's blushing already. Go!"
"Clock's ticking, Evelyn. We want front-row seats."
Hank—the older one—jumped down and manacled my waist. "Hop in, doll. Wolves eat pretty things like you out here."
I reached for the back cab, but he hauled me against him. "Nah, up front. Keep us awake."
Wedged between them, I barely adjusted before Hank's palm scorched my thigh.
I jerked—only to collide with the younger driver.
Our eyes met.
Danny couldn't have been twenty. Sun-kissed, sharp-jawed, with a smile that lit up the cab.
Suddenly, Hank seemed… stale.
Danny ducked his head. "Seatbelt, miss. Hank, take five. I'll drive the next leg."
The group chat erupted:
"ZOOM IN ON HIM. Ask if he's Khampa—he looks like that TikTok heartthrob!"
My camera-hairpin tilted as I leaned closer.
Hank wasn't having it. His "seatbelt check" became a grope session. My condition ignited—skin buzzing, fingers twitching—
Vanessa's voice sliced through: "Evelyn, slow play. Where's the fun in sprinting to the finish?"
Right. I swatted Hank's shoulder. "You're terrible! I just needed a lift."
He blew smoke in my ear. "We'll take it nice and slow." His gaze dropped to the seat.
Damn it. My condition left… evidence.
I flushed, twisting toward Danny.
The kid was rigid, eyes glued to the road. The women chanted: "Double team them tonight!"
Both? My gut recoiled.
Even with my… issue, I'd never gone wild. My husband was my only.
The rest? Just daydreams.
But Vanessa purred: "Test yourself. Flirt with the kid right under Hank's nose. Can you handle it?"
I bit my lip—then did it.
Shoving Hank (who "napped" with roaming hands), I "accidentally" grazed Danny's waist. "Control your uncle, Danny! He's crushing me!"
The kid turned beet-red. "M-miss, I'm driving—"
A jeep's horn screamed.
Danny yanked the wheel. We fishtailed, tires screeching, then plunged into a ditch.
Hank's playful act vaporized. "Goddamn it, Danny! This cunt wrecked us." He jabbed a finger at me. "Pitch the tent. We're staying put."
His glare promised payback. "Might as well… unwind with our guest."
Night swallowed us. The second the tent went up, Hank dragged me inside.
He shredded his shirt—all corded muscle and menace.
I put on a show of resistance (mostly for the livestream; the women were losing it).
"Uncle, stop—Danny's watching!"
Outside, Danny stood frozen. He took half a step forward.
Hank didn't glance back as he reached for my zipper.