The Highway’s Forbidden Toll - Chapter 1: Chapter 1
You are reading The Highway’s Forbidden Toll, Chapter 1: Chapter 1. Read more chapters of The Highway’s Forbidden Toll.
The Memorial Day road trip turned into my worst nightmare when Ethan's classic Mustang sputtered to a stop on the deserted stretch of Extraterrestrial Highway.
My chest rose and fell against the constricting seatbelt as steam hissed from the hood. The dashboard thermometer matched my body's temperature exactly - 98 degrees and rising.
Connor Roland's eighteen-wheeler materialized like a desert mirage, his weathered hands gripping the wheel with the easy confidence of a man who'd seen his share of desperate city girls.
"Roadside service runs two hundred cash," he drawled, his gaze lingering on my damp tank top. "Unless you've got other methods of payment."
By sunrise, when Simon Lowell's rescue truck arrived, the taste of reckless passion still burned on my lips. His uniform reeked of gasoline and broken promises.
"Another tourist trap victim?" Simon adjusted his walkie-talkie, eyes noting the tire marks on my thighs. "You city girls never seem to learn."
Later, on Barkhor Street, an elder pressed a white khata scarf into my hands. The pristine silk couldn't erase what the highway had taken.
Ethan's text blinked on my screen: "Got your Potala Palace postcard. When are you coming home?"
I watched twin sisters laugh outside a teahouse, their matching dimples untouched by desert dust. My reflection showed a stranger - all curves and hollow eyes.
The road always collects its toll.
"Please...my boyfriend's coming any minute," I pleaded as the trucker backed me against the steering wheel on that godforsaken highway.
"Sweetheart," he growled, fingers digging into my hips as my knees buckled, "that boy's got a flat tire and zero survival skills. He ain't coming."
What happened next was everything Ethan had never given me...
I'm Scarlett Valentine - honor student at New York Academy of Dance, with curves that turn heads and an appetite that never quits.
Ethan was supposed to be my perfect match. Instead, our romantic getaway became another disappointment. Every time we chased adventure, he'd flame out faster than a match in the desert wind.
This Memorial Day, he promised to rekindle things with a scenic drive. One wrong turn later, we were stranded until that monster truck appeared.
Inside sat two men: the driver - all sun-baked muscle and danger - and his passenger, some roadside assistance guy named Simon Lowell with tools and tired eyes.
Next thing I knew, Ethan was handing me a walkie-talkie and pushing me toward the truck. "They're helping us. What's the worst that could happen?"
The moment I climbed into that cab, I understood my mistake.
The driver wasn't just big - he was massive everywhere. Each bump in the road made his...assets impossible to ignore.
After months of Ethan's underwhelming performance, the raw power radiating from this man made my mouth water.
If only my boyfriend had an ounce of this animal magnetism...
My chest rose and fell against the constricting seatbelt as steam hissed from the hood. The dashboard thermometer matched my body's temperature exactly - 98 degrees and rising.
Connor Roland's eighteen-wheeler materialized like a desert mirage, his weathered hands gripping the wheel with the easy confidence of a man who'd seen his share of desperate city girls.
"Roadside service runs two hundred cash," he drawled, his gaze lingering on my damp tank top. "Unless you've got other methods of payment."
By sunrise, when Simon Lowell's rescue truck arrived, the taste of reckless passion still burned on my lips. His uniform reeked of gasoline and broken promises.
"Another tourist trap victim?" Simon adjusted his walkie-talkie, eyes noting the tire marks on my thighs. "You city girls never seem to learn."
Later, on Barkhor Street, an elder pressed a white khata scarf into my hands. The pristine silk couldn't erase what the highway had taken.
Ethan's text blinked on my screen: "Got your Potala Palace postcard. When are you coming home?"
I watched twin sisters laugh outside a teahouse, their matching dimples untouched by desert dust. My reflection showed a stranger - all curves and hollow eyes.
The road always collects its toll.
"Please...my boyfriend's coming any minute," I pleaded as the trucker backed me against the steering wheel on that godforsaken highway.
"Sweetheart," he growled, fingers digging into my hips as my knees buckled, "that boy's got a flat tire and zero survival skills. He ain't coming."
What happened next was everything Ethan had never given me...
I'm Scarlett Valentine - honor student at New York Academy of Dance, with curves that turn heads and an appetite that never quits.
Ethan was supposed to be my perfect match. Instead, our romantic getaway became another disappointment. Every time we chased adventure, he'd flame out faster than a match in the desert wind.
This Memorial Day, he promised to rekindle things with a scenic drive. One wrong turn later, we were stranded until that monster truck appeared.
Inside sat two men: the driver - all sun-baked muscle and danger - and his passenger, some roadside assistance guy named Simon Lowell with tools and tired eyes.
Next thing I knew, Ethan was handing me a walkie-talkie and pushing me toward the truck. "They're helping us. What's the worst that could happen?"
The moment I climbed into that cab, I understood my mistake.
The driver wasn't just big - he was massive everywhere. Each bump in the road made his...assets impossible to ignore.
After months of Ethan's underwhelming performance, the raw power radiating from this man made my mouth water.
If only my boyfriend had an ounce of this animal magnetism...
End of The Highway’s Forbidden Toll Chapter 1. Continue reading Chapter 2 or return to The Highway’s Forbidden Toll book page.