Trucker Wife's Midnight Stalker - Chapter 6: Chapter 6
You are reading Trucker Wife's Midnight Stalker, Chapter 6: Chapter 6. Read more chapters of Trucker Wife's Midnight Stalker.
I was this close to dialing 911.
But I held back—for now. Without that truck's dashcam footage, playing the victim could blow up in my face. Like I said before, if I went to the cops, Zachary Evans might walk free while my name got dragged through the dirt.
So I called my best friend instead.
Lydia Lawrence—badge, gun, and zero tolerance for bullshit.
I told her if I sent a WeChat message, she needed to move fast. No questions, just go. She pressed for details, but I kept it vague.
I hadn't been on that park bench five minutes when Zachary strolled up.
White button-down, denim shorts, leather sandals—like he was headed to some casual brunch instead of a blackmail showdown. The bastard even had the nerve to smile at me.
How? After what he'd done?
He stopped in front of me. "You didn't call the cops, did you?"
My pulse spiked, but my voice stayed ice-cold. "No. But you know what you did was illegal. Delete those videos, and we're done."
Zachary just laughed. "Not a chance."
Then he dropped onto the bench beside me.
My finger hovered over my phone's emergency call button—until he cut me off.
His eyes skimmed the crowded park before landing back on me. "I did my homework, Bianca. I know about your cop friend. You wouldn't risk going nuclear—bet you already texted her."
That smug, relaxed grin made my skin crawl.
He wasn't wrong.
And that just made me want Lydia here faster.
"You're messaging her right now, aren't you?" He tilted his head. "But by the time I finish talking, you won't be handing me over to anyone."
Just like before, he pulled out his phone. But this time, the video wasn't of me.
It was Vincent. My husband.
On screen, Vincent smirked at someone off-camera. "You all know me. You've been stealing fuel. If I expose you, every single one of you is going down."
Then the kicker: "Here's the deal. Seduce my wife—or get her to do something worth filming. Give me leverage over her, and I'll keep my mouth shut."
My brain short-circuited.
That was Vincent's voice. His smile. No question.
But why? Why would he—
I went numb, staring at Zachary like a puppet with cut strings.
He sighed, draping an arm around my waist like we were old friends. "Now you get it. Your husband's the puppet master. He tried to blackmail us over the fuel theft, so we played along."
His voice dropped. "My sister's sick. Needs treatment. The others? They've got their own messes. Not everyone gets a fair shot." He shrugged. "I'm a mechanic now. We quit the fuel gig ages ago."
"But Vincent had proof. So we followed his script." His eyes locked onto mine. "Did you really think that dog was supposed to die from poison? The timing was too perfect, don't you think?"
But I held back—for now. Without that truck's dashcam footage, playing the victim could blow up in my face. Like I said before, if I went to the cops, Zachary Evans might walk free while my name got dragged through the dirt.
So I called my best friend instead.
Lydia Lawrence—badge, gun, and zero tolerance for bullshit.
I told her if I sent a WeChat message, she needed to move fast. No questions, just go. She pressed for details, but I kept it vague.
I hadn't been on that park bench five minutes when Zachary strolled up.
White button-down, denim shorts, leather sandals—like he was headed to some casual brunch instead of a blackmail showdown. The bastard even had the nerve to smile at me.
How? After what he'd done?
He stopped in front of me. "You didn't call the cops, did you?"
My pulse spiked, but my voice stayed ice-cold. "No. But you know what you did was illegal. Delete those videos, and we're done."
Zachary just laughed. "Not a chance."
Then he dropped onto the bench beside me.
My finger hovered over my phone's emergency call button—until he cut me off.
His eyes skimmed the crowded park before landing back on me. "I did my homework, Bianca. I know about your cop friend. You wouldn't risk going nuclear—bet you already texted her."
That smug, relaxed grin made my skin crawl.
He wasn't wrong.
And that just made me want Lydia here faster.
"You're messaging her right now, aren't you?" He tilted his head. "But by the time I finish talking, you won't be handing me over to anyone."
Just like before, he pulled out his phone. But this time, the video wasn't of me.
It was Vincent. My husband.
On screen, Vincent smirked at someone off-camera. "You all know me. You've been stealing fuel. If I expose you, every single one of you is going down."
Then the kicker: "Here's the deal. Seduce my wife—or get her to do something worth filming. Give me leverage over her, and I'll keep my mouth shut."
My brain short-circuited.
That was Vincent's voice. His smile. No question.
But why? Why would he—
I went numb, staring at Zachary like a puppet with cut strings.
He sighed, draping an arm around my waist like we were old friends. "Now you get it. Your husband's the puppet master. He tried to blackmail us over the fuel theft, so we played along."
His voice dropped. "My sister's sick. Needs treatment. The others? They've got their own messes. Not everyone gets a fair shot." He shrugged. "I'm a mechanic now. We quit the fuel gig ages ago."
"But Vincent had proof. So we followed his script." His eyes locked onto mine. "Did you really think that dog was supposed to die from poison? The timing was too perfect, don't you think?"
End of Trucker Wife's Midnight Stalker Chapter 6. Continue reading Chapter 7 or return to Trucker Wife's Midnight Stalker book page.