Virgin Delivery Girl - Chapter 10: Chapter 10
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The hillside was a disappointment—just steep enough to hurt, not steep enough to kill.
I'd logged some hours behind the wheel at ParcelHub, so I knew my way around a delivery van. After some frantic fumbling, the engine roared to life, and I peeled out onto the road.
Jake Lombardi, who'd been leading the chase, whipped his car around the second Ethan Blanchet called him.
I remembered that intersection up ahead—the one that fed onto the highway. If I could just reach it, I'd be home free.
But Jake's car was closing in fast, his voice booming behind me like a pissed-off god.
"Pull over, or I'll shove you into a ditch!"
My grandmother had died in a wreck. Like hell I was stopping.
Then the van choked out on the incline.
The engine sputtered, died. No amount of cursing brought it back. So I bailed, hitting the pavement at a sprint.
Jake was right on me—close enough to grab—when headlights cut through the dark. A truck.
Desperate, I yanked down my underwear and waved them like a surrender flag.
What red-blooded man could ignore that?
The truck stopped. Out stepped a woman.
She slapped me so hard I saw stars. "You're disgusting."
I babbled my explanation between gasps.
"They're chasing you?"
I nodded like a bobblehead. "He's right behind me! Just—just drive, please!"
But instead of bolting, she cracked her knuckles. "We're not running."
A grin split her face. "I love putting trash in its place."
Jake stormed up. "Back off, lady. I don't hit women."
She snorted. "Good. Then you won't mind if I hit you."
One kick to his gut sent him flying.
"Holy shit," I wheezed.
She smirked. "That all you got, pretty boy?" Then, to me: "My husband's in the cab. Tell him to call the cops."
Turns out this trucker could bench-press guys like Jake before breakfast. Later, she told me she came from a long line of martial artists, but bills didn't pay themselves—hence the rig.
Sirens wailed. Jake and Ethan scrambled, but the cops swarmed them fast.
And me? I'd just made my first real friend.
Well—
Her name was Victoria Evans.
"Can I call you Sis Swallow?"
She shot me a look. "Try 'Evans.' Like 'Bruce Lee.' But with less talking."
I'd logged some hours behind the wheel at ParcelHub, so I knew my way around a delivery van. After some frantic fumbling, the engine roared to life, and I peeled out onto the road.
Jake Lombardi, who'd been leading the chase, whipped his car around the second Ethan Blanchet called him.
I remembered that intersection up ahead—the one that fed onto the highway. If I could just reach it, I'd be home free.
But Jake's car was closing in fast, his voice booming behind me like a pissed-off god.
"Pull over, or I'll shove you into a ditch!"
My grandmother had died in a wreck. Like hell I was stopping.
Then the van choked out on the incline.
The engine sputtered, died. No amount of cursing brought it back. So I bailed, hitting the pavement at a sprint.
Jake was right on me—close enough to grab—when headlights cut through the dark. A truck.
Desperate, I yanked down my underwear and waved them like a surrender flag.
What red-blooded man could ignore that?
The truck stopped. Out stepped a woman.
She slapped me so hard I saw stars. "You're disgusting."
I babbled my explanation between gasps.
"They're chasing you?"
I nodded like a bobblehead. "He's right behind me! Just—just drive, please!"
But instead of bolting, she cracked her knuckles. "We're not running."
A grin split her face. "I love putting trash in its place."
Jake stormed up. "Back off, lady. I don't hit women."
She snorted. "Good. Then you won't mind if I hit you."
One kick to his gut sent him flying.
"Holy shit," I wheezed.
She smirked. "That all you got, pretty boy?" Then, to me: "My husband's in the cab. Tell him to call the cops."
Turns out this trucker could bench-press guys like Jake before breakfast. Later, she told me she came from a long line of martial artists, but bills didn't pay themselves—hence the rig.
Sirens wailed. Jake and Ethan scrambled, but the cops swarmed them fast.
And me? I'd just made my first real friend.
Well—
Her name was Victoria Evans.
"Can I call you Sis Swallow?"
She shot me a look. "Try 'Evans.' Like 'Bruce Lee.' But with less talking."
End of Virgin Delivery Girl Chapter 10. Continue reading Chapter 11 or return to Virgin Delivery Girl book page.