Virgin Delivery Girl - Chapter 9: Chapter 9
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Twenty years in my sleepy hometown hadn't prepared me for this. Stranded with a dead phone and empty pockets, I was trapped—nowhere to run, no one to turn to.
Morning came, and Jake forced himself on me again. This time, I didn't fight back. Survival meant submission.
He finished in under twenty minutes and left without a word.
Outside the tent, Jake's voice carried through the thin fabric: "We should dump her fast."
Ethan's smooth reply made my skin crawl: "200,000 baht? Split two ways, that's pocket change. We can do better."
"Who'd pay more for damaged goods?" Jake scoffed.
A pause. Then Ethan's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper: "Boss Hex pays top dollar."
"You're sick. She was your girl, and you'd feed her to that monster? She'd be dead in seventy-two hours."
"My girl? Hardly. We hooked up twice. Business is business."
I could picture Ethan's smile—that practiced, politician-perfect grin hiding the predator beneath. The pieces clicked: I wasn't a person to them. Just inventory.
Suddenly, all his sweet talk made sense—the "innocent mountain flower" compliments, the sudden interest in a nobody like me. Sophia Laurent had seen right through him. Ethan Blanchet wasn't just a liar; he was human garbage.
The truck bounced along deserted mountain roads as I stared at my chipped nail polish. Maybe this was it.
Then Grandma's face flashed in my mind—the woman who'd scavenged soda cans at midnight to keep me in school. The woman who'd died because some drunk rich kid couldn't be bothered to watch the road.
"See the world for me," she'd whispered on her deathbed.
Irony tasted bitter.
So when the truck stopped for gas, I made my move. "I'm an orphan," I announced. "No family, no safety net. Sell me to Boss Hex—you get cash, I get three square meals. Everybody wins."
Ethan's eyes lit up. "Now you're talking sense."
Jake squinted. "This some trick?"
I laughed—the hollow, practiced laugh of cornered prey. "With what army? Just promise you'll find me a... generous buyer."
From then on, I played my part perfectly.
I ate their greasy chicken legs with gusto. I whispered breathless praise when they touched me. Three times that afternoon, I serviced them until my mouth ached, blinking up with doe-eyed gratitude.
"You take such good care of me," I murmured, tracing Jake's stubble.
When we pulled over at a cliffside overlook, I crossed my legs demurely. "Nature calls."
Ethan barely had time to light his cigarette before my boot connected with his chest—sending him tumbling backward into the ravine.
Morning came, and Jake forced himself on me again. This time, I didn't fight back. Survival meant submission.
He finished in under twenty minutes and left without a word.
Outside the tent, Jake's voice carried through the thin fabric: "We should dump her fast."
Ethan's smooth reply made my skin crawl: "200,000 baht? Split two ways, that's pocket change. We can do better."
"Who'd pay more for damaged goods?" Jake scoffed.
A pause. Then Ethan's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper: "Boss Hex pays top dollar."
"You're sick. She was your girl, and you'd feed her to that monster? She'd be dead in seventy-two hours."
"My girl? Hardly. We hooked up twice. Business is business."
I could picture Ethan's smile—that practiced, politician-perfect grin hiding the predator beneath. The pieces clicked: I wasn't a person to them. Just inventory.
Suddenly, all his sweet talk made sense—the "innocent mountain flower" compliments, the sudden interest in a nobody like me. Sophia Laurent had seen right through him. Ethan Blanchet wasn't just a liar; he was human garbage.
The truck bounced along deserted mountain roads as I stared at my chipped nail polish. Maybe this was it.
Then Grandma's face flashed in my mind—the woman who'd scavenged soda cans at midnight to keep me in school. The woman who'd died because some drunk rich kid couldn't be bothered to watch the road.
"See the world for me," she'd whispered on her deathbed.
Irony tasted bitter.
So when the truck stopped for gas, I made my move. "I'm an orphan," I announced. "No family, no safety net. Sell me to Boss Hex—you get cash, I get three square meals. Everybody wins."
Ethan's eyes lit up. "Now you're talking sense."
Jake squinted. "This some trick?"
I laughed—the hollow, practiced laugh of cornered prey. "With what army? Just promise you'll find me a... generous buyer."
From then on, I played my part perfectly.
I ate their greasy chicken legs with gusto. I whispered breathless praise when they touched me. Three times that afternoon, I serviced them until my mouth ached, blinking up with doe-eyed gratitude.
"You take such good care of me," I murmured, tracing Jake's stubble.
When we pulled over at a cliffside overlook, I crossed my legs demurely. "Nature calls."
Ethan barely had time to light his cigarette before my boot connected with his chest—sending him tumbling backward into the ravine.
End of Virgin Delivery Girl Chapter 9. Continue reading Chapter 10 or return to Virgin Delivery Girl book page.