Lucky: The Irish MC (3 page)

Ella

Sighing, I climbed back into the cab and revved the engine. All that I had left to do was drop the cargo off at the docks, and then I could be on my way.
A shower
, I thought blissfully.
Or a bath. Or a glass of wine in the bath
.
Yeah, that’s definitely what I want.
I closed my eyes blissfully and imagined being stretched out in a warm tub of water, all of the heat soaking into the creases of my body. There was nothing more relaxing than a long bath after a long run, and I was going to make the most out of today. After all, I deserved it. I’d been so good this time, and I’d even made it home a few days early. I hadn’t ever done this well before. Part of me was proud; I felt like trucking was something that I really excelled at. It sounded stupid, especially considering that I wanted to be a doctor, but it was something I took pride in all the same.

“Just go to the end of the yard,” the old man instructed. “Someone will come out and help you with that load.” He winked at me and again I felt that same kind of disarming flash. Why were all these guys trying to flirt with me today? I knew that I wasn’t pretty. At least, not pretty enough to warrant the attention of three random guys. Even if two of them were bikers and one of them was old, it didn’t seem right.

“Thanks,” I said mildly. “And then I’ll loop around for the exit?”

The man shook his head. “There’s a by-way if you keep going straight north,” he said. “Dumps you out on the highway. Might be easier for you to build up speed and keep going that a’way. Make sense?”

I frowned. The old man was grinning and winking at me again, and I couldn’t help but feel like there was some kind of innuendo that I was missing out on.

“Sure,” I said after a beat. “Thanks for all your help.”

The old man saluted and I drove on. The path down to the yard was a sharp decline and I had to shift quickly to keep control of the rig. As it always did when I was in a dangerous situation, my adrenaline spiked and I felt a hot burst of anxiety as I steered my rig down the path. Thankfully, the path was clear and dry—no sliding wheels, only lots of dust. By the time I got to the bottom, the clouds of dirt and dust had filled the cab and I was coughing and choking. All the same, it felt good. It smelled good, like nature. Not the smells of the road: oil, grease, sweat.
Maybe I’ll lay outside for a little bit,
I thought as I looked up at the cloudless sky. I imagined myself stretching out on a chaise lounge on the grass and sunning myself. I was so pale; I almost never took the time to get a tan. But somehow, the idea of sunbathing and letting my pale skin crisp to a warm brown was incredibly appealing. The past winter had been so cold—I’d been in the interior western states for most of it—and parts of me had felt like they were never going to be warm again. In the sunshine of Dos Palmos, I felt much better. But laying out and baking was an incredibly tempting idea.

As I pulled my rig to a stop, I gazed around. The old man had said there would be a couple of guys to help me with the load, but there was no one in sight. The clouds of dust settled down and I closed my eyes and stuck my bare arm out of the open window, luxuriating in the feel of the sun. I didn’t even have a backyard at home—I lived in an apartment complex—but  I could see myself in a cute bikini, dragging a lounge chair out and parking myself for a few hours. I could practically feel how cold the gloppy, bright-white sunscreen would be as I massaged it onto my limbs. For some reason, when I thought about rubbing the sun lotion on my body, the grins of those biker guys popped back into my mind. I shivered. A strange feeling coursed through my body. Was it lust? Was I feeling desire? It was an alien feeling, something I hadn’t felt in a long time. Not in years.

Not years,
my mind thought wickedly.
More like days.
I shivered. I didn’t want to think about it for too long, but the other night, sleeping in my cab at a truck stop, I’d had one of the most wicked dreams I’d ever had. In my dream, I was naked and pressed up against a wall. The wall was made of rough, cold, scratchy stone, but it felt good against my hot skin. There was a big, hulking, muscular guy behind me, making sure that my legs were spread as he trailed his fingers all over my body until I was shuddering with desire. I never saw his face; my eyes were closed the whole time. But the dream had been incredibly visceral. When I’d woken up, I’d been tempted to slip my fingers into my panties and finish myself off. But something about making myself come just seemed so squalid, and like such a poor substitute for the man in my dream.

Blushing madly, I opened my eyes and peered outside of the truck again. There was still no one in sight. I watched as the old man, now a speck on the horizon, walked back into his booth and shut the big gate. The sun was starting to go down and I shivered. I’d already been waiting for ten minutes, where the hell was this guy? I wanted to go home! Sunbathing as a possibility was out. Now that I’d remembered my dream from the other night, the idea of being so close to naked in public was horrifying to me. I circled back to the idea of settling in for a long bath with a glass of wine. Bathtubs were innocent, right? Nothing weird or creepy or sleazy would happen to me if I was safe in my bathtub, drinking a glass of wine and decompressing from a long journey.

At least I hoped nothing would. In irritation, I opened the cab door and hopped down onto the ground. My boots landed with a satisfying crunch in the gravel and I wiped perspiration off my forehead. Where the fuck were these guys? Putting a hand up to my forehead and shielding my eyes like a visor, I scanned the area. There was nobody in sight. A slight breeze blew and I shivered; it was still warm, but I could tell that after dark, I’d start to freeze. The only clean jacket I had left was light, and I knew it wouldn’t keep me warm.

“Do you expect me to do this by myself?” I asked out loud, stomping the ground. My voice echoed off the dusty boulders and hills. There was no answer. If the old man up the hill heard me yelling, he gave me no sign whatsoever. “Fuck!” I cried out in frustration, kicking at a rock. It was heavier than I expected and a bolt of pain shot through my foot. Crying out, I grabbed my wounded foot and hopped around. Tears sprang to my eyes and I cursed loudly.

Stop being pathetic
, I thought in irritation.
If you want to fix this and go home, just unload the goddamn cargo yourself
. I stood and breathed in deeply until the ache in my foot was beginning to subside. It hurt whenever I put weight on it, but I knew that it likely wasn’t broken. I was all smiles and confidence until I yanked open the cargo gate of my rig and saw the sheer size of the carton.
This is going to take some serious strength,
I thought with a frown.
What the fuck happened to those guys who were supposed to meet me?

With a sigh, I hauled myself up and into the back of the truck. The carton was the only thing that I was carrying, and while it took up an immense amount of space, I was struck with a weird, abandoned sense. I wasn’t used to seeing my truck this empty. It really hit it home that I was finally at the end of a long run.

Warily, I circled the cargo box. There were holes in the top but they weren’t big enough to be air holes. I remembered when I’d asked if a gorilla was inside. Jimmy had given me the weirdest look imaginable. As I approached the crate, I tripped on a small piece of metal and went flying. I landed on my hands and knees on the bed of my truck and cried out in pain. Somehow, my foot had twisted and I clutched it to my chest and howled, rocking from side to side.

From inside the shipping carton, there was a loud noise, like a whoop. Or a shout. I jumped to my feet in terror and backed away from the carton. Whimpering, I stared at it. There was no more noise, the crate was silent. Maybe it had just been something outside, and I’d thought it was coming from the carton. Swallowing hard, I peeked outside. No one there. Twilight was coming on strong, and I shivered as a strong gust of air blew into the truck. It tugged my shirt up and made a mess of my hair. Blinking, I turned back to the carton.

I didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t ever supposed to open cargo under any circumstances, but this seemed like an exception. And if I didn’t act fast, I’d be trapped in the yard for the night. Even though I’d spent months on the road, the idea of spending one more night away from home was torture. I knew that I had to find out whatever was in that box. Maybe it was nothing, but the noise had really scared me. As quietly as I could, I hopped out of the back of the truck and scurried back around to the cab. I always kept a crowbar on me, and I had to dig around for it under the seat. Months of empty soda cans and juice bottles knocked against my hands as I dug for it. Finally, my hand closed around cold metal. I brought the crowbar to my chest and stalked back to the back of the truck. For some reason, I was almost surprised to see that the carton was still there. It was like part of me had expected it to grow legs and wander off on its own.

As I climbed back into the bed of the truck, I hoisted the crowbar high. It seemed silly to be so afraid—the carton was nailed shut. I knew that whatever was inside wouldn’t exactly be able to burst out and get me. But still, I felt like I should be exercising a lot of caution. I stalked around the carton slowly, trying to discern what was inside. There was no sound whatsoever. Even when I jabbed the side of the box with the crowbar, it was silent. Finally, I was sick of waiting. I pried open the top, then one of the sides. It was dark, and all I could see was a tangle of shadows. Stepping away from the carton, I brandished the crowbar in front of me.

“If you try anything, I’ll kill you,” I hissed as I swung it from side to side. “What’s going on in there?”

There was a sound like a low chuckle or a growl in the dark. I jumped and cried out in fear, swiping the crowbar from side to side. If anything came at me, I was sure I’d be able to defend myself. I wasn’t the strongest person in the world, but years of trucking had made me quick. For a moment, there was nothing. I shivered and shook in my boots as I swiped the crowbar back and forth in front of me. Even if there was only a little puppy inside, I didn’t want it thinking for a second that it would be able to overpower me. After all, I was the one who was in control here. This was
my
rig, this was
my
run.
And this is my time, too
, I thought with a flicker of irritation. If those assholes had actually shown up on time to collect their cargo, I wouldn’t still be waiting here.

From inside the crate, there was a grumbling sound. I jumped up in the air and backed away as far as I could. This sure as fuck wasn’t a puppy. There was a scraping and a rustling and I opened my eyes wide as a man stepped out of the crate. He had to be at least six feet tall, and his biceps were bigger than my head. He was covered in tattoos and had scruffy blond hair that hung a little longer than it should. He looked at me and grinned. I felt my heart seize up. Then, unbelievably, he let out a long wolf whistle and stepped out of the crate. His eyes searched my body, prying at every nook and cranny of my skin. Suddenly, I felt self-conscious about my ripped up jeans and t-shirt. I wished I was wearing something nicer, or that I’d taken the time to shower in the past couple of days.

“Hey there, honey,” he said with a lazy grin on his face. Something inside of me began to melt against my will. When he stepped further into the dim sunlight, I saw bands of black ink crossing his arms. He was clad in dark engineer trousers and a white tank top, and his tan skin practically glowed against the cotton.

“Stay away!” I cried, shaking the bar in front of me. “Don’t try anything!”

The man grinned at me. “Honey, calm down,” he said in a slow, syrupy voice. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” he said. “I just want to stretch out. Can I do that, or are you planning to give me a new orifice?” He gestured to the crowbar that I was still clutching so hard my knuckles were white.

“Fine,” I said in a shaky voice. What the fuck was this? What the fuck was some pervert doing in the back of my truck? It was almost comical, like a rough, fucked-up version of Christmas morning. A very adult version of Christmas morning. I shuddered as I watched the man hop down onto the ground with a surprisingly graceful hop. He stretched out and turned back to face me.

“Honey, you’re a good little actress for one of the girls,” he said.

I frowned. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

He laughed and put his hands up again. I was astounded at their size; he could have crushed my skull like a walnut. The crowbar in my hands suddenly felt light and flimsy, but I still didn’t throw it away. Even though he hadn’t tried anything yet, I had no guarantees for the future.

“Alright, alright, they didn’t send you,” he said, chuckling.