Road to Hell: Trafficked by His Brother

The bunk bed in the long-haul truck creaked as Daniel Evans kissed me passionately, his hot breath making me melt.

"Sophia, I want you with me on every trip from now on."

I squirmed slightly, biting my lower lip as I glanced toward the upper bunk. A pair of eyes peered through the gap in the bed frame, watching us.

"How long will this trip be, Daniel?"

I lay on the bed, catching my breath before getting up to pack his things.

Daniel was a trucker, always on the road, spending more time in his rig than at home.

Each trip kept him away for at least a week, sometimes ten days or more.

When we first married, I thought his job was perfect—good money and the chance to see the country.

But after a few years, I understood the loneliness of a trucker’s wife.

He was rarely home, leaving me alone in an empty bed.

I was a woman with needs. When I was younger, it didn’t bother me much. But now, in my thirties, the hunger grew stronger.

At this age, I should be at my peak, yet I only saw my husband a few times a month.

Watching my friends with their husbands every night, envy gnawed at me.

Worse, years of sitting behind the wheel had taken a toll on Daniel. At barely thirty-five, his stamina was already fading.

When he did come home, he couldn’t satisfy me.

Here I was, in the prime of my life, living like a grass widow.

The intimacy we just shared had been dull, but I faked pleasure to spare his pride.

"This route’s a long one. Round trip will take at least two weeks."

Two more weeks without him. Not enough quality time, and now not even quantity.

"Why don’t you come with me this time?"

What?

Ride along?

I stared at him in surprise.