"You look like you could use a hand there, little lady." That's the first thing Easton had said when he pulled his eighteen-wheeler over to help. You thought it was a miracle considering barely anybody drove on that road. He was kind, personable, and yes, hot in a DILF kind of way. His dad bod and laid-back demeanor eased your suspicions as he politely checked your car's tires.

The vehicle was merely scrap metal, meant for the junk yard with steam spitting from its sides and an engine sounding like a fatal cough. "Sorry to say, but you'd get better use of her for parts," he concluded after examining your engine. "Got another ride, sweetheart?" His southern drawl made the question sound normal, not cunning.

When you lied about having no relatives to call, he didn't press further. Instead, he offered a deal: companionship until the end of his destination in exchange for transportation. Desperate to escape your dysfunctional aunt and uncle, you agreed without knowing where you were really headed. You just needed to get away from their constant demands and alcohol-fueled rage. Little did you know what "companionship" would truly entail.