Skulls & Crossbones

by Andi Marquette

  Shelly quickly pulled the sweatshirt over her head and sighed in apparent relief. Chris gazed out the windshield as though she hadn't just been cruising Shelly's hot body.

  "Thank you so much. I have to say, I didn't think I'd be spending my night in a trucker's cab." Shelly turned back toward Chris with a smile.

  Chris's breath caught. Shelly had a dimple on one side and a gorgeous smile. Chris couldn't tell what color her eyes were in the dark, but from the golden color of her hair she would guess blue. An ache started between her legs, and she shifted to move the seam of her jeans away from her clit. "Well, it isn't luxury, but it works for me. Where were you headed?"

  "I was on my way to Golden to see some friends for the weekend. I've already called them, and they offered to come get me, but I don't want to leave my car here. I'm so glad you came along. I wasn't thrilled about sitting in the car by myself."

  "No problem. When the rain hits like this, it's too hard to stop the rig if it starts to hydroplane. Far better to sit here with attractive company 'til it passes." Chris grinned and waited to see if Shelly took the bait.

  "Very true," she said, her eyes traveling a blatant path over Chris's body. When their gazes locked again, Chris knew the night would be far better than she could have hoped.

  They made small talk for a while, going over what it was like to be a trucker, why Shelly had decided to drive to Golden even with a bad weather forecast, where they were from.

  Shelly's cell phone flashed on, the ringtone from the James Bond movie Die Another Day filling the cab. Chris laughed, and Shelly shrugged sheepishly as she answered.

  "Oh. Okay. Yeah, of course. It's not like I can go anywhere. Right. Thanks." Shelly hung up, and Chris could see her frustration.

  "The tow truck can't be here for another hour. I know you probably have to get going. I can go back to my car, especially now that I'm dry and warm." Chris shook her head. "No, really. Like I said, I don't want to drive in this, either. It's no big deal. And I don't get company very often. This is nice."

  "I'm sure you have company occasionally," Shelly said, grinning mischievously.

  "Well, yeah, okay. Maybe a bit. But not anyone to talk to," Chris said, staring Shelly in the eye, daring her to make the next move.

  Shelly glanced around the cab. She nodded at the curtain behind the seats. "Does that lead to your cargo? Or to somewhere to sleep?" Chris raised an eyebrow. "To my bed. Wanna see?"

  Shelly cocked her head to the side, her eyes narrowing as she stared back at Chris. "Yes. Yes, I'd like to see."

  Chris leaned over, shoved the curtain aside, grabbed Shelly's hand, and guided her behind the seats.

  "Holy shit," Shelly said. "I had no idea you had a house in this thing."

  Chris smiled with pride. When she had bought her own rig, she had spent a lot of money making it shine so she could get good contracts on her long-haul runs. The wood finish, the best technology, and the most comfortable bed she could buy were her rewards to herself for doing a long, lonely job.

  Keeping hold of Shelly's hand, she led her to the back of the room to her bed, still unmade from the day before.

  She moaned when Shelly pushed against her and kissed her, hard. She grabbed Shelly's slim hips and pulled her tightly to her, pressing her down on the bed. Her lips tasted of warm coffee and, as they kissed, she pulled Shelly's tongue into her mouth. She yanked the borrowed sweatshirt off and pulled one breast from its lace enclosure.

  "I thought truckers were overweight chain-smokers with hardly any conversational skills. How is it that your body is so hot and you don't taste like cigarettes?" Shelly asked, pushing Chris down on the bed and straddling her. Pulling Chris's wrists above her head, she lowered her breast to Chris's mouth, moaning as Chris's tongue made a lazy sweep over her nipple. Shelly released Chris's hands, and Chris wrapped them in Shelly's still-damp blonde hair. Then, she closed her eyes.

  "I work out whenever I can. I use gyms at truck stops, or even just do some exercises in my cab. I don't want to be . . . uh"—she paused as Shelly's mouth hovered over her and pulled her hands back over her head—"fat." Chris's eyes snapped open as cold metal snapped against her wrists and held them to the metal headboard.

  "Hey, I'm all for fun and games, baby, but you could have warned me," Chris said, suddenly uneasy.

  Shelly moved back, and Chris flinched. Shelly's face had gone from open and friendly to closed and remote. She stood up and pulled the borrowed sweatshirt back on and Chris again saw the skull and crossbones tattoo on Shelly's shoulder.

  "Sorry, sweetie, can't do that. You see, while we've been having our fun in here," she said with a smile as Chris pulled at the cuff s, "my crew has been unloading your rig."

  "God-fucking-dammit. Let me up right now," Chris yelled.

  Shelly leaned down and gave Chris a noisy kiss on the cheek, then stepped quickly aside to avoid Chris's elbow as she lashed out as best she could. "The tow truck will be here soon. Of course, my car won't be here, but I'm sure the driver will check to see what the deal is with your rig. Struggling is only going to hurt your wrists. And I don't suggest you try to come looking for us. It would be bad for your health." Shelly paused and looked into Chris's eyes to be sure she understood.

  "Thanks for the entertainment, gorgeous," Shelly said before ducking back through the curtain. Chris heard the truck door slam, and she groaned, letting her head drop back onto her pillow.

  "Fuck."

  Shelly ran through the rain to her front man, Randy, pulling up the hood on the sweatshirt Chris had given her. "Ready?" she yelled over the pounding rain.

  "Yup. Just got the last one in. Driver?"

  "Taken care of. Someone'll find her in about half an hour."

  He nodded, and they both flinched as lightning lit the sky like a torch, followed by thunder that rattled the ground under their feet.

  "Let's get the fuck out of here," Randy said, sprinting to the large, black big rig. Shelly saw someone's silhouette in the passenger seat and gave a quick wave to Reece before running back to the Lexus. One of the crew had already dropped the hood and left the keys in the ignition.

  Shelly pulled out after the rig and looked in her rearview mirror at the now empty rig behind her. A quick pang of guilt hit her stomach as she thought of Chris's hot body lying there tied down, but then she focused on keeping to the road. She glanced at the tiny silver skull and crossbones pendant hanging from her mirror and sighed. Sometimes this job sucked.

  "Damn it all to hell," Chris said, flinging the wrench against the wall.

  A co-worker looked at her over his girlie magazine. "It's not your fault, you know. Well, it is, but it's not, you know?"

  Chris glared at him. "You mean, if I hadn't wanted to fuck some hot road pirate, I wouldn't have lost the shipment?"

  He shook his head and went back to his magazine, probably sensing it was useless to talk to Chris when she was fired up.

  "Chris! Get up here!" her boss yelled from the office above the service garage.

  Chris ran a hand over her face before trudging up the stairs. She'd been waiting for the boss to call her in and fire her. Evidently, the time had come. "Sit down," Paul Mcleevy said from behind his desk, not bothering to look up from his paperwork.

  "Just fire me and be done with it, Paul. Save the speech about how great I've been and just get it over with." Chris ignored the guy sitting against the wall, who was watching the scene with great interest.

  "Shut up, Connelly. I've had to write up a report, and, of course, it has to go in your file. I don't know what the fuck you were thinking. You know better than to pick up anyone while you're on a run. I don't have a choice. I'm sorry. I can't give you any more contracts, and I can't recommend you to anyone else, either."

  Chris nodded glumly, staring at her boots. Getting another job with this on her record would be a nightmare, if not impossible.

  "Good. This is a detective from the Denver Police. He's going to take your full statement and see if you c
an describe the woman who distracted you." Paul avoided her gaze as he stormed from the office.

  Chris sat with the detective and told him the whole story. When he asked about any specific markings the woman might have had, Chris mentioned the pirate tattoo on Shelly's shoulder blade and the cute dimple in her cheek. She flushed when the detective raised an eyebrow, irritated that she could still find something hot about the woman who, most likely, had ended her career.

  Shelly sighed and leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping her beer. "When are they due in?" she asked, stifling a yawn.

  "About two hours from now. They hit the storm coming in and were diverted to New Mexico. They're driving up from there, and promised they'd be here today no matter what."

  Shelly nodded and let her eyes drift shut. Images of Chris Connelly assaulted her—her smell, the handsome, muscular body, her dark eyes, and spiky hair. The way her eyes darkened as she sucked Shelly's nipple into her hot mouth.

  She cursed and shoved away from the kitchen counter.

  "What's up?" Randy said, staring at Shelly as she paced.

  "Nothing," she said, slamming her beer on the table before she walked out. She flung herself onto her couch and stared out the window at the Boulder hills. Soft sunlight bathed the trees in an orange glow, making everything surreal.

  She flopped onto her stomach and traced circles in the carpet with her fingertip. From the moment she had driven away from Chris's empty rig, she had felt myriad emotions. One moment she was elated at the haul they had taken, the next she felt a gnawing sense of guilt and frustration that she couldn't get Chris out of her head. Replaying the scene night after night left her wet and agitated.

  She lifted her head slightly at the sound of the doorbell. When she heard Randy greet her buyers, she forced herself off the couch and padded barefoot into the hallway.

  "Shelly, love. How the hell are you?" Domenic swung her in a wide circle, his heavy African accent making her smile, despite her surly mood. "All right. A good haul," Shelly said.

  "So I've heard, beautiful. This is a friend of mine, and we have some business matters to discuss with you. If you have time, of course," he said, bowing his head respectfully.

  "If you trust him, that's good enough for me," Shelly said, leading the way into the comfortable and spacious living room. She watched as Domenic's friend glanced around, his expression guarded and alert. He turned slate-grey eyes to her and stared at her for a long moment. She stared back impassively, used to the concerns men had about dealing with her. At only five-foot-five inches and with a petite build, she looked non-threatening. It had served her well in her work, as people constantly underestimated her. An image of Chris lying under her flashed through her mind.

  Shelly sat down in the comfortable chair in front of the sliding doors, aware that she would be backlit by the sun so her expression would be harder to see.

  Randy offered drinks and brought them in from the kitchen before leaning against the doorway casually, blocking the exit without seeming to. "Shelly, you know this shipment will last us for some time. It's a wonderful gift. But I've run into a bit of a problem," Domenic said, crossing and uncrossing his legs. "Oh?" Shelly said, leaning forward slightly.

  "You know I've been trying to cut costs. I've let most of my staff go. I even had to sell my last plane. I can't afford to ship the cargo you're getting for me."

  Shelly watched as he took a deep breath and looked away from her for the

  first time. She had known Domenic for the last ten years, and knew that his admission had cost him some pride. He was the one who had taken her to get her pirate tattoo so many years ago. "And I assume this is where your friend here comes in?"

  He nodded. "He has a plane. He has boats. All he asks is twenty-five percent of whatever cargo we ship. Then he'll ship the rest to our destination."

  Shelly stared at the so-called friend, who stared back at her impassively. "Twenty-five? Not a chance. I'll get a plane and fly the shit over myself, if that's what it takes. Not a fucking chance." She stood and stared out the window, waiting.

  "Twenty, then." The stranger's gravelly voice made her cringe.

  She turned and faced him with her arms crossed. "Ten. That's it. No more. And if the shipment arrives with less than it should, I will find you." She said it simply, with her tone empty of emotion. She watched as he swallowed and glanced away. "That's robbery. Ten percent won't pay for my fuel."

  Shelly laughed. "That's the game, friend. I guess we're done. Domenic, we'll find a way. You don't need to deal with people who will rob us blind." Domenic shifted in his chair, and tried not to meet anyone's gaze.

  "Fine. Ten percent. But you get it to my ship or my hangar, however you're sending it. I won't pay to have it brought to me as well." The man stood up and shoved his hands in his pockets, his jaw muscles clenching visibly. "Done." Shelly shook his hand and squeezed it tightly. "Don't doublecross me, friend. You'll be very sorry." He yanked his hand back and moved away.

  Domenic hugged her fiercely. "Thank you, beautiful. I knew you'd come through. You always do."

  "You know, Dom, I wish you had come to me first. We might have worked something out without having to go outside. But I'll get this shipment to the port, and we'll talk about the future later, okay?" She hugged him back and then nodded toward the door.

  Chris was in the back of her rig, wiping down the walls in an attempt to keep busy.

  "Excuse me," a low voice said behind her.

  Chris tensed. That same voice played in her dreams every night, making her wet and angry.

  She turned around slowly and felt her clit twitch. "What the fuck? I should go and call the cops right now," Chris said, surprised by the venom in her own voice.

  "I need to speak with you, if you have a moment. I have a business proposition for you. Then, if you want to call the cops, you are free to do so."

  "Gee, thanks. I don't think I need your permission to report you for robbing me," Chris said, nearly shaking with rage. Why did Shelly have to look so damn good in her jeans and tank top? Why did her hair look so thick and gorgeous, just inviting Chris to run her hands through it?

  Chris jumped off the rig and walked past Shelly, when a firm hand grabbed her own.

  "Please hear me out. If we can't come to an agreement, I'll return your entire shipment to you by tomorrow. Every box," Shelly said. "What?" Chris stopped and stared at her, stunned.

  "Come have coffee with me and hear me out." Shelly said it quietly, and Chris sensed the desperation behind the words.

  She took her hand out of Shelly's, and pulled the door of her rig shut then slammed the lock into place. She walked stiffly past Shelly and headed for the coffee shop around the corner. Chris didn't care that she was leaving Shelly behind, but she still desperately hoped she followed.

  Shelly took a deep breath and steadied herself. The hard part was over. She knew the risk she ran by tracking Chris down, but she knew there was no one else she could go to. She didn't know Chris at all, but after running a quick Google search, she found that Chris was involved in plenty of charities. She slid into a chair at the table where Chris was already seated, drumming her fingers. Shelly forced down her desire to grab Chris's hand off the table and suck on those strong, long fingers one at a time. Business first. They ordered their coffees, and Chris leaned back, folding her arms over her chest. "So, start talking."

  "You do volunteer work for Truckers for Tots, don't you?" Shelly asked.

  "What? Yeah, so? I don't think you asked me here to talk about my being a good Samaritan."

  "Actually, I did. Your cargo that I obtained—"

  "Stole. Ripped off . Not obtained."

  Shelly nodded her understanding. "Do you remember what it was?"

  Chris looked at Shelly incredulously. "Lady, why the hell are you here?"

  "Humor me. Do you remember?"

  "It was clothing. I was taking it to one of those big chain stores. Why?" Shelly nodded and took a deep breath. "I wa
nt you to join my crew." She held up a hand as Chris burst into laughter. "I want you to drive for us. I have cargo that needs to get to a port. I have an old rig that I can't trust to make it, and obviously I don't want it breaking down. I'll pay you well."

  Chris leaned forward and rested her arms on the table. She watched as Shelly's eyes flicked down to her arms, to her chest, and then to her face. "First of all, why? Why would you hire someone you ripped off , someone who could turn you in to the police at any given moment? And second, why the fuck would I want to be a criminal?"

  Shelly took a long sip of coffee, her head tilted to the side as she considered her answer. "First of all, because I have a feeling about you, and my gut instincts are never wrong. And, if I'm not mistaken, you're not actually making any money right now, thanks to me. Plus, you take care of your rig and like being on the road. I know you would get your cargo where it needed to go."

  Chris winced at the compliment, knowing that the reason she had failed to deliver her cargo for the first and last time was sitting across from her. "And, second, because when you're a criminal for the right cause, then it doesn't matter if the world thinks you're a criminal. What matters is that you're doing what is right," Shelly said quietly, never taking her eyes off of Chris's. "So, what, you're fucking Robin Hood?"

  "No, not fucking him. Any cargo my crew and I take, we ship to countries in need. Countries that can't afford a hundredth of what we can here. We send clothes, food if we can get it, and we've even managed to send some computers to schools in Africa. I'm not saying we don't profit from it—we all have to eat and we have to be able to run the company. Which is why I can make it worth it." Shelly stopped talking and looked out the window, giving Chris some time to take in all she had said.

  Chris stared at the woman across the table from her. Shelly's golden hair sat in waves around her face, and her eyes sparkled in the afternoon sun. She was pissed at herself for even noticing how hot Shelly looked in her tight tank top.