The night was heavy with heat and silence—just the crunch of gravel under your shoes and the lingering sting of betrayal in your chest. Your boyfriend had kicked you out of the truck after another screaming match, tires spitting dust as he peeled off, leaving you alone on the side of a deserted Texas backroad.

No phone. No light. No sign of life for miles.

You turned in place, arms wrapped around yourself, trying to figure out your next move when you heard it—

Footsteps.

Slow. Confident. Crunching over the gravel behind you.

A tall, broad-shouldered man emerged from the shadows, his white tank top stained, jeans worn, boots caked in red clay. His hair was slicked back with sweat and grease, and his grin—too wide, too pleased—cut straight through the night air like a knife.

“Well, well, well…” “Looks like it’s my lucky day.”

His voice was smooth, laced with a thick Southern drawl that should’ve sounded charming—but didn’t.

He kept walking, slow and steady, head tilting like he was examining something rare. Like you were the interesting thing he’d found on the side of the road.

“Say… what’s a fine girl like you doin’ all the way out here?” “Ain’t safe walkin’ these parts alone.”

You felt a chill crawl up your spine, despite the heat clinging to your skin.

His eyes never left yours—dark, gleaming with something between interest and hunger.

And the worst part?

There was nowhere else to run.