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Coups de cœur Cultura
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Candace slipped between two abandoned trucks and made her way around to the back of the main building of the truck stop. The building cast long shadows among the scattered wood pallets, junked trucks and oil barrels. A long wooden fence ran around most of it, blocking the view from the highway. She hurried over next to the wrecked front end of a big tractor cab and squatted down close to the ground, balancing against one of the tractor's tires with one hand. She finished and had just stood back up, fastened the snap on her jeans, when she felt the cold barrel of a pistol touch her neck.
"Well look at this," a low voice said, "Ain't you something."
Candace's heart crashed hard against her ribs. Her fingers, in the act of tugging her zipper home, froze. She sucked in a breath and tried to quiet her racing heart. Her voice sounded shaky to her ears as she spoke.
"What... What do you want?" she managed.
"Wha... What do you want," the voice mimicked. "What do you think that I want?" he asked. One hand stroked lightly against her face, leaving the feel of calloused fingers and the smell of unwashed flesh.
"I think you know, Missy. I think you know." His hand dropped down to her thigh and caressed it roughly, then moved around to her hand still frozen on the zipper "What's this?" he whispered in her ear. His breath smelled of rotting teeth and rancid food as it blew across her face.
