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Broken Down on Route 9: 1

Author: LiahđŸ„°
last update publish date: 2026-08-09 21:23:04

Engine Failure, Open RoadđŸ’ŠđŸ«ŠđŸ˜œ

The engine died with a cough and a long, defeated sigh.

I steered the car onto the gravel shoulder while it still had enough momentum, headlights cutting weak yellow cones through the dark. Rain tapped the windshield in uneven rhythms. The dashboard lights flickered once and went black—no cell service. The last bar had disappeared ten miles back. Route 9 at 11:40 p.m. was nothing but blacktop, pine trees, and the kind of quiet that made you hear your own pulse.

I
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  • Mummies and their Badboys   Mummy’s Little Criminal: 3

    Neighborhood EyesđŸ’ŠđŸ«ŠđŸ’§The message glowed on my phone in the dark.Unknown: Cute show with the bat and the silk cords. The way you made him count was especially clear. Keep the little criminal. Or the video of everything that just happened goes straight to the neighborhood watch group chat and the police tip line before sunrise.I sat up in bed, heart slamming. Jax was still on the floor at the foot of the mattress, lying on his back as ordered, eyes open now and watching me.“What is it?” he asked, voice rough from sleep and everything I had done to him.I turned the screen so he could see. He read it once, then again. His jaw tightened.“Someone was outside the glass door,” he said. “The whole time.”“Yes.”He sat up slowly, the red marks from the cuffs still visible on his wrists. “What do you want to do?”I looked at him, naked, marked, still sticky in places from me, and at the dark window that faced the side yard. The blinds were only half closed. Anyone standing in the narrow

  • Mummies and their Badboys   Mummy’s Little Criminal: 2

    Kneeling at the Foot of the BedđŸ’ŠđŸ«ŠđŸ˜œI left the bedroom door open on purpose.From the top of the stairs, I listened to the quiet sounds below, the soft drag of fabric, the careful movement of someone whose wrists were still bound, the low hiss of a paper towel against hardwood. Jax was doing exactly what I had told him. Cleaning the mess. Preparing to climb the stairs.I stepped into my bedroom, turned on the single low lamp on the nightstand, and waited.Five minutes later I heard his footsteps on the stairs. Slow. Careful. He appeared in the doorway with his jeans still open, cock soft and shiny, the black silk cords still tight around his wrists behind his back. His eyes found me immediately. I sat on the edge of the bed in nothing but the open robe, legs crossed, the baseball bat leaning against the wall within easy reach.“On your knees,” I said. “Right there. Foot of the bed.”He crossed the room and dropped to his knees on the rug, spine straight, shoulders back. The position

  • Mummies and their Badboys   Mummy’s Little Criminal: 1

    Caught in the ActđŸ’§đŸ«ŠđŸ’Šâ€œOn your knees. Now.”I stood in the doorway of my own living room with the baseball bat resting against my shoulder. The alarm was still shrieking upstairs. The sliding glass door to the patio hung open, rain blowing in across the hardwood. And the boy who had just tried to rob me was frozen halfway to the exit, black hoodie pulled up, a laptop bag that wasn’t his clutched in one gloved hand.He turned slowly, early twenties, sharp face and dark eyes that flicked from the bat to my face and stayed there. I recognized him. The same kid the neighborhood watch group chat had posted about twice, stolen catalytic converters, a broken garage window two streets over. The one the police never quite caught.“Mrs. Langford,” he said, voice low. “Didn’t know anyone was home.”“Clearly.” I didn’t lower the bat. “Drop the bag. Hands where I can see them.”He hesitated, then set the laptop bag on the floor and raised both hands. The gloves were cheap black leather, a thin s

  • Mummies and their Badboys   Closing Time at Harper’s Books: 3

    Cameras and Closing ArgumentsđŸ’ŠđŸ˜œđŸ«Šâ€œFive-thirty. Don’t be late.”Ash’s text was the first thing I saw when I unlocked my phone the next afternoon. The shop had been quiet all day. I had avoided the counter as much as possible. Every time I looked at the wood I remembered the exact place his hands had held me, the exact sound the register had made when my hip bumped it.At 5:25 the bell over the door chimed. Ash stepped in wearing the same leather jacket, hair still damp from the rain that hadn’t stopped since last night. He locked the door behind him without asking and flipped the sign to CLOSED an hour early.“Is Richard still coming at six?” he asked.“Yes.”“Then we have thirty minutes to deal with the cameras.”I led him to the small back office. The old security system my husband had installed sat in a gray metal box on the wall, four cameras, one of them aimed directly at the register and the counter where everything had happened. Ash opened the box like he had done it before,

  • Mummies and their Badboys   Closing Time at Harper’s Books: 2

    Spare Key and Stolen MinutesđŸ’ŠđŸ«ŠThe key turned in the lock with a soft, metallic click.I yanked my sweater down over my bare breasts and shoved my panties into the pocket of my skirt just as the front door swung open. Rain blew in with the man under the black umbrella. Ash had already stepped back behind the tall poetry shelf, out of the direct line of sight from the entrance. The counter still smelled like us. A faint wet spot darkened the wood where he had left me.“Nora.” Richard shook the umbrella out onto the mat, then closed the door behind him. “I saw the lights. Figured you were still finishing up. I brought the last box of partnership files from the storage unit. Thought we could sort them tonight and finally close the account.”He set a cardboard box on the nearest display table. Water dripped from his coat onto the hardwood. He was fifty-four, neat, the same careful man who had helped my husband build the side business that never quite took off. He still had the spare key

  • Mummies and their Badboys   Closing Time at Harper’s Books: 1

    Last Customer, Locked DoorđŸ’ŠđŸ«ŠThe bell over the door chimed one final time at 8:47 p.m.I didn’t look up from the register right away. The last of the evening browsers had drifted out into the rain ten minutes earlier, leaving the shop in that particular quiet that only comes after a long day of pages turning and soft conversations. I was counting the till, stacking the tens and twenties in neat, practiced piles the way I had every night for twelve years, when the soft scrape of a boot on hardwood told me I wasn’t alone.“We’re closed,” I said, still watching the bills under my fingers.“I know.”The voice was low, familiar, roughened by the weather outside. I raised my eyes. Ash stood on the other side of the counter, rain still beading on the shoulders of his black leather jacket and darkening the ends of his hair. Twenty-four. Sharp jaw. A thin scar through one eyebrow that he never explained. Tattoos peeked from the cuffs of his sleeves, ink I had noticed every time he came in ov

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