I had a very unconventional entry into the United States. Jack Grierson and I were on a Boeing 777 freighter that landed at the cargo hub in Columbus, Ohio. Jo Ellen Taggart was on the flight with us. After we landed, she handed me a U.S. passport – it had my picture in it, but it was in the name of Sofia Antoniou.

“You have green eyes, and your skin tone is creamy with olive undertones,” said Jo Ellen. “You can pass for Greek, no problem.”

“But why –” I began.

“Sergei’s men and your al Sura family will be looking for you,” said Jack. “You need a new identity, a fresh start. Do you mind?”

“No,” I said. “Parveen Aziza was a slave. Sofia Antoniou is a free girl.”

“You’re nineteen,” said Jo Ellen. “In a few years, you’ll forget you were a slave girl.”

Jo Ellen had us processed through immigration with our new passports. I wondered what name Jack was using on his new one. She told the immigration officer we were contract workers for Paddy’s security company.

“This is where I leave you,” Jo Ellen said to us once we were landside. “I’ll ship Zainab’s casket to Amy McAdams’ beach house address. Make sure you give her a heads up about it.” She handed Jack a phone and a leather case. “The phone’s a burner.”

“Thanks,” said Jack, unzipping the case and pulling out the gun. “Glock 17.”

“Plus a waist holster and three extended magazines,” she said. “In case you get into an extended firefight. Try not to let that happen.”

“I’ll try,” he said, clipping the holster onto his belt and putting the gun into it. He put the spare magazines into a pocket of his leather jacket.

He put out his hand, but Jo Ellen put her arms around him and hugged him. She buried her face into his neck. He turned her face up and kissed her on the lips. It was prolonged and I could see it was heartfelt for both of them.

“How old is young James now?” he asked.

“Your son is two. Not so terrible, though. He’s a quiet boy – like you must have been.”

“James Taggart. A splendid name. He’s lucky to have you as his mother. He’ll be fine.”

Suddenly tears were running down her face. She didn’t wipe them away, just let them drip off her jaw to the ground. Jack reached forward and wiped them with his hands saying, “Hush, hush.”

“I wish James could know you,” she said, brokenly. “So he could know what a hero he has for a father.”

“You must never tell him,” said Jack. “Your husband is his father. Keep your family together.”

“Goodbye, Jack,” she said, turning away. “I wish … I wish … oh, never mind. Just go.”

She walked away from us with quick steps and did not look back.

We walked toward the exit of the cargo terminal building. I pulled the roller bag with all the new clothes Jack’s team had bought me in Zurich. Jack had nothing, just the contents of his pockets.

“Let’s sit here for a moment,” he said, indicating a line of metal seats in the hall. “I’ll make a few calls to get us situated.”

He pulled out his phone, punched in a number, and waited. When the video call was picked up, I craned my neck over his shoulder to see. It was a tanned woman with dark brown hair and eyes. She was in a restaurant.

“Amber, it’s Jack,” he said. “Where are you now?”

“A truck stop on I-65, just outside Nashville,” she said. “A quick lunch stop on a run to Schenectady, New York. Turbine parts.”

“I have a huge favor to ask, Amber. Feel free to refuse. I’m at the Air Cargo terminal at Rickenbacker Field, off I-270, south of Columbus.”

“I know where it is,” she said.

“Can we hitch a ride with you to Schenectady? I feel guilty asking, there’s danger involved, there’s some nasty guys after us. And I don’t have anything to pay you with.”

She didn’t hesitate.

“The world is full of nasty guys. And it’s only a few miles out of my way. Happy to do it.” She paused and smiled. “It will be good to see you, Jack. It’s been a while.”

“When can you be here?”

“I just had my coffee, should be rolling in a few. I’ll be there in just over five hours.”

“It’s almost four hundred miles,” he said, cracking a smile.

“I won’t stop. Or take my pedal off the metal.”

“I know how fast you drive.” He chuckled. “We’ll wait for you by the truck terminal, out on the open tarmac. We’ll be able to see anyone approaching from quite a way. You still driving that Peterbilt tractor?”

“With all the business you put my way, I traded it in for a new one. Blue with orange flames, pretty distinctive.”

“There are two of us, I’m with a young woman.”

“I would never have guessed,” she said, her tone sardonic.

He cut the line and scrolled through his phone for a moment. Then he pulled out his wallet and counted out his cash.

“Five hours,” he said. “I’ve got a few dollars. We’ll get a few hours of lie-down in a hotel. The Baymont is not far from here. Can you walk a mile or so in those high heels? Then another mile to the truck terminal?”

“Of course,” I said.

As he promised, the Baymont was just over a mile away. Jack checked us in as “Mr. and Mrs. Smith”. He paid cash up front, and the desk clerk did not ask for ID.

“You can have a shower and change, Parveen Aziza,” he said. “It will refresh you after that long uncomfortable flight.”

I unbuttoned my blouse, slowly, slowly to reveal my bra. Then I twirled as I unzipped my skirt, letting both fall to the carpet in the process. I pirouetted on my high heels in my stockings, bra, and panties, batting my eyes at him.

“What are you doing?”

“Sergei taught me to strip for him. He said all men are excited by strippers.”

“I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to.”

“I want to strip for you. And I want you to come into the shower with me – like you did in Zurich.”

“I don’t think you realize what I am. I don’t love you, it’s just sex for me.”

“That’s okay, it’s all I’ve ever known. I’ve never been anything but a piece of property. My father owned me, then my husband, Hamal, then Sergei.”

“I’m no better than them.”

“That’s okay.”

I took his hand and put it on my bra. He kneaded my breasts gently through the silk and lace.

“God, Parveen Aziza! How can your eyes be so innocent and your actions so … so … ”

“Vulgar? Of course they are, Jack, I’m a whore.”

“Don’t say that! Don’t ever say that!”

His tone was so angry that he frightened me.

“If I make you angry, you can hit me, Jack.”

He shocked me by sitting back down on the bed and burying his face in his hands. I tenderly pried his hands off his face and turned it up to me. He was crying.

“You’re a good girl, Parveen Aziza,” he said through his tears. “You’re still a teenager, you should be with a wholesome, young man, someone who deserves you. Not a broken-down old loser like me.” He wiped his eyes. “It will happen, you know. You’ll start life afresh and I’ll just be a bad memory.”

“Oh, Jack, Jack,” I murmured.

I went down to my knees, unzipped his pants, and pulled out his organ. I knew he would be hard, for I was sure my stripping would affect a man like him. I put my lips around his cockhead and began to suck soothingly. As I began to engulf more of him, he gave out a low moan and his fingers entwined themselves in my hair.

He pushed harder and his cockhead reached the back of my mouth. With continued pressure, he stretched my throat, and I began to gag. Sergei was nowhere near as big, and I had no experience of sucking such an enormity.

He backed out and thrust in again. He repeated the motion and soon he was fucking my mouth, steadily and with a rising tempo. I got into the rhythm and held my breath as he thrust in, breathed in as he withdrew, deeper each time. As his cockhead stretched my throat more and more, he whispered, “Relax your throat, just relax, don’t tense up …”

He was fucking my mouth hard now, thrusting in so deep that I had the illusion of feeling him in my chest. His moans turned to groans and I knew he was rising to climax.

He cried out my name as he came, spurting a load of thick, musky semen straight down my throat. I swallowed as hard as I could, but I could not possibly keep up as he kept gushing through several thrusts. His semen was all over my face, globules in my hair, and it was even coursing out of my nostrils.

He sat back and I rested my head on his belly.

“We both really need showers now,” he said.

He picked me up and carried me to the shower. Under the cascading water, I used my hands on him and was able to get him tumescent again. I scissored my legs around his waist, and he fucked me against the tiled wall of the shower. He pounded me harder and harder, quickly driving me up to an orgasm. He didn’t stop, kept driving into me even as the contractions of my pussy squeezed him. I came again and this time he came with me, ejaculating a load only slightly smaller than the first one.

Naked and clean, we pulled back the covers and crawled into bed. He cuddled me and I kissed his hard chest.

“I want to be with you forever, Jack,” I whispered.

“I wish that was possible,” he whispered back. “I’m just grateful for today.”

It was probably more stress than exhaustion, but when I next opened my eyes, Jack was softly shaking me by the shoulder. He was dressed and the in-room coffee maker exuded a wonderful smell. I jumped out of bed, quickly did my ablutions, and joined Jack just as he took his first sip of coffee. With Sergei, I had learned to get ready in a flash.

“You’re looking lovely, Parveen Aziza. I can’t believe you had sleep in your eyes just a few minutes ago.”

“I had a good teacher. If I wasn’t ready and prettified in ten minutes, Sergei beat me.”

“I should have taken a few minutes to smash his face in,” said Jack.

After coffee, I packed my roller bag just as quickly and was ready for Jack. We checked out and I zipped up my jacket against the wind and cold.

“I’m sorry for making you walk to the truck terminal,” said Jack. “But I don’t want to risk using anything that will generate an online receipt, like a rideshare or a rental car. The Russians have very sophisticated internet monitoring tools.”

“I saw you paid for the room with cash,” I said with a smile. “I rather liked my few hours as Mrs. Smith.”

He laughed.

As we walked down the road, Jack took my roller bag and pulled it.

“I want you to know everything about our situation, Parveen Aziza,” he said, as we walked. “Jo Ellen told us that Merkulov’s hitmen tracked us to Zurich. With their resources, it wouldn’t take much to get the flight manifests of every flight that left Zurich for the States in the days after we got there. We’re logged as passengers in the freighter that brought us here to Columbus – not our names, but it’s possible they know we’re here.”

“What will we do?” I asked, worried.

“That’s why I asked Amber to pick us up at the truck terminal. It has an enormous concrete apron surrounding it. We will wait on one side and watch for her truck – blue with painted orange flames. We’ll be able to see anyone approached from a long way off.”

We got to the truck terminal just after six in the evening. I hugged myself against the cold wind and Jack put an arm around me. We waited about half an hour, following each arriving tractor-trailer with our eyes. Darkness fell and the floodlights illuminating the truck terminal powered up.

“There she is,” said Jack, pointing. “Can you see her?”

I saw the blue tractor with the orange flames and waved energetically. Jack laughed at my enthusiasm. The semi came to a halt with a hiss of air brakes a few feet away, and the driver’s door opened. Amber Callahan swung down the steps, landed lightly on her feet, and approached us.

She was a vision in leather – a black leather jacket, leather knee-length skirt, leather choker necklace, leather wristlets, leather backpack, and ankle boots – five-foot-three of coiled strength hidden beneath a Peterbilt hat. Her dark eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint that belied the toughness of her attire. She had small, firm breasts but her nipples hardened in the cold and made prominent outlines in her tank top through her bra. A finely chiseled face, softened by a playful upturned nose, hinted at a hidden vulnerability beneath the worn leather armor. With each rolling stride, she walked a tightrope between ferocity and grace, a lean-hipped warrior princess with a secret smile.

She threw herself at Jack, put her legs around his waist, and he held her up with his hands on her bottom. She kissed him delightedly and he kissed her back. When he put her down, she held his forearm.

“It’s been too long, Jack. Months! I’ve missed you.” (See my story, Big Rig Amber.)

“You’re looking well. Not a single change, still look like a college kid.”

“Who never went to college,” she said laughing. She grew serious. “You’ve got a few more scars – I don’t remember that nick on your temple or that thin white one on your neck.”

“It’s the mileage,” said Jack.

“So who are these nasties after you?”

“Russians. Some Arabs as well. Maybe some others, who knows?”

“Still as popular as well, Jack,” she said. “I thought you paid folks to take care of stuff like that.”

“Long story. No protection anymore, I’m naked. You can walk away, I won’t blame you. These guys play for keeps.”

“That bad, huh?” She smiled. “I’ve got a handgun on my belt and a shotgun in the cab. I’ve been on the road for years, handled my share of trouble.”

“I really appreciate it. I wouldn’t put you at risk if I had any other choice.”

“I’m five and half hours out of Nashville without a stop. I need to hit the head. I’ll be right back.”

She walked away toward the truck terminal a hundred yards away. She had just entered it when Jack’s phone buzzed.

“Yes,” he said, swiping open the video call. I crowded next to him and looked at the screen. It was Jo Ellen and she looked tense.

“I just got this,” she said, her voice urgent. “Two of Merkulov’s shooters landed in Rickenbacker a few hours ago. They’re probably asking about the two of you as we speak. Keep your eyes open for them.”

“Thanks, Jo Ellen. I was worried about that. We need a few more minutes to disappear off the grid.”

“Get going.” She cut the call.

Jack’s precautions paid off – we saw the car’s headlights as it turned off the access road onto the wide concrete apron, still several hundred yards away from us.

“This looks like trouble,” he said. “Get out of sight, behind Amber’s semi. If anything happens to me, just run. And keep running, don’t look back.”

“But, Jack, let them take me back to Sergei. I want you to be safe –”

“Don’t argue, Parveen Aziza. Just do as I say.”

His expression was hard and uncompromising, so I did as he said. The car stopped about fifty yards away and two men spilled out. They had guns in their hands and then Jack was shooting at them. The sound of the shots was abrupt, ‘pow’, ‘pow’, ‘pow’, and carried in the cold air. Jack hit one of the gunmen, who fell. But the other moved sideways quickly, began firing back, and hit Jack. He staggered, his gun arm drooped, and the gunman closed in for the kill.

I was about to run out, hoping to create a diversion when the second gunman suddenly stopped. His mouth opened in a wordless cry, and he fell to his knees. Amber came running up from behind him, a gun in her right hand, and a long metal tire iron in her left. She swung the tire iron in a vicious arc and smashed the back of his head. He fell forward onto his face and was still.

Amber and I converged on Jack, who was on his knees, his left hand clutching his right shoulder. His gun had slipped out of his hand and was on the ground beside him. His teeth were set and there were lines of pain on his face.

“You’ve been shot,” said Amber, putting an arm around him.

“Just a flesh wound,” he gritted out. “The bullet went right through. Check on the guy I hit.”

“Help him up,” she said to me. “I’ll go check on the guy.”

I put Jack’s good left arm around my shoulders and grunted as I took part of his weight. He recovered surprisingly quickly as we slowly followed Amber. We were almost with her when she pointed her gun and fired a round into the man on the ground.

“You got him pretty good,” she said as we got to her. “Two hits, chest and belly. He was sinking fast. I put him out of his misery.” She looked over at him. “We need to get these stiffs back in the car and drive it over the berm out of sight. That way, they may not be found till morning. It will buy us a few hours. Can you help me?”

“I’ll manage,” said Jack, his voice strained.

“I’ll help,” I volunteered.

“Good,” said Amber. “You work with Jack to get this guy into the car, I’ll get the other one.”

I took the man’s...