Truck Stop Tempest

by Daniels, Krissy

  “Erik kept Jonas away, didn’t he?”

  Tuuli nodded, curling into me. I pulled her close and combed my fingers through her messy hair. Was I soothing her, or myself? I wasn’t sure, because at that point, even with my girl tucked against me, I vibrated with rage, and all I wanted to do was hunt that crazy bastard down and make him bleed.

  “NO OFFENSE, TUCK. But there’s a more efficient and effective way to deal with these pestilent bastards.”

  Tucker chuckled, tightening the knot binding dangerdawg69’s hands behind his back. “You mean like shoving their cocks through a meat grinder. One of those old-fashioned hand crank models?”

  I grabbed the unconscious fucker’s ankles. Tucker took the other end, and we hoisted him, with more muscle than necessary, into the small ditch fifty yards behind where his truck was parked. He wouldn’t wake for two hours at least. Not with the shit I’d injected into his neck.

  “Wasn’t what I had in mind, but I like that idea.” I pulled my cap lower and followed Tucker back to the lot. “I’ve killed men for lesser crimes, you know. Made them disappear.”

  “We’re trying to do good here, remember? Believe me, I want to choke the life out of every one of these child rapists. Gotta choose our battles. We’re here to get these girls out of the life. Give them a chance.”

  We stayed in the shadows. Tucker headed back to the cab of dangerdawg69’s truck, while I headed to our unmarked sedan parked closer to the restroom. From my position, I had a full view of the lot. We settled in and waited for the minivan that would deliver our girl.

  I tapped my Bluetooth earpiece. “Tell me again why we aren’t targeting the pimps?”

  “I’ve been a one-man show until now. Couldn’t do it all.”

  I could.

  From my laptop, I entered the chatroom where dangerdawg69 had arranged his date, alerted the pimp that everything was set, and gave him a description of the rig.

  “Right. So, then you’ve got nothing against me messing with them a bit?”

  Tucker laughed. “Define messing with them.”

  “Meat grinder type of shit.”

  After a long silence, and a few heavy breaths, Tuck said, “What you do on your own time is none of my business.”

  Good answer.

  I watched from a safe distance across the parking lot, while Tucker shifted in his seat and tilted his head. “Blue van. On my left.” He flashed his lights twice.

  A blue Sienna rolled into sight, headlights flashing in response, and parked two slots down from Tucker. A girl, I guessed not taller than four-ten slunk out the passenger door, wearing jeans and high-heeled boots. A loose-fitting blouse hung off her shoulders, revealing a bare neck and underdeveloped cleavage. Curly white hair covered most of her face. She’d yet to shed her baby fat, and she still carried that awkward pre-teen self-consciousness like a heavy wool blanket.

  My stomach rolled at the sight.

  Fucking hell. A child. I’d seen dark, disgusting shit in my life. Knew depravity well. Wasn’t a stranger to the sex-trade industry.

  I’d never been ashamed of my sexual proclivities until I watched that girl, that baby, swallow her fear, choke back her tears, and unwillingly head Tucker’s way to trade her body, and her innocence, for a few pieces of green paper that would be snatched from her tiny fingers the moment she returned to that goddamn minivan.

  I wanted to grab the piece of shit sitting behind the wheel and flay him, out in the open, for everyone to see.

  Did that make me a hypocrite? Damn straight.

  Did I give a fuck? Hell, no.

  Over our private connection, I listened while Tucker played his part, luring the girl inside the safety of the cab, putting on a show to make it look like she was performing as instructed. I listened to their exchange, the terror in the child’s voice, the desperation, and I damn near broke.

  When Tucker stuck the needle in her thigh and she fell unconscious against him, he cursed under his breath and mumbled, “Never gets easier.”

  The rustle of clothing and Tucker’s heavy breaths crackled through my earpiece. Then silence. Then, “You’re on, Tito.”

  Hell, yeah. My turn.

  I flipped the switch for the police siren and flashed the blue lights mounted on my dash before pulling forward and rolling through the rows of parked semis straight toward the pimp’s vehicle. Two women scrambled, half-naked, out of two different cabs on opposite ends of the lot and ran into the woods lining the rest stop.

  The blue Toyota tore out of its parking spot and sped toward the freeway on-ramp.

  Too easy.

  I didn’t bother memorizing the license plate. I knew everything I needed to know about the owner. Name. Address. Bank accounts. He had a mother, a sister, and three children with two different women. And he’d not paid a lick of child support in the past seven years. The videos I’d found on Morrison’s computer had already been forwarded to the proper authorities, along with the shithead’s three addresses, and records of every exchange he’d brokered online over the past five years.

  It wasn’t meat grinder retribution, but as Aida reminded me time and time again, we were no longer in the murder and maim business. Blah, blah, blah. Atoning for sins, or something like that.

  I would never admit to Aida that I enjoyed taking someone down for the sheer pleasure of saving a child’s life. I let her believe I was helping Tucker because she’d begged me to join their plight to get these babies off the street. I knew from the beginning she was only trying to get me out of my own head, offering me a new life. What she didn’t know was that Tuuli had already taken care of that.

  My Bunny. Damn, I needed to get home.

  While I provided the distraction with the fake police car, Tucker moved the unconscious girl to our third vehicle. As per our plan, he would drive her back to the Compton Ranch, where she would be well cared for, we would meet up at his parents’ home, get a good night’s sleep, then head back to Whisper Springs.

  I was halfway down the freeway on-ramp when Tucker’s voice broke through my reverie. “Tito. Fuck, man. Get your ass back here. We have a problem.”

  “What’s up?” I snapped, cursing myself for failing to turn off the earpiece.

  “I’ve got ten bikers up my ass. Pissed off fuckers by the looks of it.”

  “Fuck!” I pounded the dash, pulled over, snagged my SIG out of the holder under the seat, and jogged in Tucker’s direction, careful to stay in the shadows.

  Sure enough, Tucker’s truck idled, half pulled out of its parking space, surrounded by a shit ton of angry, leather-clad, Harley-riding motherfuckers.

  Fuck me. I just wanted to get home.

  When one of the men stepped under the light of the street lamp, I caught the symbol on the back of his vest, a skull and snake. Fucking Satan’s Slayers.

  Well, shit.

  “Shit. Shit. Shit.” I apologized profusely and mopped-up the spilled coffee, catching the runoff before it hit my customer’s lap.

  The man simply lifted his plate and scooted to the safety of the next stool. “No harm, no foul,” he said, continuing with the thumb to screen action on his cell like I hadn’t almost ruined his dress shirt. Calm and collected.

  Unlike me, the bumbling mess.

  One week had come and gone. Six days of eight-hour shifts, dinners for one, and worry. One hundred and forty-four hours of no Tito. Two broken glasses, three dropped trays of food, and four jumbled orders.

  Good news? The weather had taken a turn for the better. Spring had sprung, evident by the bright leaves decorating the trees and the bright flower baskets hanging from every storefront lining downtown Whisper Springs. Bad news? My heart had seemingly sprung too—one horrendous, unbearable leak.

  I missed Tito.

  Hard as I tried to stay busy and focused, I couldn’t keep that slow leak sealed.

  “Hey, Tuuli.” Aida’s greeting shot a shiver through my limbs. Despite her beauty, the woman terrified me. Maybe because I’d witnessed wh
at she could do to another human on the night we’d been attacked. Maybe because she was strong, where I was meek. Perhaps because she could crush me with little more than a glance.

  Tossing my dirtied towel in the sink, I turned to greet Aida. I’d expected her usual disapproving scowl but instead found myself face-to-face with chubby cheeks, pouty, heart-shaped lips, and giant doe eyes.

  “Hold her for a sec? I need to pee.” Aida shoved the bundle of pink fluff into my arms and dashed around the corner.

  Lucia squealed, babbled, and cooed. Clearly, she was conversing with me, and undoubtedly, she was saying, “Hi, Tuuli. My mom is really scary, and I’m happy you’re holding me.”

  I buried my nose in her hair, inhaling her yummy scent, then whispered, “Yes. Your mama is scary, sweet pea.”

  I cradled Lucia in my arms and plopped my rear onto an empty barstool. Before I could stop myself, I peppered those puffy cheeks with kisses and studied her perfect skin, her tiny fingers, all ten of them, and the double rolls of baby fat around her wrists.

  The angel in my arms, so perfect and innocent, so vulnerable and full of potential, smiled up at me, her big eyes bright and full of wonder. My heart swelled, knowing Aida trusted me to care for her daughter, despite my upbringing, knowing what I’d been born into, knowing the baggage I dragged around like shackles.

  She trusted me.

  In that moment, with that realization, came the snap of strings, untethering me from my morbid family ties. Snap, snap, snap. My soul felt a little lighter, but I also seemed to dangle. When the last strings snapped, would I float, or would I fall?

  Slade spun through the double doors like a ballerina on crack and shouted, “Where’s that little niece of mine? Hand her over.”

  I laughed and passed Lucia into the eager arms of her aunt.

  Missing the baby’s weight, I headed back to work, unable to shake the looming feeling of dread that’d followed me all day.

  I could feel it coming. It being something terrible, building in the shadows, rolling and swelling like an oncoming thunderstorm.

  Life had been going too well. Things had been too easy.

  Sure, it’d only been weeks that I’d been living in luxury instead of squalor. Days since Tito had made me feel beautiful and wanted and worthy of a man’s attention. In my experience, the good days were few and far between.

  I soaked them up like a gluttonous sponge.

  I was happy. I was warm. I hadn’t suffered a hunger pang in weeks.

  I had friends. A job. Tito.

  Regardless, I could feel that cold, dark cloud lingering over my shoulder, whispering in my ear, I’m coming for you.

  When my shift ended, I peeked my head into Slade’s office to say goodnight.

  Her fingers worked the keyboard, gaze glued to the screen. “Let Roger drive you up the hill. I have to stay late tonight. Payroll.”

  She looked up from her computer in time to catch my eye roll. Home was only a three-minute walk up the hill. You could see the house from the parking lot.

  “Hey.” She raised her palms. “I don’t like it any more than you do, but those boys of ours want to keep us safe. That’s a battle we will never win.”

  I nodded. “‘Night, Slade.”

  I made my way to the back room, fumbled with my locker, clocked out, and headed out the back door to where Roger Caldwell usually parked.

  I thought briefly, and foolishly that maybe that lingering feeling of dread was a bi-product of being tired, or perhaps it was PMS or the fact that I missed Tito.

  I dared to let myself believe that maybe good times could indeed stick around.

  Naive baby.

  Roger’s truck sat empty. Perhaps he was stretching his legs. I walked toward the edge of the lot to catch sight of the lake, and that false security shattered in the blink of an eye.

  Erik’s body cast a dark shadow a split-second before he grabbed my arm. “Tuuli.”

  His pale skin turned yellow and sinister under the glow of the diner sign. He wore all black, from his combat boots to the beanie covering his head, and not his usual designer gear. No. Erik was dressed for dirty work.

  Pinpricks poked at my skin.

  “Aren’t you going to say hello? Give me a proper greeting?”

  Lifting my chin to meet his glare, I asked, “What do you want?”

  “I told your father I’d bring you home tonight. I’ve set the wedding date. We need to make plans. Time for you to come home. You’ve made your point.”

  I stepped back. He followed, jerking my arm.

  “What point would that be?” I asked.

  Erik laughed, clamped his fingers tighter, and dipped his head low. “You got me.” His lips parted in a chilling grin. “I don’t fucking know what point you’re trying to make. I was just playing nice.”

  With no warning, he slapped his hand to the back of my neck and fisted my hair. In one sharp breath, I was on the ground, kicking, clawing, struggling to find purchase, to rise to my feet, to fight, scream, breathe, to not collapse in defeat or fear.

  To find my beast.

  “Ungrateful fucking cunt.” Erik dragged me through the gravel toward the dark edge of the lot, the world spinning, a whirl of dark sky, gravel, trees. Doom.

  His SUV waited in the shadows, a death trap with jaws open to swallow me whole.

  There’s a beast inside you.

  Rocks tore at my knees, my hips. Fire licked my scalp. But I didn’t yield to him. I didn’t cower.

  “Stop! Let go! No, Erik! Help! Somebody, help!” I screamed, and struggled, and clawed at the hand tangled in my hair.

  His grip tightened. He jerked, bending my neck at a sharp angle, forcing me flat to the ground, and clamping his other hand around my throat, squeezing tight.

  Evil, steely eyes glared down at me. “Scream again, and I’ll shut you up for good.”

  I couldn’t breathe. Shards of light danced in my vision. Still, I kicked, and punched, and scratched. Erik was too strong, too large, too full of hate. My desire to live was no match for his need to dominate. No matter how hard I fought, I would never overpower my lifelong tormentor.

  Exhausted, I dropped both hands, palms to the ground, met his glare, and relaxed my body, curling my fingers into the loose dirt.

  The vise around my throat loosened.

  “Good girl,” he growled, leaning foolishly close.

  The moment he released my neck, I shoved two handfuls of gravel in his face, aiming for the eyes. He stumbled back. I rolled, pushed to my feet, and ran.

  The diner door was so close. I reached for the handle. Pulled. With ungodly force, Erik slammed against me, pinning me to the door, knocking the breath from my lungs. “Where do you think you’re going, kiddo?”

  I screamed—twisting, thrashing, fighting. Fighting. Fighting. First punching at the door, then punching at his chest.

  He grabbed my throat with one hand, this time pulling me off my feet, sliding me up until we were face-to-face. I kicked, unsure where I would strike. He countered with a punch to my gut.

  The world blurred. I dangled in his grip, unable to move, unable to curl into the pain. I hung like a tattered rag doll in his strong hold, waiting for the next blow.

  Men’s voices came from somewhere distant. The pounding of feet. Two men ran past, yelling, “Go. Go.”

  The cinch around my neck disappeared. I crumbled on the ground. Gasped for air. Blinked through the fog. Tried to make sense of the scene.

  More footfalls. “Tuuli. Tuuli. Shit. You okay?”

  Tango squatted, hands everywhere, inspecting for injury.

  I was far from okay. Angry. Furious. It wasn’t fear that made me tremble, though. Murderous urges fueled my cells.

  I batted Tango’s hands away and scrambled to my feet, searching the lot. Erik’s Mercedes was gone.

  “You’re safe. He’s gone.”

  Roger came our way, phone in hand. He stood next to Tango, heavy breaths, clothes disheveled. “I’m sorry, Tuuli.
” He bent at the waist, hands to knees. “I’m so sorry. There was a fight out front, or I would’ve been here. I would’ve seen—”

  “Stop. Both of you stop!” I shouted. I needed to go home. I needed Tito. “I’m okay. Really. I’m good. I just want to go home.”

  Tango reached for me. “No, Tuuli, that’s not…”

  “No!” I raised a palm to shut him up. “Follow me if you have to, but don’t coddle. I need to walk.”

  I ignored the heavy footfalls behind me and made the trek across the lot and up the steep incline, my heart heavy, my mind reeling.

  Erik had always been violent. But he’d raised his torment to another level. Something had changed. The dynamic altered. He’d always feared my father too much to leave visible bruises, but now? I pressed my fingers to my throat, then swallowed, testing for damage. Ouch. Aside from the pain, everything seemed to work. No doubt, I’d find ugly marks on my neck in the morning. I cringed but stifled my moan.

  I was so tired. So damn fed up with feeling insufficient and helpless. I fought, and he still overpowered me.

  I stopped dead, letting my thoughts roll over in my head. I fought back. Dear God, I fought back.

  I shook my head, then continued my march up the hill.

  The Brotherhood no longer had power over me. I fought back.

  Despite my chagrin, a smile tugged at my lips.

  Despite my ire, I couldn’t help but smile. Dane had mad skills in the torture and maim department.

  “No more. No more,” the man begged through bloodied lips.

  “From the beginning, motherfucker.” Dane Reynolds stuck the tip of his knife into dangerdawg69, AKA Matt Child’s crotch, piercing the wet denim. “I want names.”

  Matt had ceased to fight against his binds hours ago. Still, he’d been a hard nut to crack, despite having lost one ear, three teeth, and a shit ton of blood. Toothpicks under the fingernails had finally cracked his armor. Everyone had their breaking point.

  “I told you. I didn’t get a name. Just an envelope stuffed with cash and a number to call when I had her.”