Truck Stop Tempest

by Daniels, Krissy

  “Why do you want me? I’m gonna destroy you. Like everything in my life, I’ll ruin you.”

  Ruin me. Destroy me. Tear me to shreds. Bring it on.

  Yes, he held my heart in his powerful fist. Yes, he had the power to crush that tiny organ to dust. Didn’t matter. Because I knew every time I shattered, he would collect all the pieces and put me back together.

  My back slammed against the brick, again and again. His thrusts were violent, breaths ragged, words filthy.

  We were not making love. Not even close. Tito was purging. Hurting. He was angry and raw, and I was merely the punching bag absorbing his blows.

  I didn’t cry out. I didn’t stop him. I hated his pain, but I loved that he used me to purge. My back burned, but I wanted more. I wanted all his unbridled, honest emotion.

  Strong fingers dug into my ass. I bit my lip to silence the scream. He slapped the wall above my head with his free hand before gripping the hair at my nape and pulling, forcing my head back, exposing my neck. He buried his face there, his breaths a thunderous roar in my ear.

  His body tensed, then trembled, and with brutal thrusts he came, crushing me with his hips, clinging to me like I was his last tether to Earth. He breathed, and squeezed, and vibrated against me.

  It was then I noticed the bruises. The cut lip. The dark circles under his eyes.

  His unshaved mug, hot and scratchy, was a balm beneath my fingertips. I held him face-to-face, asking without words, what just happened?

  I’d never seen eyes so dark and hollow. The Tito I knew wasn’t the man staring back at me. I traced the deep lines across his forehead. He gave nothing.

  “Tito.” I kissed the corner of his mouth. “Come back to me, please.”

  He blinked, jaw muscles working under my hands. “Did I hurt you?” He dropped me like I’d scorched him, then held me at arms’ length, stormy eyes inspecting me.

  I shook my head.

  “Fuck. Fuck!” Tito turned his back, yanking his jeans over his ass, then grabbed a wad of paper towels. He cleaned between my legs with gentle strokes and trembling hands, then helped me step into my clothes while I steadied myself on his shoulders.

  So many questions. So many things I wanted to say. The words gathered so fast, they clogged my throat before making their exit.

  “Tuuli…” He backed away, gaze dropping to the ground. “I—”

  “What happened?” I interrupted, grabbing his wrists to halt his retreat. “Where’d you go just now?”

  Agony shaded his features, tearing my guts out. “I never should’ve come here. Not when my head is such a mess.”

  “Don’t say that. Please. You can always come to me.”

  “You weren’t safe.” He dragged swollen hands through his hair. “Fuck. I could’ve hurt you.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  He gnawed his bottom lip, then paced the room, hands to hips. Back and forth. Breathing deep.

  “Tito. You’re scaring me.”

  He stopped. Dropped his hands, his shoulders, his chin. Three deep breaths and his eyes met mine. “Can I kiss you?”

  He didn’t want a kiss. He wanted to talk. Confess. Our game was the only way he knew how.

  I played along. “Tell me something I don’t know about you. Something big.”

  Another deep breath. Tito nodded as if he needed to convince himself to speak, then lifted those dark eyes to mine, holding me captive. “When I was eleven, I killed the priest who raped me.”

  The Earth slipped away. I stumbled backward, the brick wall catching my fall. “What?”

  I’ll kill Jeremy Carver and burn that church to the ground.

  The room spun. A sharp pain twisted my insides.

  Jeremy Carver found dead. Gruesome and inhumane.

  “Bunny. Say something.” He reached for me.

  I slapped his hand away.

  A priest? He killed a priest? God, he’d tried to warn me, that morning on the running trail. My secrets will hurt you. My truths will be the end of us.

  “Baby. Don’t shut down on me,” he begged. “You said you wanted every dirty piece of me, remember?”

  Oh, God. Oh. God. His bruises. His torn-up hands. No. No, no, no. “You killed Jeremy.”

  His head snapped up. “What?”

  “Was it you?” A vicious rumble started in my chest, rising, rising. Spilling over.

  “Jesus, Tuuli. No.” He shook his head, backing away. “You can’t think I’d—”

  My palm met his cheek, the crack loud and grotesque. “You killed Jeremy Carver!” I screamed, releasing all the ugly, vile emotions I’d stockpiled, regretting my outburst the second I made contact.

  His head jerked to the left. The air turned frigid.

  Oh, God. I wanted to scream and cry. Throw punches. Make him hurt like I hurt because he was killing me. Why would he go after Jeremy? Why would he risk everything? Risk us? Why?

  Tito dragged his tongue along his lower lip, chest rising and falling, fist clenched. I waited, razor-spiked blood pounding through my skull, the air roaring between us, thunderous and devastating.

  “Tito,” I whispered, hating the disconnect, desperate to understand his motives. “Why?”

  He turned, dark eyes aimed over my head and moved past me, dragging all my oxygen with him. I couldn’t watch. I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t wait for him to leave. I couldn’t let him go.

  He reached the door. His body coiled.

  With a roar so loud, guttural, and pained I felt it in my toes, he threw his fist through the heavy wood, effectively leaving a hole in my chest.

  Then he was gone.

  “GET UP.” A BLACK painted toenail dug into my ribs.

  “Nah, I’m good.” My words slurred, the right side of my face numb and uncooperative. I could always count on Aida for a good fist-to-face therapy session. Princess had a deadly left hook and a knack for knocking demons loose.

  I stretched on my back, the training mat a perfect cushion to lay my head and lick my wounds.

  Aida stood over me, ignoring my glare, then planted a bare foot on my chest. “So, you confess to killing a priest, but when Tuuli asks if you murdered that Carver fucker, you get butt-hurt and put a hole through the wall?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Fucking idiot.” She made a tsk sound, cocking her head. “Have you talked to her yet?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  Good question. “It’s better this way.”

  “Oh, grow a pair, will ya?” She dug her heel into my chest, shaking me. “Stop being a whiny bitch.”

  “Get off me,” I growled, shoving at her shin.

  “No.” The pressure on my torso increased.

  “Princess. I’m not in the mood.”

  “Don’t care.”

  Aida knew damn well I could take her down with a flick of my wrist, but she pushed anyway, confident, and rightly so, that I’d never do a fucking thing to hurt her.

  “Go to her now and make things right.” She slid her foot to my throat and slowly shifted her weight, a reminder that she could end my life were she so inclined.

  “You two about done?” Tucker’s deep voice boomed through the room. “Mom and Dad will be here soon.”

  Lucia squealed in her papa’s arms, bouncing and pumping her fists when she spied her mother.

  I almost laughed at the sight of Tucker and the baby. He wore khaki utility shorts and a faded Toby Keith concert tee. Lucia donned beige leggings with the same damn shirt as her pops but in mini size. Both of them wore baseball caps with the Slade Trucking logo on the front.

  Aida dropped low, her knees bracing my shoulders, her full ass resting on my gut, then gripped my chin and pinched hard, cutting me down with her cold, hard death stare. “She loves you, Tits. She’s no stranger to violence and death. Tell her who you are.” She fell forward, dropped a kiss on my forehead, and hopped to her feet. “Give her a chance to decide if she can live with your past or not.”

/>   It was the not that scared the shit out of me. I stared at the ceiling, fighting a shiver.

  What if the church girl couldn’t live with a reaper?

  I poked at the sore spot on my lip, rolled to my stomach, and pushed to hands and knees.

  Tucker surrendered the baby to Aida, kissed them both, and watched with a dumbass smile on his face as they disappeared down the hall.

  He turned to me, wearing a judgmental glare. “You look like shit. And I don’t mean the bruises on your face.”

  I huffed. “Been a rough couple of nights.”

  “I know.” Hands to hips, he dropped his head. “You need to go home. Get some sleep. Get your head on straight.”

  My head was fucking fine. My heart? An entirely different story.

  I snagged my shoes and car keys off the floor.

  “Tito…”

  “Yeah?” I asked over my shoulder, hand on the doorknob.

  “She your forever girl?”

  Six months ago, I would’ve laughed at such a ridiculous question. Now? No hesitation. “Yes.”

  Tucker laughed. “Then it’s only right she knows. About your past, and about everything we’re doing here.” He gestured around the room.

  “You okay with that?” Tucker’s everything was nothing compared to my everything. Yeah, he had a history, but his list of dirty deeds was minute compared to the sins I’d racked up over the years.

  He merely shrugged. “I’ve got a soft spot for that girl. We all do.”

  My ticker hammered my ribcage. “What if I tell her everything and she runs?”

  Bastard shot me a cocky grin. “You already know the answer to that question.”

  I did. If she ran, I’d give chase. I’d found my heartbeat. Even if I wanted, I couldn’t let her go.

  I couldn’t let him go. Even if I wanted. Even after his confession.

  I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t hurt. Oddly, I wasn’t confused, either. He had killed his abuser. Was it self-defense? Or premeditated? Either way, he’d taken human life, and I should’ve been frightened. Only, I wasn’t scared. I was curious. And if I were being honest with myself, I wasn’t surprised.

  I thought of the night Rafael Turner had taken Aida and me to that awful hotel room. I had seen the bloodbath. I remembered the look in Tito’s eyes as he stood amidst the overturned furniture, the gore, and Rafael’s lifeless body. He was stoic and calm. We’d made eye contact, briefly, as Tango had carried me out of the room. I’d known Tito was dangerous then. I’d known all along. I’d liked that about him, his fearlessness, fierceness. His willingness to do what needed to be done, no matter the depravity.

  I understood why he didn’t want to tell me his secrets. I loved that he wanted to protect me from his sins.

  My entire life, I’d witnessed vile, unforgivable acts, and stood silent out of fear and shame. Understandable when I’d been a child. But I was no longer a child. I had no excuse for not speaking out. For not ending Jeremy Carver’s abuse. No excuse.

  True, I would wear a heavy blanket of guilt for the rest of my days. Such was human nature. Tito, too, wore his own shackles of remorse. I understood. More than most.

  Difference was, I understood that I was forgiven. Tito did not. How could anyone with a conscience carry such a burden and not collapse under its weight?

  A loud bang, bang, bang made me jump. Tito. No one else knocked with such authority. I smiled despite my nerves and took three steadying breaths before opening the door.

  Tito stood stone still. Dear Lord, those eyes. Dark and stormy, threatening and promising all at once. “I’m an idiot.”

  I sighed, my heart battering my chest like I’d run a marathon.

  Warm hands gripped my hips. Weary, pleading eyes captured my soul. “Can I kiss you?”

  Tears threatened and I curled my lips between my teeth, fighting for composure.

  He pressed closer, his arms curling around my waist. I circled mine around his neck, marveling in his solid stature, leaning closer, trusting he would bear my weight.

  “Tell me something I don’t know about you. Something big.”

  He walked me backward, kicked the door closed, and pressed his lips to my ear. “The priest? He used the words you want to hear. Those three words you deserve. He used them every time he hurt me.” His breath hitched, fingers digging into my flesh. “Those words that are supposed to be precious? He ruined them. Made them ugly and disgusting.” His arms tightened, holding me upright, predicting correctly that I would buckle with his confession. “And Bunny, what I feel for you is infinite, it’s solid, it’s painful, and I’m afraid to ruin it with those words.”

  Burying my face in his shirt, I let the tears fall. Tito soothed me with tender kisses.

  “I wish you wouldn’t cry, Bunny.”

  I looked up to find his eyes wet with threatening tears.

  “A million lifetimes have passed since then.”

  “Why?” I asked, choking on the emotion. “Why did you kill him?”

  “So he couldn’t hurt anyone else,” was his candid answer. A truth I believed to my soul because that was the stripped down, bare bones, unpretentious man who I knew and loved. A protector.

  “You were a child.” I thought of all the boys who had passed through Jeremy’s office. All the lives he’d destroyed. All the abuse I could have prevented had I only been brave enough, strong enough to speak up. To tell someone, anyone.

  I hadn’t been strong enough. But Tito had.

  “Is that why you killed Jeremy? So he couldn’t hurt anyone else?”

  His arms fell to his sides and he stumbled back a step, eyes darkening.

  “I didn’t do it. And I can’t tell you how much it kills me that you assumed…” Gaze aimed over my shoulder, he dropped his chin, shook his head. Huffed. “Six months ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated to take him out. Only I wouldn’t have left any evidence.”

  Oh, God. What did that mean? “And now?” I asked, unsure if I wanted clarification.

  “Now? Now I have this bright blinding light challenging my dark urges, chasing them into the shadows. I’ve done horrible things. I’ve earned my place in Hell. And I wanted to drag as many sick bastards as I could down with me. But since the night Tango carried you out of that bloody hotel room, and you looked at me like you could see right through me, I haven’t needed to…Fuck.” He scrubbed his face, then dropped his hands. “I just want to be worthy. I need…” He cupped my face, those strong fingers trembling, and pressed his forehead to mine. “I need you to have a little faith in me.” His lips met my fevered skin, and moments passed before he pulled away. “I need to show you something. Can we go for a drive?”

  I could’ve denied Tito. I could’ve walked away. Started over. Free from The Brotherhood. Free from Tito’s demons. He was offering me two choices: take my hand, accept me for who I am and never look back, or walk away, free and clear of all the ugliness. When I stared into those pleading, weary eyes, my whole body warmed, my soul sang, and I knew there was no choice. Tito was the only home I’d ever need.

  I slid my hands down his body and laced our fingers.

  “Let’s go.”

  The smile that cracked his face was hands-down the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen.

  What a beautiful thing to watch Tuuli put the pieces together, her wide eyes sharpening, then filling with tears. “The Rest Area Reaper?” she asked, never breaking her gaze from the images of the little girl on the screen.

  A response wasn’t necessary. My brave beauty had figured it out.

  “You and Tucker?”

  I nodded, gnawing a rut across my bottom lip.

  She smiled, watching the screen, nails tapping an erratic rhythm on the stainless-steel desktop, heels bouncing against the cement floor. After excruciating minutes, she turned to me. “This is where you were the night Jeremy was killed?”

  “Yes.”

  The screen cast a soft, eerie glow across her face, sharpening her angelic features. I gripped the
sides of my chair to keep from pulling her into my lap.

  “The mansion isn’t for troubled teens, is it?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Those weren’t business trips you took with Tucker. You were rescuing girls.”

  “Right.”

  Dropping her hands to her lap, she turned to face me. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It wasn’t my secret to tell.”

  Tuuli slumped into her chair, head falling back, fingers linked across her stomach. She swiveled her chair side to side and seemed to contemplate the ceiling. I waited, palms sweaty, gut churning, while she processed.

  “Rest Area Reaper,” she mumbled.

  I sunk deeper into my own seat. “Fuckin’ hate that name.”

  She shrugged. “It’s fitting.”

  “It would be fitting if I was allowed to send those pedophiles to Hell,” I grumbled, before contemplating the weight of my words.

  Her head snapped up, eyes worried. “Do you want to?”

  My intestines knotted tighter, vicious heat coiling through me. “I won’t lie. I want nothing more than to make them suffer before burying them.”

  “Have you?” she asked, spine straightening.

  “No.”

  “There’ve been others though, haven’t there? The priest wasn’t the only person you’ve killed.”

  Fuck. I didn’t want to have this conversation. “There have been others. It was my job.”

  “For Aida’s father?”

  My ticker stopped, hackles raised. “What do you know about Aida’s father?”

  “That night, in the hotel, I heard Rafael talking to Aida. They talked about Luciano

  Voltolini.”

  I pretended to be amused, although my calm demeanor was nanoseconds from snapping. “I suppose you heard a lot of things that night.”

  She leaned forward, elbows to knees, head tilted to hold my glare. “Yes.”