Truck Stop Tryst

by Daniels, Krissy

  “We’re taking your truck? What about your Jeep?”

  “Jeep is in the trailer.” He strode with purpose toward the front of the vehicle.

  I squealed with excitement when Tucker opened the door to his cab and Lola jumped out, stub tail leading the charge of her adorable butt shake. Ignoring Tucker altogether, the mini black bear wiggled and rubbed against me, nearly knocking me over with her enthusiastic greeting.

  “Lola’s coming home with us?”

  “I was hoping she could stay at your apartment. You could keep each other company while I’m at work.”

  “I’ve never had a dog,” I said, squatting to scruff Lola’s face and accept her slimy kisses. “I don’t know how to take care of her.”

  “Pretty sure she’ll be the one taking care of you.” Tucker skirted around us and hoisted my suitcase into the cab. He hopped back down and patted Lola on her butt. “She’s never warmed to anyone the way she has with you. Dad told me she went ballistic when you left last night. Feels the need to protect you the same way I do.”

  I ignored that comment. Tucker knew I was well equipped to take care of myself. Still, I couldn’t discount the warmth spreading through me. He wanted to keep me safe. Not for a paycheck or out of obligation, but simply because he cared for my well-being.

  I rose to full height, fisted the collar of his jacket, then rolled up on my toes, meeting him nose to chin. “I know twenty different ways to kill a man with my bare hands. I don’t need protection. But I like that you worry for me, Cowboy. I like it too much.”

  I captured his mouth before he could respond, moaning when his arms coiled around me and his tongue darted between my lips, making way for a deep, promising kiss. A kiss he broke all too soon by slapping my ass and ordering me into his truck.

  I stepped up and shimmied my belly between the captain’s chair and the steering wheel. The inside of the cab was large and shiny, mirroring the midnight blue and chrome of its exterior.

  I stood between the seats and took in the beauty of his mini hotel on wheels. Stretched across the back of his cab was a full-size bed, covered in a midnight blue comforter. Black, quilted faux leather lined the walls surrounding the sleep area. A mini sink, oven and fridge claimed the wall directly behind the driver’s seat. Behind the passenger seat stood a set of cabinets stained in black. Blue light trimmed the entire back interior.

  “This is … wow. Gorgeous.”

  Tucker squeezed in behind me, dominating the small space, and slid his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder. “Aida, meet Frankie. My home away from home.”

  “You travel in style. I’m impressed.”

  Scruffy stubble scratched my cheek, inciting an embarrassing shiver. “We should hit it. Got a good ten hours driving time ahead of us.”

  I didn’t want him to let me go. His strong arms warmed me, his breath in my ear soothed me. His hard body, for reasons I couldn’t comprehend, smoothed my jagged edges.

  Wrapping my arms around his and lacing our fingers over my growing belly, I tilted my head into his neck and inhaled his fresh, earthy scent. As I rubbed my palm over his knuckles, I felt a tickle, a palpitation, beneath our joined hands.

  “Oh my God,” I said with a gasp. “Did you feel that?”

  “Was that her?” He flattened his hand over my stomach. “I felt it.”

  The baby moved again, another flutter stealing my breath.

  “There she goes again,” Tucker said with a laugh.

  I choked on the emotion swelling in my throat and turned to catch his dewy eyes—not envious or sad for what he could never have, but completely, selflessly happy.

  Happiness was a moot point. Holding Aida in my arms, feeling her child move inside her, sharing an intimate moment, I knew deep that, happiness be damned, I would spend every waking moment for the rest of my life protecting that woman and her child. Whether she wanted me or not, I was all in.

  Familial obligations weighed heavy on her mind, but I would do everything in my power to show her that family wasn’t only blood ties. Family were the people who fought for you, who carried you through your worst, celebrated your best, loved you through the nitty-gritty ups and downs of life. Blood or not, family claimed you, held tight, and never let go.

  When it came to Aida, I never wanted to let go.

  Two hours into our drive home, conversation had dwindled, and I’d turned up the volume on the stereo. I glanced Aida’s way every so often. When her lids closed, and her head lolled to the side, I thumbed through my iPod and pulled up my driving playlist. Old school rock, country, and a mix of Latin pop to keep things lively.

  Great music. Open road. Aida by my side. Life didn’t get much better.

  Half an hour past Billings, I was deep in the zone, belting out the last chorus of Toby Keith’s “You Shouldn’t Kiss Me Like This.”

  “You have a sexy voice,” Aida mumbled, stretching her arms over her head.

  I reached over to lower the volume, but she slapped my hand away.

  “No. Don’t stop. I want to hear more.”

  “I’m not used to an audience.” I reached forward again and muted the speaker.

  Aida huffed. I was certain, if I looked, she’d would’ve been making a face or rolling her eyes.

  “I heard you singing in the barn yesterday. It was beautiful.” Click. Click. Click. “Before I went in, I thought you were singing to your girlfriend.”

  Heat rose in my cheeks, not at the memory of her catching my private moment, but at the recollection of the kiss we’d exchanged. “I didn’t think anyone was around.”

  Aida drew a deep breath, then released it with one big burst of air. “I wanted it to be me you were singing to. God, how pathetic is that?” Click. Click. Click.

  Her confession hit me like a knife to the chest, piercing me with a sharp pain, seizing my ticker. “Aida.”

  “Nobody has ever sung to me.”

  I had a hard time believing that story. “No one?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  “That’s a shame.”

  “Where’d you learn to sing like that? Did you take lessons, or is it a natural gift?” she asked, turning in her seat to face me.

  “The television was rarely on at our house, but the radio? Twenty-four-seven. The house was never quiet. Mom used to sing me to sleep every night.”

  Her head fell to the side, leaning against the headrest. “I never knew my mother. Not even her name.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how hard that was.”

  “I always figured she was one of Dad’s flavors-of-the-month. Maybe he got sloppy, knocked her up. When I was a little girl, and I’d ask about her, Dad always changed the subject. When I got older, if I dared mention my mother, he’d get angry and disappear with a bottle of bourbon. So, I stopped asking.”

  I tried to picture a young Aida with shiny hair, round cheeks, and eyes too big for her face. I couldn’t imagine growing up without a mother’s bosom to cling to, her kisses to make things better, or the sweet, soft sound of her voice sending her child off to dreamland. “Sorry, Bambi, but I think that’s bullshit. You have every right to know who your mother is. Fuck’s sake. He could at least let you know whether she’s buried or breathing.”

  “I appreciate your concern, Tuck. I do. But you don’t know my father. If he doesn’t want me to know, he has good reason.” Aida turned to face front again.

  I didn’t know her father. Didn’t want to know the man who kept a child from her mother. “Again. Bullshit.”

  “We grew up in different worlds,” she said to the passenger side window.

  “I’m painfully aware of that, sweet thing.”

  “I like you, Tuck. I do. So much that my entire body aches sometimes. But you know we could never work, right? Not long term.”

  Fuck. She was finding excuses to bolt. “I disagree.”

  “Tucker,” she said, voice oozing conviction.

  “Aida. Listen. I see you. I see who you are
under those thick layers of self-preservation. You’re loyal. You’re brilliant, and sexy, and mysterious. But you’re also vulnerable. You’re afraid of letting people in, of exposing your soft spots.”

  “Soft spots get people killed.”

  “Jesus. Listen to yourself.” I paused for a breath, heat coiling in my gut. “Aida. You are a mother now. Regardless of your past, every day you have a choice. Every fucking day you wake up, you can choose to go back to that lifestyle, or you can choose better for your child.”

  “If I walk away, I have nothing. No father, no money, no home.”

  “You have me!” I yelled, slamming a palm on the steering wheel.

  Her head whipped my direction. From the corner of my eye, I watched her chest rise and fall, her spine straighten.

  “No, Tucker. I don’t.” She pointed a finger at her own chest. “I have me. I’ve always only had me.”

  “You have me, Aida.” I shook my head in frustration.

  “I can’t have you, Tucker. Not the way I want.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’ll be my soft spot. I let you in, you become a target. My father, his enemies, it never ends. Someone will always be after us, always lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike.”

  Bullshit.

  “What about Rafael? Was he a soft spot?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  Aida gripped the sides of her chair. Poisonous silence billowed around us. When she dropped her head, I asked again, “Why?”

  “Because I didn’t care whether he lived or died. He was nothing but a good fuck.”

  Click. Click. Click.

  Those damn nails. I held back the profanities itching to fly. I didn’t know if she was trying to convince me, or herself, that we couldn’t work. Either way, I wasn’t having it, and I was about to tell her so, but she spoke first.

  “Rafael lived the life. He knew the risks.”

  Fuck me, that was a low blow. “And I don’t? Is that what you’re saying? When you look at me, is that all you see, some small town dumbfuck with a boner for a mob princess? Jesus, Aida. Give me some fucking credit.”

  “No, Tucker. That’s not what I see,” she said, her volume rising. “What I see is a man who doesn’t look right through me, but into me. I see a man who gets off on making me laugh. I see a man who would spend the rest of his life giving me soul-shattering orgasms while he slowly died of blue balls. I see a man who gave up six years of his life to take care of a sister he’d only just met. Someone who risks jail time to save girls who will never know his name. A man who would sacrifice his own morals, his happiness, to take care of a family that isn’t his.” Her hand cupped her stomach. “I don’t want to be the woman who ruins you.”

  “Ruins? Aida. Listen to me. I’ve seen darker shit than you could possibly imagine. I’ve hiked through hell and back, carrying half-dead brothers over my shoulder. I look ruined to you?”

  My cell buzzed, and the Bluetooth picked it up, projecting my call through the cab speakers.

  I gave Aida the international signal for “shhh” before answering the call. “Johnson. Hey, bud.”

  “Slade. Good to hear your voice, man. When you coming back to work for me?”

  “About the same time hell freezes over.”

  “Aw. You’re breaking my heart.”

  “Take it you got my message.”

  “Yeah, Tucker. Listen, I couldn’t find anything under the name Rafael Turner except some rough fight footage. You know me, though, love a good challenge, so I dug deeper. Even made some calls.”

  “And?”

  “Got shut down. Not more than an hour after I hung up the phone, a couple of suits with higher security clearance than mine came for a visit. They were curious about my interest in Turner. Seemed to be fishing as much as warning me off any further inquiries into the guy.”

  “Shit.”

  “I don’t need to tell you what that means.”

  “He’s deep.” I roughed a hand over the top of my head, hoping to dislodge some of the irritation that’d settled there. “Sorry to pull you into this.”

  “No worries. Sorry, friend. I can’t go any further with this. Got a pension to protect.”

  “Understandable.”

  After ending the call, I shot a sideways glance to Aida. The glow on her face had nothing to do with pregnancy. I’d guess fury. Outrage. But hidden behind those red cheeks and fiery eyes? Fear. And rightfully so.

  She’d connected the dots.

  Rafael Turner was a goddamn undercover agent.

  I WAS IN HELL.

  Treading lava in the deep end of Lake Hades. Barely holding my head above the spite-fueled flames searing me head to toe.

  My family had been infiltrated. Manipulated. Set up. Unbreakable chains had fallen because of one weak link.

  Me.

  Rafael had played his part to a T. Brutal fighter. Check. Skilled lover. Check. Loyal dog. Check. Dear God, it was terrifying how easily he’d wormed inside the impenetrable Voltolini fortress. But to what end? Why such extremes to marry into a family he was supposed to bring down?

  Unless.

  Aw, shit. How could I have been so blind. The world blurred. My stomach coiled. The truth became so shamefully obvious—he’d gone rogue. Called to the dark side by avarice, or bloodlust. Or maybe that narcissistic sliver I’d once been attracted to had festered and spread its poison, filling him with fatal overconfidence. The fool had actually believed he had the power to overtake my father’s empire.

  Using yours truly—his magic cock and eager sperm the weapons of mass destruction.

  Rafael Turner had planned to either dismantle or inherit my father’s empire through a sham marriage.

  Dad had known. It made sense, his eagerness to send me away rather than simply scold me. He’d had a plan for Rafael, and I’d screwed us all with my short fuse and lust for revenge.

  It wasn’t too late, though. I still had the power to right my shameful wrong. Rafael may have been undercover, his performance may have been Oscar-worthy, but there was one thing he hadn’t faked. An innate possessiveness. A weakness all too easy to exploit. All I had to do was wait. He would come to claim his child. If my father didn’t kill him first, he would hunt me down. And then?

  Rafael Turner would die.

  At least, that was what I told myself, while I stewed alone, in a pot of malice soup.

  We stopped at a rest area. It was small, but well-maintained, and I didn’t feel the need to shower in bleach after using the facilities. While I waited for Tucker to return from walking Lola, I stretched on the small bed of his cab, studying my reflection in the dollar store mirror perched on the wall across from me. The distorted image was a harsh reminder of what my life had become—awry, misshapen, and dark. Or had it always been that way and I’d been too immersed to notice?

  Damn Tucker. Damn Whisper Springs and its wholesome horde. Damn my newfound conscience.

  A wave of guilt washed over me, diluting the rage. The baby must have sensed my sudden mood shift because a flurry of palpitations erupted in my belly. I sucked in a breath and absorbed the sensation.

  Tucker and Lola climbed into the cab. Lola flopped on the floor at my side, and Tucker greeted me with wind-burned cheeks and a mile-wide grin. I’d never tire of the candor lighting that smile.

  “Hungry?” he asked, grabbing my coat off the passenger seat.

  “Always.” I stood and slipped my arm into the sleeve he held out for me.

  “There’s a bar down the road. You okay walking?” he asked, offering the other sleeve.

  “I’d climb Mount Everest for a meal right now.” My stomach rumbled at the promise of food, my woes temporarily forgotten.

  He stepped right into my personal space, zipped my coat, and pulled the hood over my head, pulling the sides tight under my chin. “Look at you all bundled and cute.”

  “Cute?”

  “Yeah, cute.”

  “Never, ever, has anyo
ne been brave enough to call me cute.”

  “Doe eyes, button nose, rosy cheeks. Without all that makeup, you’re a freakin’ kewpie doll. Sorry, Bambi. No other word for it but cute.” He dropped a kiss on my nose, released my hood, and grabbed my hand.

  I had no idea what a kewpie doll was. Surely, I should have been offended. But the warm and fuzzies stuffing my insides made any emotion other than … well, warm and fuzzy, impossible.

  Half an hour later, Tucker and I sat near the back entrance of the aptly named and, judging by the crowd, popular, Roadside Bar and Grill. I wiped barbecue sauce from my mouth and dropped the napkin into my empty burger basket. Tucker popped a fry between his lips and leaned back in his chair, studying me with a curious scowl.

  “What? Do I have food on my face?”

  “You seem happy. Too happy.”

  “I guess I am. That a problem?”

  He crossed his arms over his massive chest. “I expected you to be livid. I figured you would’ve blown your top by now, after hearing about Turner.”

  “Rafael is as good as dead. That makes me happy.”

  “Does it? Is that you talking, or your father?”

  “Does it bother you, knowing I would enjoy watching him bleed?”

  He leaned forward, hands folded on the table. “What bothers me is that you’ve been conditioned to feel that way. I believe that deep down, you don’t want anyone to suffer. Deep down, you are a normal girl with a big, fat, squishy heart, brought up in a brutal environment. You created layers of bullshit to protect yourself, layers of a false Aida, to fit in, to survive.”

  My core temperature rose. “Wow. That’s deep, Tuck. You’re wrong, though. The only thing I love more than my baby are my knives. I love the power they wield. I get a little thrill spilling blood. Want to know what else gets me off? Watching men bloody each other. In the ring, on the street, doesn’t matter. I was never more turned on then when those Aryan pricks beat you to a pulp.” I ran a finger over his healing wound. “Your face all cut and bruised. So damn sexy.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Believe what you want, Cowboy.”

  Twirling his soda bottle between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes seemed to lose focus, then brightened with clarity. “You know why it was so easy for Turner to con you?”