Truck Stop Tryst

by Daniels, Krissy

  Her fingers curled around the wool flannel, and slowly, torturously, she pulled the coat open, revealing her naked breasts, the stretched skin of her round belly, her dark, hardened nipples.

  Like an animal in heat, I inhaled, craving her scent. I struggled to pull oxygen into my lungs. My cock hardened, and pulsed, and jerked in my pants. And like a switch had been flipped, the dominant me I’d tried so hard to keep at bay, pushed to the surface, and before I could get him in check, Aida was in my arms, I’d pushed her inside the door, slammed it shut, and tore that fucking coat off her body.

  So much for groveling.

  I pinned her against the wall with every intention of giving that mouth a workout. She pushed me away, lids heavy with lust, lips parted in a whoa there, cowboy smirk. Her deadly fingers curled around the neck of my guitar. She turned, giving me a good, hard look at that heart-shaped ass, and offered her hand. When I linked our fingers, Aida guided me to her room—the siren luring the doomed sailor.

  Aida laid my instrument on the bed. I barely had time to take in the small space, now crowded with a crib and a changing table, before she tugged at the buckle of my belt. I dropped my coat to the floor, and pulled my sweater over my head while she worked the buttons of my jeans.

  “Lay down, Bambi,” I urged her, pulling her hands away from the danger zone. If she touched me, our reunion would be over before it began. “I need to look at you.”

  With a moan, Aida crawled to the center of the bed, stretched on her side, and teased a finger around the pebbled tip of her swollen breasts. Fuck me. I’d never seen such a mind-blowing display of raw, sexual, female beauty. Round and swollen, and full. Full of desire. Full of love. Full of life, in the simplest, purest form.

  I knelt, to loosen my laces, unable to take my eyes off the soft curves spread before me. I scrambled to get rid of my boots and jeans, cringing through the pain of my atomic hard-on, and when fully naked, I gave my cock one good stroke before stretching on the bed, side by side with my eager girl.

  Our lips crashed together in clumsy desperation. Arms and legs tangled. Hands exploring. Hips thrusting, bodies gyrating. The baby made it damn difficult to pull her as close as I needed. Aida pushed her fingers through my hair and pulled hard.

  I’d missed that wicked edge so much.

  Her kiss deepened, and I gave her everything I had—my tongue, my lips, my heart and soul, my strength and fears—and when I moaned in unbridled pleasure, she pulled away and stroked my cheek with a delicate, desperate touch.

  Then my hard, dark angel softened, revealing the vulnerable girl I’d known was there all along. “Sing to me again,” she rasped, tears spilling freely.

  A small request that meant the world.

  My heart split wide open. Fuck. Why hadn’t I done this sooner?

  My dick throbbed with the need for release, but I pushed through the pain, curling my arms around her.

  At first, I hummed, because that’s all my throat could manage. My favorite song by Terence Trent D’ Arby, the song she had caught me singing in the barn. The song that shares the name from my favorite movie, Frankie and Johnny.

  With her belly pressed tight against mine, Aida continued to cry while I sang softly in her ear. I hated that nobody had ever sung to her. I hated that my precious angel hadn’t enjoyed simple childhood pleasures, like singing, like raising pets, like playing with dolls, and learning how to nurture and care for another.

  And while I crooned in her ear, bodies pressed tight, I felt a gentle roll across her stomach, and then the firm push, of an arm, or a foot, or a head, I couldn’t be sure. I was sure, though, that I felt the baby move. And I was sure that my heart grew ten sizes when Aida’s cries turned into chuckles.

  Pressing her lips to my ear, she whispered, “She only does that when she hears your voice.”

  In that moment, one of the top five greatest days of my life, I became a father.

  A FRESH, HEAVY SNOW fell, hugging the trees, and cocooning the property surrounding The Truck Stop in a gorgeous, shimmering sheen of white that had too soon been defiled by the destruction of a snow plow.

  I swallowed my last sip of hot chocolate and watched through the service window as Tuuli handed the bill to her only remaining customer. Charlie and I had closed the kitchen thirty minutes ago. He’d left for the night, eager to get to his weekly poker game. I’d promised to stay and lock things up for Slade, who had dinner plans with Tango’s father.

  The customer, who sat with his back to me, was large, and appeared to be in no hurry to leave. He wore a black beanie and heavy coat with a high collar that blocked his face from my view. He studied the bill, said something to Tuuli, then handed her a wad of cash.

  If I wasn’t mistaken, her cheeks reddened. Then again, everything made her blush. I waited for the man to ready himself to leave. Instead, he settled deeper into his seat and twisted his coffee cup between his thumb and forefinger.

  I released a groan. What was his deal? I wanted to go home.

  My new cell phone chimed with an incoming text.

  Tucker: Running late. Traffic is a nightmare. Officer McGuire will drive you home.

  Me: Stay safe

  Tucker and I hadn’t discussed living together again. He had, however, asked me on a date. I’d accepted, and after dinner and a stroll through Lakeside Park, I’d invited him in, and I’d given him dessert with a side of orgasms. Afterward, he had held me close, singing a tune his mother lulled him to sleep with when he was a child, “Dream A Little Dream.” I’d heard the song a million times, performed by different lounge singers in one of my father’s classier establishments on the Upper West Side, but the lyrics had never touched me like they did when they came from Tucker’s lips. I’d fallen asleep in his arms, sucker-punched by a love song.

  The last few days had pretty much replayed on the same loop. Dates. Sex. Cuddling. Falling asleep together. Waking together. He’d drive me down the hill to The Stop before heading to his home office. He’d pick me up in the afternoon, or whenever I was too tired to be on my feet any longer.

  Aida Voltolini was fading into the bliss of small town simple. Aida Suarez was blossoming.

  Funny thing? I was starting to like the new me, despite missing that wicked edge I’d always loved to teeter on.

  A chill danced up my spine as Tuuli slammed through the kitchen door.

  “I don’t know what this guy’s deal is, but he won’t leave. Says he wants more coffee. Shoved a handful of twenties at me.” She dropped a wadded pile of green on the counter.

  “Fuck no,” I said, pushing away from the sink. Being a short girl, I’d been taught, or trained, rather, to carry myself like the deadly heiress I was. Lithe. Graceful. Confident. Agile. Intimidating.

  My father used to say, “Carry yourself like you own the world, Princess, not like you bear its weight on your shoulders. Imagine the little people at your feet, fleeing, scurrying, praying you step around them rather than crush them under your heels.”

  His advice had served me well over the years. I’d walk into a room, and everyone, strangers and acquaintances alike, would step aside with looks of reverence on their faces.

  Dad had never considered that I would someday be carrying seven extra pounds of human, and twenty extra pounds of whatever it is women gain while growing a baby, and as I waddled across the kitchen, and down the hallway toward the dining room, I had to stop and pull up the waistband of my maternity leggings because they were rolling down my stomach. I also had to catch my breath, which had become more agitating over the past few days.

  I took a moment to straighten my shoulders and conjure my don’t fuck with me face before pushing through the swinging double doors. Unfortunately, my sciatica decided to flair, shooting knee-buckling pain through the left side of my ass and down the backside of my leg. “Ow. Fuck,” shot out of my mouth, and I gripped the counter, breathing through the burn.

  When I lifted my head, set to scream in frustration, a familiar set of hazel eyes g
lared down at me, stopping me cold. Massive hands gripped my shoulders. Thick, full lips parted on an exasperated exhale before twisting into a morbid grin.

  The Earth disappeared under my feet, and darkness ascended.

  “Princess.” Rafael’s gaze dropped to my belly and rested there, full of misplaced awe. “Seems I’ve found you just in time.”

  I tried to pull away. Strong fingers curled tighter into my flesh, holding me steady.

  Bile rose in my throat. My vision blurred for a few torturous moments before narrowing back into focus. Razor sharp focus.

  I met Rafael in the eye. He leaned close, lips to ear close, inciting a shiver, and not the good kind. “Whoo baby,” he whistled. “You’re a sight. All round and swollen.” He inhaled a sharp breath. “My cock is so fucking hard right now.”

  I blinked the last bite of shock away, and found my voice. “It still works? Damn. Thought I’d taken care of that bastard.”

  “Oh, baby. It works. I’m gonna show you just how well.” Rafael yanked hard, crushing me to his chest, and forced our mouths together.

  I wasted no time pulling his bottom lip between my teeth and sinking deep. He tried to pull away, but I tightened my jaw, gagging on the metallic tang of his blood. The bite earned me a hard slap to the temple. Reflexively, I released his lip and thrust the palm of my right hand into his nose.

  Rafael’s head flew back, warm spray hit my face, and I turned and sprinted toward the kitchen. Tuuli stood in the hallway, eyes wide, phone in hand. I hoped to Christ she’d dialed 911, for her sake, anyway.

  “Run!” I screamed, grabbing her elbow as I passed, and yanking her with me. “Run, goddammit.”

  We were almost to the back exit when a bullet embedded in the door above our heads. Pushing the small girl behind me, I turned to face two hundred pounds of pissed off, bloody male.

  He wouldn’t shoot me. That much I knew. Not while I was carrying his child. I sucked in a breath for courage and turned my back to the man. I met Tuuli’s frightened eyes and pushed the back door open. “Go. Get out of here. Run like hell.”

  Tuuli froze in place, her small window of opportunity gone. Rafael’s hand came around my throat from behind. Before he could secure me, I dropped like dead weight to my knees, effectively freeing myself and rolling out of the way. I pushed to my feet but a muscle-shredding cramp forced me right back to the floor.

  Tears blurred my vision, and I clamped my mouth shut to keep from crying out in agony. Oh, fuck. My insides tightened and twisted, like a giant screw was being hand cranked through my lower back. I’d never known such torture, and I was helpless. Couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t defend myself.

  Rafael turned to face me, blood dripping from his nose, chest heaving, eyes blazing. “Get up, Voltolini.” He kicked at my feet.

  Tuuli screamed, blood curdling, and surprising, coming from her mousy frame, and launched herself up, onto Rafael’s back, wrapping around him like a monkey hitching a ride. The poor girl didn’t stand a chance against the well-trained fighter. I watched in horror as he twisted, grabbed her small frame, and tossed her like a rag doll into the wall. My would-be savior fell, her head hitting hard and bouncing twice, before her body went limp.

  I needed to fight. But the pain. The crippling pain held me prisoner in my own body.

  Rafael crouched, brushed hair out of my face, then pulled a rope out of his pocket, and proceeded to tie my wrists together behind my back.

  He then lifted Tuuli off the ground like she weighed nothing and hoisted her lifeless body over his shoulder before grabbing a handful of my hair and forcing me to my feet. “Time to go, Princess. No more bullshit. And if you don’t come quietly, this pretty little waitress will take one between the eyes.”

  For all I knew, Tuuli was a ghost already. Blood trickled from the back of her head, weaving a trail through her white hair, following the length of her ponytail, and drip, drip, dripping on the checkered tile.

  If she wasn’t dead, I had no doubt she would be soon. I didn’t want to be the reason for her demise. I wasn’t willing to risk even a one percent chance she’d still be breathing at the other end of this nightmare. So, despite the rage welling, rolling, boiling, churning inside me, I didn’t fight back. Not yet.

  Besides, I had backup. “You won’t get two steps out that door, you fuck-twat.” I groaned. “I have security detail outside.”

  “You mean that sorry excuse for an officer in the Chevy out front? He’s been dead for hours.”

  I’d been stuck in traffic for hours.

  Damn snow. Damn careless drivers. Damn, I needed to get to my girl, fall into bed, snuggle close, and sleep for the next twenty-four hours. The day had been one shit storm after another with the weather. Highways closed. Drivers stranded. Bullshit paperwork.

  When I pulled up to the dark house, the first warning tingle hit me. When I opened the door to Aida’s apartment, Lola sprinted outside and tore down the hill. The apartment was dark and quiet. My heart hit my gut with a thud.

  It took me two seconds to search the place. Living room and kitchen, empty. Bedroom, empty. Bathroom, empty. I sprinted back outside and across the lawn. The thick falling snow played with my vision, but I could see that The Stop was dark inside. The closed sign blared at me like a warning signal, and Lola was barking something fierce at Officer McGuire’s Chevy.

  “Fuck,” I shouted, my legs carrying me toward the diner.

  I pulled my cell from my pocket and dialed Aida. The call went straight to voicemail. Then I dialed Tango. His sleepy voice greeted me with, “This better be good.”

  Skipping pleasantries, I spit out, “Aida with you guys?”

  “No, Aida isn’t with us. Thought you were picking her up.”

  “I got stuck behind a pileup. McGuire was supposed to drive her home. Just got to the house. She’s not here.”

  I had descended half the hill, my heart beating harder with each trudge through the white frozen terrain. Tango released a string of profanities.

  Through the front window, I caught sight of movement, a shadow, and felt a rush of relief. I wanted to run, but my boots sunk calf-deep into the snow, and it took all my effort to stay upright.

  “Listen, T. I’m almost at The Stop. Call you back.” I shoved the cell into my pocket.

  By the time I reached the truck, I was out of breath, and my lungs ached from the cold. That was nothing compared to the freeze that hit my veins when I noticed the broken driver’s side window. When I looked inside and found the new hire, Jason McGuire, laying across the seat, eyes open but lifeless, I damn near fell to my knees.

  The cowbell rattled, snapping my attention back to the diner. A large man, shrouded in black, barreled through the front door, gun raised and aimed at my chest.

  The air left my lungs, but I coiled for a fight.

  The dark figure stopped in his tracks. Lowered his arms. Swiped the hood off his head, and met me with a dead stare.

  Tito.

  He stepped closer, giving me a full view of his features. He was not the clean-cut, playboy I’d met months ago. The man standing before me was broken. Thick, unkempt beard. Dull, red-rimmed eyes that hadn’t seen sleep in days. Red, puckered skin marred the left side of his otherwise handsome face, stretching from his temple downward, disfiguring the corner of his eye.

  “Tito. Where the hell have you been? We thought you were dead.”

  “Tucker.” Tito offered nothing but a clap on the shoulder before pulling a cell out of his pocket and thumbing the screen.

  “Where’s Aida?”

  Violent, angry eyes met mine. He spoke into his phone. “T. How fast can you get to The Stop?” He paused, pounding a palm against his head. “No. There isn’t enough time. Meet me at Eagle Point Motel. Come alone.”

  “Where’s Aida?” I asked again, my mind, my patience, spinning out of control.

  A cop was dead. Tito had appeared out of thin air. There was only one explanation. One outcome to this scenario. Her
demons had come back to haunt her.

  Tito tucked his pistol away, his eyes focused over my shoulder. “He found her.”

  “Who?”

  “Turner. Fuckin’ Turner. I had him. I finally had him cornered, and this damn snowstorm fucked everything up.”

  My legs turned to rubber. My body numbed. “Turner’s here? He found Aida? How? Where is she?”

  “Where’s your Jeep?”

  “At the house.”

  He pushed past me, head down, gait resolute.

  I matched him stride for angry stride, a time bomb of rage, heat, and jagged nerves. We made the climb back toward the house, silent, but roaring nonetheless.

  “Eagle Point Motel,” he commanded before climbing into my Jeep.

  I drove, unsure what I would find when we reached our destination, but one hundred percent certain that when we found Turner, I was going to kill that motherfucker.

  “I’m going to kill you, motherfucker,” I snarled, turning to check on the mousy little blonde.

  Tuuli lay unconscious in the back seat. Her chest rose and fell in short bursts. Breathing, thank God, but I didn’t know the extent of her injuries, and I had no idea how much time we had before Rafael decided he didn’t need her anymore.

  I could not lose my shit. For Tuuli, for the baby, I had to keep my crazy in check until he let down his guard.

  Rafael half-smiled, shifting the ancient sedan, no doubt stolen, into low gear. “Ugly words from such a pretty mouth.”

  He didn’t know ugly. Not like I knew ugly. I lived and breathed dark and dirty. I was about to unleash my tarnished soul all over his ass. “I won’t kill you right away, though. I’ll start by gutting you. I’ll tie your hands above your head, cut you slow and deep, but I’ll keep you conscious, so you can watch your innards spill to the floor at your feet. You’ll cry. They all do. You’ll beg me to stop. I won’t. When the floor is wet and slippery, I’ll cut you free. You’ll struggle to get away. Even try to scoop your rubbery guts off the ground and run for help. You’ll try. And because you’re a pathetic piece of shit, you’ll fail. You’ll fall into the pile of your own intestines, roll around, tangle yourself, maybe even try to stuff them back inside your rotting carcass. All the while, you’ll be screaming. Screaming. Screaming like a terrified child.”