Truck Stop Tango

by Daniels, Krissy

  I dropped hard, forcing my knee into his gut. Blood spewed from his mouth, and I hit him again, for good measure. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I asked, striking the other side of his face.

  The dude tried to look at me, but it was clear he couldn’t focus by the way his eyes danced in their sockets. I wiped my bloody knuckles on his shirt. It was then that I noticed his cut. Black leather vest, patches up and down each side. My boiling blood cooled to ice in one heartbeat. Shit. Satan’s Slayers. Livingston chapter.

  I stood and scanned the room. Didn’t see any more of them, but a larger crowd had gathered at the front door. People continued to thrash and gyrate around me as if nothing had happened. I turned a three-sixty, searching for my girl, and caught a flash of golden hair pushing through the back exit at the same moment I heard gunshots.

  Two pops.

  Chaos erupted. Screaming, pushing, crying.

  I fought my way through the crowd and toward the door, fear and rage blinding me to anything but heads of blonde hair. When I spied her against my car, doubled over, I damned near fell to me knees in relief.

  The police had already arrived on the scene, but I wasn’t about to get caught up in that mess. I lifted Slade into my Rover, foregoing the safety of her belt, and ran to the driver’s side. Three Harleys tore down the back alley. Thank fuck none of them had seen what I did to their friend. I jumped into my seat and hightailed it the opposite direction.

  Not until we’d cleared a few miles did I pull over to check on Slade, who hid behind the shield of her hands. Before the engine stopped, she hopped out of the car to purge her burger and fries. Holding her steady, I gathered her hair to keep it clear of the line of fire.

  As soon as the heaving stopped, I pulled my shirt over my head and wiped her face. Cupping her shoulders, I helped her stand. “There,” I said, kissing her forehead. “Good as new. Ready to head home?”

  “Why was everyone running out of the building?” she asked, swaying where she stood.

  Shit. Drunk as a skunk.

  “Didn’t you hear the gunshots?”

  “Gunshots? No. I had to get out. I needed air.” Slade rested her palms and forehead on my chest and moaned. “I lied to you.”

  I snaked my arms around her middle. “Yeah? About what?”

  “I don’t know my limit. I never drink. Now I made a fool of myself and you. I’m sorry.” She turned her head, pressing her cheek to my heart, and wrapped her arms around my waist. “I wanted to feel like a girl again, just for one night.”

  Holy fuck, the way she clung to me. My brain short-circuited, but I managed to ask, “Did you have fun?”

  “I did. Until that asshole showed up,” she mumbled against my chest. “Stupid biker fucker. Bashed his head in with a baseball bat and crushed his ugly fucking skull. I should’ve killed them all.”

  “Baseball bat? Killed them all?” Damn. She was beyond drunk. Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, I nudged her toward the SUV.

  “Yes. Killed them.” She pulled away from me and faked swinging a baseball bat. Then she winced and rubbed above her right wrist. “My arm hurts.”

  A nasty bruise marred the perfect skin across the top of her hand and wrist. “God damn. I should go back there and kill the guy.”

  “No.” She patted my arm. “You can murder him another time. I need to go home.”

  “Okay,” I chuckled. “Murder later. How about we swing by the hospital before I take you home, in case that’s broken.”

  “Take me home. I just want to sleep. Promise me. No hospital. I’m not my mom. They’ll think I’m like Mom...”

  Slade curled in the seat, her head on my shoulder. Out cold.

  I understood why she didn’t want to go to the hospital. She’d always promised not to follow in her mother’s footsteps where men and alcohol were concerned.

  What the hell had I been thinking bringing her to a bar?

  What the hell had I been thinking? I had been raised by an alcoholic. I’d worked hard my whole life to prove I was not my mother. Yet there I lay, curled in the fetal position on my couch, cursing God for creating beer and liquor in the first place.

  A pair of bare feet stepped into my field of vision. I didn’t bother raising my head. I hadn’t been able to move since I woke an hour ago.

  “I brought you something for the headache, and some dry toast. Try to eat; it’ll settle your stomach.” Tango set a plate and glass of water down on the floor next to me.

  “What time is it?” I asked, struggling to speak. A moss garden must have sprouted on my tongue overnight.

  “It’s noon. I called The Stop for you this morning. Charlie said not to worry, he’s taking care of everything. I think he likes bossing everyone around.”

  “Thank you.” I forced myself to the sitting position and choked down the ibuprofen. “How do I look?” I asked, patting my hair and lifting my chin to meet Tango’s smirk. I vaguely remembered him helping me into my boxers and tank top last night. “‘I feel like death, wrapped in a dirty diaper.”

  He forced a half-hearted laugh, and sat next to me on the couch. I jumped when he pressed a bag of frozen peas to my wrist. Dark circles framed his eyes. “I don’t think it’s broken, just beat up a bit. I iced it for you while you were sleeping, to keep the swelling down.” He dropped his head against the back of the couch.

  “Did you sleep at all?” I asked.

  “Little bit,” he mumbled through a yawn.

  “Because you were taking care of me?”

  His insincere, lopsided grin grated my nerves.

  “You didn’t have to do that.”

  He huffed. “Yeah, I did.”

  “You need to go home, Tango. Don’t you have a job to get back to in … in … Where the hell have you been, anyway?”

  He drew a long sigh. “Slade.”

  “Where have you been living, Tango?”

  “New York.”

  “The Big Apple. Hmm. I never would’ve guessed. What were you doing there?”

  “This what you want to talk about?”

  “I don’t know. Yeah, maybe. I just don’t understand. You’re here, and you should be there. Getting back to your life.”

  Even in my nauseated, self-imposed misery, I could feel the air thicken around us.

  Tango’s chest rose and fell. “New York isn’t good for me. It changed me, and not for the better. When I’m with you, I feel like I can be the old me again.”

  “You haven’t changed.”

  “You don’t know the things I’ve seen, done…” His eyes glazed over before he shook the thought away. “I have to know you’re okay. Because if you’re okay, I can be okay, too.”

  “I’m okay, but the longer you’re here, the less okay I feel. That’s why you need to leave. God, look at me. I got drunk last night, and I liked it. I won’t be that kind of mother to Rocky.”

  He chuckled. “You were quite amusing, I must say. Mumbling about bashing skulls with a baseball bat, cussing up a storm.”

  His words sent prickles down my spine. “What?” Oh, triple fuck. “Baseball bat? What did I say?”

  “Some biker got cozy with you on the dance floor...”

  Tango continued to speak. I didn’t hear a word, because I remembered. I felt the man’s hands on me, smelled his rancid tobacco breath, cringed at his words—How’s that little boy, Blondie? You raising him right?

  Maybe I hadn’t heard him correctly. None of them had seen my face that night, aside from Walter, and dead men couldn’t speak.

  “...then you said you should’ve killed them all.” Tango snapped his fingers in my face. “Slade? You okay?”

  I had to leave. They were coming for me.

  “Babylove. Talk to me. Did you know that guy at the bar?”

  I shook my head no, afraid to open my mouth for fear of vomiting my confession all over Tango.

  “Brett told me you and Addy had been hanging out with an MC at her uncle’s place. Please tell me that was just a rumor
.”

  “I feel like shit. You need to go home.”

  Tango stiffened next to me. “Slade. I’ve known you for damn near twenty years. I know you better than anyone.” Leaning closer, he pinched my chin between his thumb and forefinger, and stared me down. “You’re scared. You’re lying, keeping secrets, pushing me away. Let me in. Let me help.”

  “Fuck.” I shrugged him off and screamed into my hands. “You don’t get it.” I threw the blanket off my body and turned to face him. “You are the problem. Everything was fine. You came back and stirred up these damned feelings. Now I’m questioning every decision I’ve made since you left. You have to leave. You have to go home and never come back.”

  Tango closed his eyes and clenched his fists at his sides. “Where’s Rocky?

  “He’s at camp.”

  The muscles in his jaw protruded. “Slade, please don’t lie to me.”

  I spoke the words, despite knowing he’d see right through them. “He’s at camp for two weeks.”

  “No. He isn’t.” Tango rose from the couch and slipped his boots on. After drawing a deep breath, he rubbed his chin. “You dropped your phone last night. It’s toast. I put it on the kitchen table.”

  Halfway out the front door, he paused and shot a quick glance over his shoulder. “You should’ve told me the truth.”

  The door slammed behind him, vibrating the walls. A prickly chill rocked my body. Oh my God. Had he looked through my phone? I scrambled to the kitchen, ignoring the bile rising in my throat. My smashed cell lay lifeless and unrecognizable on the table. No way could he have read anything through that cracked screen.

  Did Tango know I was lying, or was he calling my bluff? The expression he wore, before making his dramatic exit, told me I was screwed.

  I dragged my sorry, hungover ass upstairs and tucked myself into bed, but not before sneaking a peek at the photo on my nightstand.

  Bad idea.

  I hated Addy. I hated Marta Rossi more, for what she’d forced Addy to do. What she’d forced me to do. One thing I knew for certain: my world, the life I’d worked so hard to build, was about to crumble.

  I needed sleep before I could pack. How did my mother do this every day of her life? I closed my eyes and gave in to exhaustion.

  “Slade, I don’t have anyone else. Dane is MIA.” Addy swayed on unsteady legs, wiping black streaks of mascara from her bruised cheek. “I’m scared. They told me if I didn’t take care of it, they would.” She wrapped an arm around her stomach and doubled over, falling to her knees at my feet. “I was so stupid. I don’t want this. Help me, please.”

  THE PARING KNIFE AIMED at my throat, no doubt intended to thwart my advance, did little more than remind me that I’d skipped breakfast. The fire in Slade’s eyes, however, raised a shit ton of hot, hard trouble in my pants. Had she not had a mouthful of apple, I would’ve been giving those juicy lips a morning workout. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy. Come on. I already called Charlie. He’s happier than shit to run the joint.”

  “I can’t. It’s summer. Busiest time of the year,” Slade argued.

  “And you’ve hired the best people,” I countered.

  Slade dropped her arm, and set the knife, along with her apple core, on the door side table. “You can’t waltz back into town and start running my life.”

  Damn she looked delicious standing there in her cut-offs and pink tank top, all pissed and full of defiance.

  “You need a break. I need to drive. Come on. Blue sky, fresh air. I’ll even let you pick the radio station.”

  “No, Tango. We can’t. I can’t.” She started to close the door.

  I leaned against the frame, blocking her attempt to shut me out. “I need this. You’re the only person I want to spend my time with.” Because I was going to get the truth, one way or the other. I’d break her. Even if it meant she would hate me more than she already did.

  “I’m sorry. No. Just no. Go home. Go back to New York. Stay out of my life.” She pushed at my chest.

  I stood my ground. “No isn’t an option, I’m afraid.”

  “Go away, Tango.” She stepped back and threw her arms out wide, practically inviting my tackle.

  I crouched, snapped my arms around her hips, and threw her over my shoulder. Damn, she was lighter than the punching bags back at Tito’s gym. I’d make it my life’s mission to put some meat on her bones.

  “We’re going. Got me?” I smacked her ass. “Got anything you need to turn off? Oven, lights, curling iron?”

  “No.” She slapped her palms on my ass.

  “Good. Let’s go.”

  “I meant, no, I don’t have anything to turn off because I’m not going anywhere. Put me down.”

  Ignoring her protests, I carried her outside, turned, and locked the door. She kicked and screamed all the way to the car. I stuffed her into the passenger seat, dodged a right hook, and threw my bodyweight across her lap to hook the seatbelt.

  “Dammit, Tango. Let me go.” She pulled at my shirt, my hair, punched and kicked. I did the one thing I knew would calm her down. I pulled her face to mine and kissed the fight clean out of her.

  As I’d suspected, she softened against me and melted into the seat. Pliant lips mimicked mine. Her slender fingers curled in my hair, tugging and twisting. Sweet moans. Heavy breaths.

  Shit. She’d turned the tables. Now I wanted nothing more than to carry her back inside and get her naked. I’d never lost control with a woman, but with Slade, I was nothing but a damned puppet.

  I had to get my shit together. Snagging her bottom lip between my teeth, I nibbled, just enough to get her attention. When I broke contact, the corner of her mouth curled.

  Her fingers slowly untangled from my mane. She raised her sleepy lids and smiled. “That wasn’t fair.”

  “I play dirty. Now, are you coming quietly, or do I have to pull out the big guns?” My weapons were safely stashed in the hidden compartment in my trunk. However, I wasn’t above using them to get my way.

  Her gaze darted back and forth from me to her front door. “Just a day trip?”

  I smiled and kissed her again.

  “Damn it. Stop,” she half-whined, half-laughed, pushing me away. “Okay. I’ll go. On one condition.”

  “Name it.”

  “You cannot touch me. No kissing. No hugging or holding hands, no dancing. Definitely no dancing.”

  “Come on, now.” I tilted my head. “You know damn well you’ll be the first one to break that rule.”

  “Arrogant dickhead, much?”

  I laughed. Slade smiled, that fucking wide, brilliant smile that could end wars, power cities, bring the deadliest of men to their knees.

  “I need to get a new phone today.”

  “We can do that together.”

  “I need to do it first thing. In case there’s an emergency with Rocky and the camp needs to get a hold of me.”

  Fuck. Again with the lies.

  “They have your work number, right?” I asked.

  Slade chewed her thumbnail and nodded her head.

  “I gave Charlie my number. If the camp calls, he’ll have them call my cell.” I refrained from telling her that Charlie knew nothing about Rocky being away at camp.

  “You’re a presumptuous ass.”

  She had no idea, but she’d learn, soon enough. When confident she wouldn’t bolt, I shut her door, jogged to the driver’s side, and situated myself behind the wheel.

  “My presumptuous ass, your white-trash ass. What a pair of asses we are, huh?” I winked, and her cheeks flushed.

  Chin raised, she snatched my Oakleys off the dash, slipped the oversized, green frames over her eyes, and turned her head from mine. “Where are we going?”

  “I don’t have a fucking clue. Just gonna drive.” Gravel crunched under the tires of the Range Rover as I backed out of her driveway. The neighborhood was quiet, save the bark of the Shih Tzu two houses down, and distant roar of a lawnmower. The sky hung above us, blue and vast
, and the air was ripe with the aroma of gasoline and freshly cut grass. Our possibilities were endless, my endgame vital.

  I navigated the streets of town, heading toward the interstate. Slade poked my arm. “Take the old highway. Please? Let’s get lost in the mountains.”

  How could I say no to anything she asked? I wrenched the wheel to the right, performing a brilliantly executed, illegal U-turn, and caught the on-ramp to I95. It would take us past The Stop, and I was certain that was why she’d asked me to go that route. The girl had been raised in that damn restaurant. I could imagine it was hard for her to leave it behind, even for what she believed to be only a day trip.

  Words weren’t necessary with the windows down and the radio tuned into the local country station. We drove, I sang along to the cheesy lyrics, and Slade eventually joined in. Just like old times.

  “When are you going back to New York?” she asked, when we’d driven deep enough into the mountains to lose the radio signal.

  “I’m going back in a few days to get the rest of my things, and I have one job to finish.” One more fight. A quick knockout that’d make Voltolini millions. He’d postponed the fight once already, giving me time to mourn.

  “Get the rest of your things?” Hands clenched in her lap, Slade turned her head toward the passenger window, hiding her reaction to my news, no doubt. “You’re coming home.” It wasn’t a question, but a vocalized realization. She shifted in her seat and the tremble in her hands made my blood boil. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

  I hadn’t wanted to tell her yet. I’d wanted her to want me to stay, maybe even beg me to stay. “Slade. Listen. I was going to tell you. I. Shit. I don’t know. I wanted to make things right with you before I broke the news.”

  “But why leave New York? You have better opportunities there. Why would you come back?”

  Stupid question. Slade Mason, my girl, my heart, didn’t live in New York.

  The Big Apple had made me a shit ton of money, no denying that fact. I had to sell my soul, however, and that was no longer an acceptable exchange. “I don’t belong there.”