Truck Stop Tango

by Daniels, Krissy

  Mom hadn’t killed herself.

  She’d died by Walter’s hand. Not her own.

  “T. Uh. We have a problem,” Tito yelled over his shoulder.

  I hadn’t mourned her. I hadn’t shed a tear, because I’d been too angry. I’d been furious at her for quitting, after raising me to believe, beating it into my bones, that quitting was never an option.

  My lungs shriveled. A sheen of sweat formed on my skin. I needed air.

  “Tango. Man. You hearing me?”

  I tore off the gloves and goggles, twisted the handle on the back door and jumped onto the pavement. The bastard killed my mother, almost killed my girl, my son. My father.

  Although I had beaten people to the brink of death, I had never taken a life.

  Thanks to Walter’s confession, that would change.

  As soon as I could breathe. As soon as I could see straight.

  I pounded a fist against my head. Pull your shit together. I paced, shaking the tension from my arms, staring at the hot asphalt.

  You’re doing this for Slade. I would end that man, stop him from hurting anyone else, so I could hold her again. This was for her, but when I crossed the line between violence and playing God, would she still love me? Would she still have me, knowing what I’d done for her?

  Could I risk losing her again? Would I survive without my heart?

  “Tango?” Slade’s soft, sweet voice reached my ears.

  I whipped around, hoping that it’d been my imagination, falling to my knees when I realized it wasn’t.

  “What are you doing here?” Wrapping her arms around my head, she held me against her abdomen.

  I hugged her, clinging to her hips, her waist. “He killed her, baby. Son of a bitch killed my mother, almost killed you. He has Pops.” I unleashed, clinging tight to the one person who could quiet my demons, bleeding my soul all over the front of her shirt.

  She stroked my hair, curled around me, protective and comforting, slaying my demons one heartbeat at a time.

  “Tang … Oh. Um. Hi, Slade. Long time no see.”

  “Tito?” she said, arms tightening around my head.

  I forced my hands to Slade’s hips and pushed her back a step, wiping my face as I stood.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, looking at me, the van, and then Tito.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked. “You’re supposed to be in bed.”

  Slade pointed over her shoulder. “I had a meeting. Borrowed Marion’s car. I was just returning it.” Her eyebrows dropped low. She started to cross her arms, winced at the pain, sucked air through her teeth, then fisted her hands at her sides. “What are you doing here?”

  I had never lied to her. I wouldn’t start now.

  “Taking care of Reynolds.”

  “Oh.” Her gaze dropped to the ground. She kicked a pebble. Shifted. Rubbed her chest.

  When she raised her eyes to me again, they were cold and vacant, not their signature brilliant and shiny. “Is he in the van?”

  Tito shook his head at me in slow motion, silently begging me, Don’t do it, man. Don’t do it.

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  Tito mouthed a “fuck” and threw his hands in the air.

  “Is he alive?” Slade asked, rubbing a circle over her chest with a fisted hand.

  I nodded, studying her face. Damn, I wanted to put a bullet in Reynolds’s head for putting those horrid bruises on her perfect skin.

  She turned on her heel, and, before I could stop her, she pulled the van door open. Her arms dropped to her sides. Her shoulders rose and fell with each sharp breath.

  Walter thrashed against the chains, bloody, broken, and one hundred percent insane.

  My shoes stuck to the road. I wanted to shield her from the ugliness. Instead, I stood stone still, awaiting her response, her verdict. Could she live with my monster?

  Her head dropped low, and she closed the door. She didn’t turn around. “He hasn’t suffered enough.”

  Tito’s head snapped up. Our eyes met, and equal parts shock and relief washed over me.

  “You saw what he did to Addy. My god, what he did to Kim. He would’ve done the same to me. And what if he’d gotten his hands on your son?” Slade turned to face me. “For Rocky, for Addy, Kim, your mom, make that man suffer. Make him beg and scream and cry and bleed. Make sure he never hurts another living soul.”

  She stepped closer and splayed an open palm over my chest. “Do what you need to do, Tango Rossi, then get your ass back to me and Rocky, where it belongs.”

  The fierce tremble in her hand shot adrenaline through my core. I’d do this for her, and only her. So I would never again have to see fear in those eyes.

  Rising on her toes, she pressed a kiss to my jaw and whispered, “I want to dance. Please come back to me soon.”

  Slade turned and walked away.

  My heart stopped. It beat too fast.

  I had never loved harder than I did in that moment.

  In that moment, as I turned my back to the violent scene, trusting Tango to make things right, any doubt about his love, his commitment, any fears of losing him again, simply vanished. Because in that moment, Tango revealed his soul in its darkest state, the depth of depravity he would suffer to make the world right, to make life right, for me, for us. In doing so, he ripped his still beating heart from his chest and offered it to me, in all its gruesome beauty, naked, and vulnerable, trusting that I, too, would accept his sins, as he had mine, and make his world … right.

  My heart grew wings and fluttered in my chest. I didn’t turn around. I walked across the street, up Marion’s steps, and let myself in. I didn’t look out the window when I heard the van drive away.

  Marion and I made potato salad. We talked about my plans for the future. She gave me advice about Rocky’s first day of school, which was quickly approaching. She told me where to get the best back-to-school bargains, and we debated homemade lunch versus school lunch.

  I refused to let worry consume me. Marion tended to my wounds with her homemade remedies. Tucker and Rocky picked me up on the way home from their early morning fishing excursion.

  After we’d tucked Rocky into Tucker’s bed, I collapsed on the couch next to my big brother. When he wrapped a solid arm around me, I snuggled close and let my head fall against his shoulder.

  “Are you worried about him?” Tucker asked, pointing the remote at his sixty-five-inch flat screen.

  I shook my head no. Then nodded yes.

  “He won’t kill Reynolds.” He continued to click through the channels.

  “How do you know?” I asked, gnawing the skin on my thumb.

  “Tango Rossi is not a killer. He’s tough as shit, and I wouldn’t go head to head with him in a fist fight, but he doesn’t have a murderous bone in his body.” Click. Click. Click.

  A week ago, I would have agreed with him. Nonetheless, Tucker’s words sunk in. I hadn’t told anyone where Tango disappeared to. “How did you know he had Reynolds?”

  Click. Pause. “I know people, sis.” Removing his arm from behind my shoulders, he leaned forward, elbows to knees. “I would’ve hunted the fucker down if he hadn’t.” Click.

  “Oh.” I sat up and turned to face him. There was still so much to learn about my brother. “What exactly does that mean … you know people?”

  “That’s a conversation for later.” He set the remote on the arm of the couch and pushed to his feet. “Popcorn?”

  “Only if you’re going to pick a channel and keep it there for longer than five seconds.”

  “You pick something,” he yelled from the kitchen.

  I fell asleep halfway through Magic Mike. Tucker ordered me to bed, and I passed out next to Rocky, the moment my head hit the pillow.

  Sometime later, thick, warm lips woke me from slumber.

  “You’re here,” I moaned, stretching and curling my toes under the sheet.

  “Shhh.” Tango pressed a finger over my mouth and folded the blankets off my bo
dy. “Come with me.” He offered a hand and helped me rise.

  “Where?”

  “Shh. Come on.” He laced our fingers and led me out of the bedroom, through the living room, where Tucker snored like a boar on his couch, then through the front door.

  The moment it shut behind us, he pinned me to the wall. Leaned close, then closer, and nuzzled my cheek before touching his lips to mine.

  His lips.

  Sweet mother of mercy, those lips.

  They teased my mouth, danced along my jaw, skimmed my neck. I couldn’t get a kiss in edgewise, so I stopped trying and instead hooked my fingers in his belt and exposed my throat, absorbing his wet, hot affection.

  Tango worked his mouth to my ear with ragged breaths. When his strong hands cupped my jaw and tilted my face, I forced my lids to raise. Dear, sweet Lord, the hunger, the promise churning in the depths of his eyes.

  “I missed you.” He brushed his thumb, with a stroke lighter than an angel’s kiss, under my bruised eye. “Does it hurt bad?”

  “Everything hurts when I’m not with you,” I said on a sigh.

  He joined our hands again and walked me toward the elevator. When inside, he pushed the button for the rooftop garden.

  “How did you get in?” I asked, admiring the sight of him. “This is a secure building.”

  “Tito and his mad hacking skills.”

  I rolled my eyes. Boys. “You know, I’m sure Tucker would’ve given you a key. Or there’s this thing called a doorbell. It’s quite handy. I’ve used it myself a few times.”

  His lips quirked. “Where’s the fun in that?”

  When I stepped off the elevator, clean, crisp air hit my skin, sending a shiver through me. Tango tucked me against his side and led me toward two lounge chairs settled against the balcony wall.

  He leaned against the railing, stretched his neck over the side, and drew a deep breath.

  I looked out over the lake, blue and dark and eerie under the moonlight.

  Tango turned to me, his face masked in shadow. “I’m sorry I didn’t stay with you at the hospital.”

  “I understand why you weren’t there, and I don’t need an apology.”

  Tango lifted his hands, slid them over my jaw, then curled his long fingers in my hair, tilting my head. “You’re safe now. Walter Reynolds can never hurt you again. I won’t let anything hurt you again.” He leaned closer, showing me the truth in his eyes. “I swear to you, on my life, I will never hurt you again.”

  I gripped his wrists to keep from collapsing under the weight of his words. “I know, Tango. What you did—”

  “What you saw today,” he interrupted. “What I did to Walter, it’s part of who I am. I can’t change the past, but I can promise that ugly side of me will never touch you or Rocky. I understand if you can’t live with that, knowing what I’m capable of.”

  “Shut up, Tango.” I pulled away from his grip and pushed him until he dropped into the chair behind us. “What you did today was to protect your family; you fought for me, for Rocky, your mom and dad. You loved me in a way nobody else could. And don’t call it ugly ever again. Because if you’re ugly, then I’m ugly, too. I tried to kill Walter the night I saved Rocky, and I’ve never wanted anyone dead more than that horrid man.”

  Tango’s arms snapped around my waist and he pulled me into his lap, settling me between his legs. “What a pair of fucked up, white trash asses we are, huh?” He lay back, and I settled against him.

  “I’m white trash,” I reminded him. “You’re just an ass.”

  Curling his arms around my neck, he peppered my head with kisses.

  I studied the sky, the stars, and listened to his breathing. We stayed that way, silent, sleepy, and together until Tango cleared his throat.

  “I didn’t kill him.”

  Unexpected relief washed through me, followed by a wave of fear.

  “Where is he?”

  “Tito is with him. I have to get back soon. Tomorrow we’re handing him over to the Slayers in exchange for Pops.” His arms tightened around my chest. “That’s all I can say on the subject. I came tonight to tell you that you’re safe.”

  Tango never lied. If he said I was no longer in danger, he meant it. I trusted him, and I wouldn’t push for details. He had always been protective, and I appreciated his effort to shield me from the grisly specifics.

  I rubbed my hands up and down his solid thighs. God, it felt good to touch him. “Are you okay?”

  “Mmm,” he hummed, lips in my hair. “I am now.”

  If I only had him for a short time, I didn’t want to waste a second. I pushed up and off the chair, then turned and offered my hand, my heart pounding a thousand beats per second. “Have you danced today?”

  Tango sucked in a sharp breath. His face crumpled and recovered so quickly I almost missed it. When he pushed to his feet, all corded muscle and predatory leer, I stumbled backward.

  Faster than I could recover, I was between his arms, lighter than air, and spinning under a blanket of happy, twinkling lights.

  I never wanted the night to end.

  I couldn’t wait for the day to end. I needed to see my boy, hold my girl.

  “That prick had some cojones, huh? Hiding your pops in his own cabin. Fuckin’ genius.” Tito’s leg bounced incessantly. Guy was wired, which made him dangerous, and exactly where I needed him to be in the event things went south during our transaction.

  Three bikes and one van came into view when I maneuvered the last curve of the private road leading to our mountain cabin.

  Tito leaned forward and tucked a blade into each of his boots. Then he turned to me. Game face on. No doubt he had at least three other weapons hidden on his person.

  There was nothing more impressive, or anyone more intimidating than Tito when he was in the zone, whether he was hacking databases, or going full charge into battle. Hand to hand, hands to keyboard, didn’t matter. When his expression fell stone cold focused, you steered clear, or found yourself neck deep in a shit quarry.

  I executed a three-point-turn and backed the van to the front porch of the cabin. Dane stood in wait at the front door. Worn jeans. Nothing but ink under his cut. Bruises. Bloody knuckles. Singed beard.

  “Pretty boy,” he said, giving me a nod as I strode his way. He gestured to the back door of the van. “He in there?”

  “What’s left of him.” Missing fingers. Shattered kneecaps. Half a tongue. Walter wasn’t going anywhere without assistance. “Where’s my dad?”

  Tito came around the corner and flanked my left side, arms crossed, glare set tight.

  Dane gave him an apathetic once-over. “‘Sup.” His gaze sliced to me. “Your old man is out back. Putting the fishing gear away.”

  “Fishing gear?”

  “That’s what I said,” Dane growled, rubbing the bare patch on his otherwise full facial fur.

  I scratched the tingle at the base of my skull. “What the fuck’s going on here?”

  “Couple of the guys took him fishing while I disposed of Riggs.” Dane slipped a quick glance at the white van, not dissimilar from the wheels I’d jacked, parked between two bikes. “Couldn’t have any witnesses.”

  Tito piped in, voice low and charged. “And this Riggs, he was working with your dad?”

  “Don’t call him my dad. Fucker ain’t no father to me.” Dane spat. Dropped his head. Huffed. “Yeah, they were working together. The two of ‘em brought your old man up here. Thought they could force him to sell this property. Used his girlfriend as bait. Jumped him at the dance studio.” His glare darted between me and Tito. “How is that girl, anyway? She gonna live?”

  “Yeah. She’s gonna live.” I had checked on Kaylee that morning. While her physical wounds were superficial, I didn’t envy the emotional scars she would suffer.

  “What the hell does your club want with this property?” I asked, gritting my teeth, struggling to tame the rage brewing in my gut.

  Dane hopped down the steps and pounded a palm
on the back door of the van. “Wasn’t us who wanted it.”

  Tito shifted next to me, radiating tension. “Let me guess. Riggs wasn’t a Slayer.”

  “Fuckin’ weasel was a Banshee. Aryan fucking twat.” Dane turned, crossed his arms, leaned against the van, one foot hitched on the bumper. “The two of ‘em hooked up on the inside. Walt gave up intel for protection. Swore loyalty to the Brothers of Banshee. Our enemies. We’ve been looking for him since his release.”

  “How the hell you end up in Slade’s house the night of the fire?”

  “Finally caught up with Walt at the trailer. Fucker stuck a needle in my neck. Next thing I know, I’m tied up in Blondie’s kitchen. Crazy bastard wanted me to watch him carve her up, like he’d done with Addy.” Dane shook his head, releasing a grunt. “That old man came out of nowhere, wavin’ a damn pistol. Got Walt in the gut. He tried draggin’ Blondie out the back door. She was too heavy for him. He cut me loose and keeled over, clutching his chest. I ended up haulin’ both their asses out the door. Didn’t see Walt slip out.”

  How close had Slade come to burning in that fire? Fucking Dane had saved her again. That knowledge hit me something fierce, like an F5 tornado. “Then you found Riggs. Followed him here?”

  “Somethin’ like that.”

  “And now you’re fishing buddies with my dad.”

  Dane pushed away from the Chevy and stuffed his hand in the front pockets of his denim. “Cool guy. He was happy to see us. Happier to watch us take down Riggs. Fuckin’ Banshees roughed him up a bit, but he’s good.”

  “I’d like to see for myself.”

  “First things first,” he said, kicking at a stone, then raising his eyes to mine. For the first time, he looked human. “How’s Blondie? She gonna be okay on the other end of this mess?”

  Fuck. I wanted to slice this guy to shreds. He’d clearly never gotten over my girl. “Slade is none of your concern. But yeah. She’s a tougher shit than I thought.”

  “Take care of that boy. He’s the only blood I got left. All this shit’ll be worth it if he gets to grow up right.” It cost him to say those words. Evident by the tight pull of his lips, the tick in his jaw, and the way he obsessively checked the door, as if to make sure no one else was listening.