Truck Stop Tempest Read online

  Maybe our mutual afflictions were the reason she haunted me.

  Most likely, I was insane.

  Didn’t matter. Tuuli was a no-go. Forbidden. A big, flashing neon sign: Danger. No Trespassing. Keep Out. And so, I pushed forward, focused on the punch of my shoes against the wet ground, inhaling for four beats, exhaling for four. In. One, two, three, four. Out. One, two, three, four. In. One, two, three…continuing until I was nothing but movement, and sweat, and breathing. Until my mind numbed, the screams dimmed, and thoughts of an innocent, blue-eyed beauty faded to nothing.

  I ran across town, past The Stop, and halfway up the hill toward home before the unmistakable squeal of brakes set my nerves on rapid fire.

  Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around. Leave her be.

  “Fuck!” Pulled by an invisible force, I came to a halt, and turned, hoping to catch sight, just one glimpse, of my dangerous little obsession.

  Tuuli didn’t step off the number twenty-seven bus like she did every Sunday. The double doors swung open, paused for a beat, then slammed shut, and the vehicle pulled back into traffic.

  I stood like a dumbass, wishing I’d waited by the church to make sure Tuuli had caught her ride. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit.” I sprinted to the top of the hill, busted through the door to my basement apartment, and snagged my keys off the counter. When I folded into my Mustang, I cranked the stereo to an ear-splitting level and retraced my path home, hoping she had followed the same route.

  Thirteen minutes later, I found her, walking with a spring in her step, bright red cheeks, and no fucking coat. When I rolled to a stop, she walked right past. I honked. Her spine stiffened, and she continued, hurrying her pace.

  I sped to the intersection and performed a U-turn, pulling alongside her again, this time with my dark window rolled down. “Get in the car.”

  When Tuuli’s frightened gaze morphed into one of relief, topped off with a sweet smile, I damn near gripped my chest, shocked by the unusual rhythm knocking behind my ribcage.

  “Hey, Tito,” she said, teeth chattering. “Sorry. Didn’t know that was you. What are you doing here?”

  “It’s freezing. Get in.”

  “Oh. I’m okay. Thanks, though.” Her pace slowed, but only a little.

  “I’m here to give you a ride. Get in.”

  She stopped. “Why?”

  Jesus effin’ Christ. Young. Naive. Definitely someone to steer clear of.

  “Slade said you didn’t get off the bus. She asked me to come and get you.” The lie left my lips with such ease, I even believed it. “So. Here I am. It’s cold. Get in.”

  As she scurried to the passenger side, I dialed up the heater, despite the sweaty mess underneath my workout gear.

  The girl slid in, hooked her belt, and sat, stiff as a board, arms curled around her purse, broken leather strap twisted through her fingers. Without looking my way, she mumbled, “Thank you.”

  It was impossible to ignore the tremble in her arms.

  “No coat?” I asked, gritting my teeth.

  “Left it at a friend’s house,” she said. “She’s supposed to bring it by later today.”

  Seems I wasn’t the only one weaving stories. I ate lunch at The Stop every day. Sometimes dinner, too. I’d yet to see one of Tuuli’s buddies come through. She’d never talked about friends, or family for that matter.

  I took the long way around town, hoping to eradicate her shivers before dropping her at work. Tuuli didn’t seem to notice. Her eyes stayed glued to the road, her bag close to her chest, and her lips pinched tight. Worked for me. I wasn’t much for talking. Then again, I’d never been one to run to the aid of a girl I hardly knew, but there I sat, the reluctant hero, and fuck me, but I wanted to hear more of that soft, sweet voice. “So, Tuuli is an interesting name. Is that German?”

  Her gaze sliced toward me, never connecting eye-to-eye, then shifted back to the road. “It’s Nordic. At least, according to Google.”

  “That would explain the blonde hair, blue eyes.”

  Tuuli wiggled in her seat, then cleared her throat. “Why does Aida call you Tits?”

  I huffed. No one had ever asked me that question. Out of fear, most likely. “Nickname Aida gave me when we were kids. In grade school, I paid a girl to show me her rack. Aida found out, gave me a fat lip. Told her I couldn’t help it…I was a tit man. The name stuck.”

  “So, you’re from New York, too.” A statement, not a question.

  “Born and raised.”

  The timid little creature turned to look at me. “What brought you to Whisper Springs?”

  Death and destruction. Murder and revenge.

  “Needed a change.” Damn, she’d turned the tables. I’d meant to be the one asking questions. “You grow up here?”

  Her moment of bravery faded and she dropped her head, knotting her fingers. “No. Born in Arkansas. Dad moved us to Idaho when I was five.”

  She was hiding something. Not very well, and it sure as hell wasn’t any of my business, but it bothered me nonetheless. Didn’t like that it bothered me. Didn’t like that I wanted to keep driving and talking. Fucking hated how I wanted to coax the truth out of her. Her life was none of my business. So, with equal parts relief and disappointment, I pulled into the parking lot of The Stop.

  Tuuli’s hand was on the door before I shifted the car to park.

  “Thanks, Tito,” she said over her shoulder as she pushed out of the car.

  I watched her dash to the back door of the diner. Stared long and hard at the empty passenger seat. I turned off the heater because my car’s interior was fucking hot as Hades. After a bout of arguing with myself, I decided to head home rather than follow her inside. I needed lunch, but I needed a cold shower more.

  Tuuli Holt and her pretty little voice clung to my skin like a New York summer. Sticky, stifling, and unrelenting. Problem was, I wasn’t sure a shower could wash her away.

  Not good. Not good at all.

  “Oh, this is not good at all,” The reflection glaring back at me was a grumpy, frumpy mess.

  Thanks to Tito and his lead foot, I had fifteen minutes to spare before my shift started, enough time to grab a quick bite. I did not, however, have time to fix my hair. But really, when it came down to the nitty-gritty, a full belly trumped vanity by a gazillion points. So, instead of primping, I pulled my tangled mane into a low ponytail and called it good.

  A wave of nausea washed over me. I folded, pressed my forehead against the cold sink, and waited for the hunger pang to pass before making my way to the kitchen.

  “Hi, Charlie.”

  “S’up Toodaloo?”

  Toodaloo. Charlie had given me a nickname my first day on the job. I’d never had a nickname, aside from Brat. A term used too often and too enthusiastically by my brother and his friends over the years. I refused to acknowledge the moniker as any sort of endearment. Coming from Charlie, though? I couldn’t help but feel accepted, and somehow special.

  I was about to ask for eggs when he pushed a bowl of soup my way. “I need your opinion. I might add this to the menu. It’s kale, with Portuguese sausage. Aida’s recipe.”

  I cozied up to the cutting board and stirred the spoon through the gold broth with long shreds of green lettuce, perfect tiny potato and carrot cubes, shiny cuts of onions, and bite-sized hunks of some type of skinny sausage. The beautiful concoction smelled cozy, like a warm house on a cold winter day, inviting you to come inside and stay for a while.

  I don’t remember much after the first bite, except for Charlie pushing torn pieces of bread my way, and then offering a second helping. I scraped the last piece of potato from the bottom of my bowl and sucked it between my lips. When I looked up, Charlie and Slade stood side by side, both with arms crossed, heads tilted, and brows pinched tight.

  “So?” Charlie chuckled, his belly bouncing beneath his white coat. “You like it, then?”

  Slade’s always cheerful face twisted in concern. “You okay, Tuuli?”

 
; “Fine. Why?” I brushed bread crumbs off my mouth and carried my dishes to the sink.

  “No reason,” Slade answered with a smirk. “Never mind.”

  “Well?” Charlie asked as I made my way past him. “What’s the verdict? Yea or nay?”

  I retied my apron strings tighter around my waist, to help hold up my pants, and pretended to debate the quality of his creation. “It beats Chicken ‘n’ Stars, gives Ramen a run for its money. I’m gonna go with a yea.”

  “Hmmm,” he hummed, shooting me a wink. “I’ll dump this batch, tweak the ingredients, and see what I can come up with.”

  “No,” I waved my hand in a desperate plea. “Don’t toss it. It’s perfect. I lied, okay. I lied. It’s the best soup I’ve ever had in my life. The best meal I’ve eaten in forever. Don’t tweak it. For the love of God, don’t change a thing.”

  “That’s what I thought.” The Truck Stop’s famed chef turned his back and got busy with the fryer. “Get to work, Toodaloo. Got a full house out there.”

  With a sated stomach and more energy than I’d had all week, I headed to the dining room. Sundays were my favorite days to work. The after-church crowd was always pleasant, although skimpy with gratuities. I didn’t mind. As much as I needed the cash, agreeable customers always made for a better day than good tips.

  The afternoon passed in a whirlwind of burgers, coffee refills, screaming kids, and chatty geriatrics. I hardly had time to notice that Tito hadn’t shown up for lunch or dinner. In my few spare moments of peace, I couldn’t help but wonder if he hadn’t shown up because of me.

  I thought about him too much, silly waste of time that it was. I wasn’t even a blip on Tito’s radar. The man was scary hot, and untouchable as far as I could tell. I’d known him for months, served him lunch and dinner a gazillion times, and I’d never heard him speak more than one or two sentences to anyone other than Aida.

  Our conversation earlier was the longest exchange we had ever shared, and I soaked up his attention like a love-starved puppy. Foolish, sure. In hindsight, it was obvious that he was only being polite, seeing as we had been stuck together in his car. Which reminded me…

  I found Slade and Tango in the office. With one hand on Slade’s lower back, the other hand tangled in her hair, Tango hummed a tune I didn’t recognize and rocked Slade in a slow, gentle circle.

  A jealous ache rolled through my chest.

  Good Lord, they were beautiful. Always dancing. Always touching.

  Tango bent for a kiss. I cleared my throat.

  Slade turned her cheek to greet me. “Hey, girlie. What’s up?” The woman glowed twenty-four-seven. But in Tango’s arms, I could swear she was part angel, incandescent and blinding.

  “Sorry for interrupting. I just wanted to thank you for sending Tito to pick me up today. My purse broke and spilled, so I missed my bus. I don’t mind walking, but I’d neglected to bring a coat, and it was freezing this morning, and…”

  I paused, noting the look of confusion on my boss’s face.

  “Tito gave you a ride?” she asked, raising her brows and shooting Tango a quick glance.

  “Um. Yeah. He said you sent him because you didn’t see me get off the bus.”

  “He did, huh?” Slade hid a crooked smile behind the guise of chewing her thumbnail.

  I nodded.

  “That’s weird. I didn’t know you took the bus.” She turned to Tango, who was grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “Isn’t that weird, honey?”

  “Mmmhmm.” Tango kissed the top of her head and offered me a nod.

  Margie, our seasoned waitress, poked her head through the door. “Tuuli. A guy at table six is asking for you.” She threw me a wink. “Handsome devil.”

  My guts dropped and bounced around a bit. I didn’t know anyone in town, aside from my coworkers. Which meant someone I did know had made a trip into Whisper Springs to see me, which could only mean bad news was headed my way. My brother was the only person from Rockypoint who knew I worked at The Stop. He’d disappeared over a month ago.

  I straightened my spine and said a quick prayer on my way to the dining room, asking God not to let it be my brother. Or any family member for that matter.

  Even though his back was turned, I recognized my visitor immediately, his tall, wide frame unmistakable. His confident carriage sent a shiver through me. Forecasting the shit storm of white teeth, painted smile, and perfect pale skin that was about to wreak havoc in Tuuliland, I steeled my spine and battened down the hatches of my fragile, newfound independence before forcing my legs to carry me forward.

  “Erik?”

  “Tuuli.” Steely blue eyes, in all their ass-kissing glory, took me in before settling on my face. “You’ve lost weight. Didn’t think that was possible.”

  “Oh. Um.” Taken aback by his insult, I floundered, dropping my gaze to the checkered tile. “How did you know I was here?” I asked his shoes. Nice shoes. Looked expensive. Shiny brown leather. Fancy thin laces.

  Through my peripheral, I noticed his arms swing open. Before I could stop what was coming, he caught me in a stifling embrace, pressing me against an unforgiving chest and forcing me to inhale his expensive cologne.

  My feet left the ground. An oof left my lips. I dangled in one of his famous hugs. Except it wasn’t a hug per se, but more a reminder that he was bigger and stronger, and more powerful than I would ever be. Erik’s hugs were never about intimacy or emotion. Only control—or pretense, when others were around.

  When satisfied, he dropped me to my feet with an “Umpf.” Not gentle. In fact, harder than necessary, another reminder that he could break me if he so desired.

  He curled long fingers around my neck, and said, “I’ve come for my girl.”

  I jerked away. He pulled me right back, asserting his power with more aggression. His eyes would’ve been pretty if I didn’t know what was hiding behind the congenial mask.

  “I’ve come for you, Tuuli. This charade is over; get your things.”

  He didn’t own me. He didn’t know anything about me or the promise my brother had made. I was never going back. Not alone. Not with him. Not ever.

  I cleared my throat, forced a lifetime of conditioning down deep where it couldn’t control me, and I found my voice. “You don’t understand.”

  I understood Tuuli had a life outside of work. I understood that her life did not and in no way should have involved me. I had no business giving two fucks. But when I stepped through the door of The Stop, the cowbell rattled, the cacophony of happy diners filled my ears, and my eyes fell on that young, forbidden angel, dangling in the arms of a large, clean-cut suit. What I couldn’t fathom was why my face heated, or why my heart banged erratically, or why, for the love of all that was holy, I wanted to pound my chest like a damn gorilla and charge the pasty motherfucker who was holding the girl who wasn’t mine.

  Fuck. My head was fucked. I pounded my temple once, hoping to rattle some of the shit loose. My usual table, hidden in the corner, was otherwise occupied, by said motherfucker, I assumed. So, I retreated to the opposite corner, parked my ass at a dirty table, and tried my damnedest not to watch the interaction between Tuuli and her friend. Intimate friend, judging by the way he held her.

  Busying myself with a menu, I tried, unsuccessfully, to keep my attention off the couple. Tuuli stared at the floor more than usual. She seemed two sizes smaller, two souls smaller next to the douche.

  The more I watched, the more I realized that she wasn’t into the guy, and he, apparently, seemed to think he was her world.

  Margie approached. “Hey, Tito.” She wiped the red laminate with a bleach-soaked towel. “Ready to order?”

  I nodded yes before asking, “What’s up with Dolph Lundgren over there?”

  Margie looked over her shoulder. “Not sure, sweetie. Never seen him before tonight. He came here looking for Tuuli.”

  “She look happy to see him?” Not sure why I asked. Maybe I needed confirmation that I wasn’t reading Tuuli’s body languag
e wrong.

  “Well.” Margie turned to assess the situation. “Now that you mention it, no. She looks like she wants to curl into a tiny ball and roll away.”

  “That’s what I thought,” I mumbled.

  Tuuli jerked free of the guy’s grip and shook her head. He clamped his fingers back around her neck and pulled her closer.

  Lady Death whispered in my ear, “I want that one.”

  I shoved off my chair and decimated the distance between us, reaching earshot in time to hear Tuuli say, “Get your hands off me. I’m never going home. And I’m not your girl.”

  I didn’t give the guy time to respond. I hooked an arm around Tuuli’s shoulder and pulled her against me, effectively freeing her from his hold. “Hey, Tuuli,” I said, tapping her chin, forcing her to look at me. “Who’s your friend?” I held her gaze, hoping like hell she understood my game.

  I hated the meek fucking expression on her face.

  Tuuli stared at me, flushed, unspeaking, so I offered a hand to the dead man. “Tito Moretti. You are?”

  The man’s jaw hardened, his eyes narrowed, and his pale face reddened. After an excruciating pause, he shook my hand and said, “Erik Meyer.” His gaze sliced to Tuuli, then back to me.

  I held his hand past the point of polite, let Tuuli go, and nudged her toward the kitchen. “Charlie needs your help in the back. Said it was an emergency.” I didn’t watch her retreat. Instead, I dropped my friendly facade and sized the fucker up.

  A wicked smile spread across his face, revealing perfect white teeth. “Moretti? What is that, Italian?”

  “What that is, is none of your fuckin’ business,” I warned, stepping even closer.

  He didn’t shy away. Stupid move.

  My skin ignited head to toe.

  Erik asked, “Is there a problem?”

  The guy was too white, from his hair to his skin, and even his teeth. White, and clean. Too damn clean. Creepy as fuck, but in a pretty way.

  “You laid your hands on my girl,” I gritted through my clenched jaw. “You lay hands on her again, you’ll be fishing your fingers outta the lake. Got me?”