Truck Stop Tempest Page 6

  Tucker came my way, holding a squealing Lucia in his arms. Tucker, who was tall, blonde, and blue-eyed, would’ve been perfectly acceptable to Erik if it weren’t for his dark-skinned, ebony-haired daughter.

  Oh, no. No. No. Please. No. Keep walking. Don’t…

  “Hi, Tuuli. Mind holding her for a sec?” Tucker settled the baby in my arms. “Be right back.”

  He didn’t wait for me to answer before jogging through the double doors toward Slade’s office.

  A strange rumble rose from Erik’s chest.

  Lucia made a funny noise, and I looked down at her hair, all fuzzy and soft, and the dark shade of her skin. Her green eyes widened when they met mine and her chubby face cracked in a wide grin, effectively cracking something in my chest.

  “What the fuck you been doing here, Tuuli? Making friends?” Erik mumbled.

  My heartbeat thrummed loud between my ears. I was so angry I wanted to scratch his eyes out or grab a fork and stab him in the throat. Even though the counter separated us, I took another step away from the horrid man.

  Tucker burst back into the room. “Thanks,” he said, snatching his daughter from my arms. “I had to grab some papers from the office.” He took Erik in, shifted Lucia against his chest, and stepped around the counter to offer his hand. “Tucker Slade.”

  Erik straightened his shoulders and acted the gentleman, shaking Tucker’s offered palm. “Erik Meyer.”

  “You Tuuli’s brother?” Tucker asked innocently. “You two look almost identical.”

  Horrified, I sucked in a breath and waited for the inevitable explosion.

  Eerily calm, Erik laughed. “No, sir.” He shot a glance at me.

  The cowbell rattled again, but I didn’t look to see who had entered.

  Erik continued his exchange with Tucker, stating, “I’m Tuuli’s fiancé.” He then rapped his knuckles on the counter, said, “See you tomorrow, love,” and headed toward the door, leading my gaze to the mountain of rage standing behind him.

  Tito’s molten eyes bore a hole straight through me.

  As Erik made his exit, Aida and Slade came through the door. I stood, speechless, disgusted, and dangerously close to fainting.

  Without so much as a word, or a grunt, or even a disappointed grimace, Tito turned on his heel and left.

  “Hi, Tuuli,” Slade grabbed her niece from her brother’s arms. “Who was that hottie?”

  “Her fiancé,” Tucker chimed in.

  My stomach roiled. That cheesy grin would’ve been gorgeous if he hadn’t been talking about Erik.

  Aida crossed her arms and quirked one of her perfectly formed brows at me. Although she’d been nicer to me since she’d given birth, I was still terrified of the woman.

  “He’s not my fiancé,” I said. “The jerk refuses to take no for an answer.”

  “Explain,” Aida ordered.

  My drama was nobody’s business. Deep down I knew that, but I’d been raised to obey. So, obey, I did. “We went to school together. He’s been after me since we were kids. That’s all. Erik is used to getting what he wants. He hasn’t figured out that I’m a person, not an object.”

  Aida eyed me suspiciously, making my skin crawl. Then again, she always looked at me like she knew my life was a lie. What I couldn’t figure out was why she hadn’t confronted me.

  “Good,” Slade said, peppering the baby with kisses. “Clean-cut suits are not your type.” She lifted her head and winked at me like we shared a secret.

  Aida, of course, not missing a beat, asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I suspect she’s more attracted to the tall, dark, and brooding type,” Slade said. “Right, Tuuli?”

  I chose that moment to grab the coffee pots, decaf and regular, and start my rounds. I also chose to ignore Aida when she blurted, “Tits? Oh, hell no. He’d destroy the little mouse.” I also ignored the snickers, and ssh’s coming from Tucker and Slade.

  I ignored them because their opinions didn’t matter. At least, that’s what I tried to tell myself. Truth? Maybe they mattered too much. Perhaps I feared they believed me unworthy of Tito.

  So, I tried to convince myself that they didn’t matter.

  And Aida’s words didn’t cut deep.

  Cut deep, hearing the words, “my fiancé.” Not a woe is me, my heart is broken, kind of pain. More like an, Aw, fuck, I have to kill another piece-of-shit lowlife sting. I had hoped that Whisper Springs would grant me a reprieve from the innate call to murder I’d lived with for so many years. I was tired of fighting. Tired of killing. Just plain tired.

  That Erik character raised all my hackles. The guy was a fraud, any fool could see. The poser had pissed on my territory. For that act alone, there would be consequences.

  One thing I knew sure as shit: guys like that pretty boy in the expensive suit didn’t respond to warnings. Punks like Erik needed to be taken down, swift and hard.

  Tuuli didn’t want him around. I’d make sure he respected her boundaries.

  I followed the fucker outside to his Mercedes, watched until his vehicle disappeared, then trekked up the hill to my apartment, fired up the coffee pot, and settled into the sofa with my laptop.

  Two hours later, I’d learned everything I needed to know about Erik Meyer.

  I continued to dig.

  Another hour in, I’d decided I wasn’t so tired of killing.

  I sat in the dark. Alone. Raging. Struggling to make sense of the facts I’d uncovered.

  The screams grew louder, ricocheting against the confines of my skull. Riotous bastards.

  I dialed Tango. Three rings in, he picked up. “Cuz. What’s up?”

  “I need to spar.”

  “Great. Meet me at Dad’s. Five-thirty good?”

  “Now,” was all I needed to say.

  No hesitation. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

  I made it to my uncle’s home in ten. Waited on the front porch for Tango to arrive. Followed him in silence to the basement gym.

  My cousin loosened his tie and threw it to the corner while kicking off his shoes.

  I ripped my sweatshirt over my head, toed off my Nikes, and attacked. Tango was ready, dodging an uppercut.

  “This how it’s gonna be?” he asked, working at the top button of his shirt.

  I snarled a warning.

  “That bad, huh?” he huffed, working at his cuffs.

  I paced, knocking at my skull to quiet the noise inside.

  “At least let me get my shirt off. Don’t wanna bloody this one.”

  I was a geyser ready to blow, steaming to release the unbearable pressure searing my insides. I paced until Tango came at me, muscles bunched, an unholy fire in his eyes.

  He was never one to shy away from the promise of a good old-fashioned fist to face.

  Tango didn’t dodge the next strike or the next. He took my assaults like a champ, then came at me, clipping my jaw, throwing a weak jab to my gut. Fucker was holding back. Pissing me off.

  “Hit me,” I screamed, pounding fists to chest.

  “Not without gear,” he shouted back, shaking his head.

  “Afraid I’m gonna blemish that pretty mug?”

  “No.” He jogged to the corner of the mat to grab headgear and gloves. “Afraid you might kill me.” A set of leathers landed at my feet. I kicked them away. Didn’t want protection. Didn’t need it.

  Then again, the gear wasn’t for me. Few men had seen me fight. Where Tango fought with his head, I surrendered to blind rage and instinct. Meaning I was never allowed in the ring.

  I didn’t fight to win.

  I fought to kill.

  So, unless sanctioned by Luciano Voltolini, I didn’t fight.

  At that moment, though, I sure as hell needed to hit someone.

  Tango didn’t see me coming. He took a pound to his right temple and fell, face to the mat.

  “Motherfucker,” he grunted, pushing to his knees.

  “Get up,” I ordered, pounding at my skull, the voic
es taunting me.

  “No.” He sat back on his haunches.

  “Get up and fight.” The room spun. Bloody images whirled in my head.

  “Not gonna happen.” He covered his face with one hand, held up the other in surrender, halting my advance. “I don’t trust your mood right now.”

  The screams amplified. Time for them to shut the fuck up. Turning to the bag, I swung, the impact vibrating my arm, adrenaline spiking my blood. I hit again. Again. Blow after blow I attacked the heavy bag until I was nothing but sweat and heavy breaths. Until the voices disappeared. Until my muscles failed to work. Until I fell to the ground, depleted of oxygen, purged of anger, and free to think clearly.

  I lifted my lids and stared at the knotty pine ceiling.

  “Ready to talk?” Tango huffed, falling to his ass at my side.

  “Just needed to blow off steam,” I said, wiping sweat from my brow.

  “No shit?” Tango laughed. “Hadn’t picked up on that.”

  “Sorry about your face.”

  “No, you’re not. You’ve always been jealous of my good looks.” He slapped my chest and draped his arms over his knees, waiting for me to spill.

  My eyes, my lungs, my chest burned with fury and an urge I didn’t understand. A call to protect the little bunny who’d wandered into my den.

  “It’s Tuuli.” Her name on my tongue was the sweetest drug, unfurling through my bloodstream like a snowstorm in the desert, cooling the hot spots, temporarily soothing the scorch of the sun. “Friend of hers came to The Stop. She wasn’t happy to see the guy. Creepy fucker. So, I looked into him.”

  We shared a stare-down before Tango blinked and looked away. “Aww, fuck,” he said, smoothing back his hair with a rough scrub. “Slade was right. You like her.”

  “Fuck off.” Should’ve kept my mouth shut and dealt with Erik on my own.

  Tango dropped his head between his arms and chuckled. “Never thought I’d see the day. My untouchable cousin, googly-eyed over a girl.”

  I let the googly-eyed comment slide. What I had to say would shut his trap.

  “In fact,” he continued. “I’ve never seen you—”

  “The fucker has been in Branson, Missouri the past two years, fighting child abuse charges. Fuckin’ rape charges. Youngest was seven. He walked because the boys either changed their stories or disappeared.”

  “Shit.” Tango fell back on the mat and rubbed his hands over his face. “No wonder your head is such a fucking mess right now.”

  Tango, my parents, and Luciano, were the only people who knew what I’d survived as a child.

  “That’s not all. He has ties with a white nationalist group in Ridgedale.”

  As expected, Tango didn’t take the news lightly. “Fuck. We can’t get free of this shit, can we?”

  I nodded in agreement. Several months back, Aida and Tucker had trouble with a group of white supremacist dickheads at The Stop. Jonas Carver, the group’s apparent leader, had been arrested in Seattle on unrelated charges and there hadn’t been any trouble since.

  “This Erik guy tied to Carver?”

  “They belong to the same damn church. The Christian Brotherhood of Faith in Rockypoint.”

  “Think Tuuli knows?”

  “I suspect she does, although she hasn’t said a word about it. I’ve seen her around the guy. She’s scared shitless of him.”

  “Send me his specs. I’ll pass them on to the security team, make sure he doesn’t step foot in the door again.”

  Tango was overzealous when it came to Slade and her safety. Case in point: The security team he’d hired to watch the diner. The Stop had seen its share of trouble recently, so I couldn’t fault his motivation.

  “Appreciate it.”

  “Listen. I don’t know our little waitress very well. What I do know is that Slade is fond of her. She works hard. Is always on time. Never calls in sick. Gives me more time with my girl. But Tuuli is quiet and skittish as all hell. Not sure she can handle the likes of us. If you’re just looking to get laid, man, I gotta ask you to back off. She leaves her job because of you, we’ll have Slade to deal with. And trust me, that won’t be pretty.”

  “Not sure what you’re trying to say, cousin.” I knew damn well what he was getting at. I didn’t date. Never had time, or the desire. Of course, I had physical needs. Just like every other man. Back home, Luciano’s girls were willing and available, twenty-four-seven. When doling out a grand an hour for pussy, it was in my best interest to find a dark corner, get shit done, and send the ladies on their merry way. A win-win for everyone involved. Aside from the lifelong tug-o-war between Aida and me, that was the extent of my experience when it came to female companionship.

  “All I’m trying to say is that you better be sure.”

  I wasn’t sure of anything except for the ache in my gut.

  Part of me wanted to cut Tuuli loose. I was trying hard to shake trouble, didn’t need more worry, especially in the form of a tempting little pixie. Problem was, the thought of never seeing her again made me want to bloody more faces.

  “Next time you wanna talk, can we skip the foreplay and get to the good stuff?” Tango poked at the darkening bruise on his cheek. “How the hell am I going to explain this to Rocky?”

  “Tell him the truth. You’ve gone soft, and your cousin kicked the shit out of you.”

  “Ha.” Tango pushed to his feet, then dropped a hand to help me up. “I gotta get back to work. Don’t forget we’re having dinner at Aida’s tonight.”

  He pulled me into a hug, slapped my shoulders, and headed up the stairs. I attacked the bag again, finding a steady rhythm, sated, knowing there would be extra eyes on the diner when I couldn’t be there.

  Why the fuck did I care?

  Tuuli was good. I was the worst kind of bad. We would never work.

  Church girls didn’t fall in love with executioners.

  Despite the razors of truth slicing my insides to ribbons, I couldn’t ignore the spike of adrenaline that hit me every time I thought about seeing her again.

  Selfish fucking bastard.

  Selfish bitch.

  I should never have agreed to a date with Tito. Not when so much about my life was a lie. He deserved to know the ugly truth about my family. Yet, there I stood, primping and giddy about a date I had no business agreeing to.

  Challenging as it was with no electricity, and the stormy sky offering little in the way of natural light, I managed to apply a light coat of makeup and make my hair presentable. I shimmied into my favorite jeans, topped them with a babydoll cami and matching light blue cardigan, and tightened the laces on my well-worn Doc Martens before heading out.

  After Erik’s visit the day before, Tito hadn’t returned to the diner or shown up to drive me home. He had, however, arranged for Charlie to give me a ride, which I gratefully accepted because of the torrential downpour.

  I prayed our date was still on and hurried to get to the house before he arrived. The mile-long trek toward River Drive proved muddy and difficult to navigate, slowing my pace, but when I cut through the property that once belonged to the Brighton Wood Mill, I made-up for lost time and reached the main highway before the bus screeched to a halt. Forty minutes later, I stood in front of 1415 Apricot Lane. The large blue house with its wraparound porch, white picket fence, and pristine yard, was my favorite dwelling on the entire block.

  Sledgehammers pummeled my chest at the familiar roar of Tito’s engine. The beautiful black car rolled to a stop at the curb. When he exited the Mustang and jogged around to greet me, a warm tingle settled in my cheeks.

  Dark-blue jeans hugged his thighs, and a black, long-sleeved T-shirt showed off—much too well, in my opinion—his outrageous physique. No hood covered his head, leaving his scar on full display. He’d cut his hair, leaving it short on the sides and longer on top, arranged to look messy, but artfully so.

  “Hey,” he sighed, assessing my outfit, then resting his gaze on my face. “You didn’t have to wa
it outside.”

  “Hi.” The greeting left my lips, breathy and slow.

  A rare, unreserved smile spread across his face.

  A thousand bombs exploded in my chest. Those deep dimples branding a permanent tattoo on my temporal lobe.

  “Ready?” He opened the door, gaze dropping to my boots, lingering.

  I should’ve taken time to wipe the mud off my shoes. “Am I dressed okay? You didn’t say what we were doing today.”

  He blinked, then shook his head as if dispelling a thought. “You’re dressed fine. Perfect.” Leaning closer, he whispered, “Beautiful.”

  I settled into the car seat and hooked my belt. When he sat next to me, a rush of cologne filled my senses, warming me deeper than the heat blowing through the vents.

  Tito inhaled, then exhaled, his shoulders relaxing. “Get home okay last night?”

  I nodded.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to pick you up. Had a dinner I couldn’t back out of.”

  “No need to apologize. It’s not your responsibility to drive me home.”

  “I like driving you home,” he mumbled, turning his attention to pull away from the curb.

  The deep rumble of the engine made my insides tingle.

  “You hungry?” he asked.

  “Starving.” I’d burned off the measly banana calories halfway through my hike.

  “Good. I know a great place in Hollow Falls. They make the best Spanish tortilla.”

  I’d never heard of a Spanish tortilla, but my mouth watered regardless. Food was food. Anything would be better than canned cheeses and Chicken of the Sea.

  Hollow Falls was the neighboring town west of Whisper Springs. The two cities, once separated by miles of farmer’s fields, were now connected by new housing developments, car dealerships, and mini-malls. The half-hour drive passed in a blur of speeding cars and lighthearted conversation.

  Tito pulled into a parking lot hidden behind a large brick building that housed the restaurant, a tattoo parlor, and an antique store.

  The sign above the door read, La Caverna.

  When we entered, Tito grabbed my hand and led me to the corner of the dining room. The dark-stained wood tables were held together with wrought iron rivets and decorated with mason jar candles.