Page 3 of Blood
I’m going to be sick.
Fishing out my keys, I pocket my phone for just a second. Gripping the handle on the side of the truck with one hand andthe inner door handle with the other, I heave myself inside. My hand shakes as I reach out to close the door, but a petite blonde blocks it.
“What about me?” she asks incredulously.
“Move!”
“How am I supposed to get back to town?” she huffs.
“You’re in a fucking truck stop with dozens of lonely men. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” Pulling the door closed, I force her to step out of the way.
She throws up her middle finger, stepping farther back.
Rolling my neck, I start the truck and call my dad again.
I’m not a good person. I don’t deserve most things. But over my dead fucking body will I lose this family.
The engine roars as I head toward the lot entrance, the whore giving me a few creative gestures in my side mirror. But she doesn’t matter. Nothing does. Nothing but my family.
Four hours.
I’m four hours from home.
I crank up the speed as I merge onto the I-90. Sniffing, I breathe out a stuttered breath.
Four long fucking hours.
CHAPTER TWO
Kaleb
The truck rumbles beneath me as I slow to a stop. The turn to my parents’ cabin taunts me from the driver’s side mirror. Shifting into reverse, I spin the wheel quickly and release the brake.
I need to get off this road without being seen. It’s not easy in a vehicle this big, but I’m a good driver. That’s why I get first choice of the big deliveries. My lips tug up when a memory of Christopher Cromwell teaching me how to drive flashes through my mind.
“If you can’t do it well, don’t do it.” It was his motto for our lessons.
After checking my mirrors again, darkness greets me in the lane.Good.
Pride and panic flow through me as I maneuver the truck onto and down the small dirt road. Large trees stretch high on both sides.
Private and quiet. Perfect for our family weekends. And an ambush.
Whoever is responsible has no idea what they’re in for.
Every single member of my family had better be okay. Not a hair out of place. But I know what killers do. My fear spikes, and my imagination spirals again.
Flicking the headlights off just before the house comes into view, I slow the truck to a stop.
This is it.
Swallowing hard, I grip my knife handle. My palm is sweating as I climb down from the truck. Shadows engulf me as I run along the edge of the forest. The road suddenly feels twice the usual length until I reach where four cars are parked. Not recognizing the black Ford, I head straight for it. With my body bent over, I remain low, using my parents’ and Samantha’s cars for cover. Sneaking around to the front, I place my hand on the hood of the Ford . . . cold.
I don’t know what I was expecting. It’s been almost four hours and two hundred and twelve unanswered calls since I got the 911 text.
The weapon in my hand shakes, and my heart gives another sharp squeeze. If anything has happened to my family, I’m going to gut the people responsible, no matter how many have to die tonight. With any luck, they’ll take me with them.
Bile rises in my throat.
