Page 2 of Truck Stop Titan

One blanket lay bunched in the corner of the five-by-five dirt cell. In the opposite corner, a bucket.

“Hey, Little Lady.” I lowered a hand. “Wanna get out of there?”

The screaming stopped, replaced by heavy, erratic breaths.

“This fucker ain’t gonna hurt you no more.” I sank lower, hoping to get a better handle on her situation.

She shuffled backward, knocking dirt chunks off her newly dug prison walls.

Behind me, grunts, feet shuffling. Hammer yelled, “She isn’t breathing. Goddammit. She ain’t breathing.”

I glanced over my shoulder to find my brother-in-crime inspecting the woman’s neck and chest, tearing at the collar of her blouse.

Wilson moaned, then mumbled. “The junkie slut is dead, asshole. Get away from my Dollie. She’s mine.” At the sound of Wilson’s voice, the little one screamed again, backing into the corner, thrashing with rabid sobs.

“Trailer, we need to ghost. You can’t save her, she’s too far gone.”

“Not leaving her here.”

Videos played in a loop on Kyle’s computer screen. One kid after another, boys and girls alike. Kids he’d filmed at the park, the mall, fucking restrooms. It was only the girl below my feet that stopped me from shredding the molester with my bare hands.

“I’m gonna put this guy in the hole, Little One. I’m gonna drop him in the dirt, and he’s never coming out. So, unless you wanna stay down there with him, I need you to take my hand so I can pull you out of there.”

Out from the dark corner she scrambled, eyes lifted to mine, wide, red-rimmed, and sunken. I lowered my arm, she grabbed hold, and I raised her out of the god damn earth. The second her feet hit the ground, the child crumpled, then kicked, hands and feet skidding on the floor, scrambling to get to the dead woman.

Wilson cried, “Dollie. My Dollie. Baby, come here!”

One fist to the nose wasn’t enough to shut him up, so I struck again. Then again, ’cause damn, there was no better balm to a blistering rage than the crack of bones under your knuckles.

He tracked the little girl, his mouth moving, nothing but bloody gurgles coming out. Sick fuckin’ loon.

Hand around the man’s throat, I dropped him in the grave, pulled the floorboards back into place, and nailed those fuckers down, keeping one eye on the kid, and one on my brother.

The child curled around her mother’s body, hugging her round belly, petting her cheek. It was then I took a good look at the dead woman sprawled on the floor, a dirty needle stuck in her arm. Mick. She’d done a few odd jobs for the club. Cleaning. Cooking. She’d show up for a few months, then disappear. Didn’t know she had a kid. Couldn’t believe she was pregnant. Killed me, seeing that baby bump. How could a woman so battle-worn and emaciated carry a child?

The house of horrors was about to become ash. I moved to grab the kid, and the grief and fear that bubbled from her throat split my soul into jagged shards. With all the strength she had in that tiny body, she curled around her mother, clinging for dear life.

“We need to go, Little One.” I forced an arm around her middle, trying to pry her away.

She stiffened but didn’t let go, screaming silent sobs into her mama’s hair.

“Please, kid.” I bent, pressing my lips to her ear so our convo stayed out of my brother’s earshot. “Don’t make me leave you here. Your mama’s gone. I can’t help her. But I can help you.”

More with the crying, and snot, and desperate attempts to rile her mother’s corpse.

“We go now, Trailer, or you’re burning with them.”

Fuck. Leaving the girl was not an option. Visions of Addison’s final days played through my head, poking the embers of that ever-present burn, leaving an acrid taste in the back of my throat.

The burden of my fuck-all life had never weighed so heavy than it did when I pried that hysterical child’s fingers from her mother’s body. I absorbed her kicks and scratches and spitting hysteria, eventually shrugging off my cut and cocooning her in the heavy leather to prevent further injury to either of us. Took every ounce of self-control I owned to keep my shit together for that little girl.

With heavy steps, I made my way to the back door, past the overturned furniture, emptied drawers, and smashed electronics. Not sure what Hammer had been looking for, but judging by the trail of profanities following in his wake, he was leaving empty-handed.

I looked down at the girl in my arms, sickened by her pale skin, her bony frame, but awed by her spark, her fight. God damn. Wide hazel eyes. Auburn waves. Freckles. Just like my Addy.

Fuck me. Fuck my life.

“You’ll have to do the honors,” I told Hammer before yanking open the truck door.

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