Page 90 of Truck Stop Titan

I was seconds from going nuclear myself. “Why aren’t we dangling this guy from his balls already?”

“I knew you were the right guy.” Tito shifted in his seat, rage rolling off him like a heavy fog.

“Shit,” Tucker roared. “She’s not gonna make it to my rig. Change of plans.” His door flew open. He skipped the vehicle’s side step entirely and landed with impressive form before sprinting toward the girl, shouting, “Cover me. Cover me.”

“Motherfuckers!” Tito retrieved the blade from his boot, and ripped from the car, sprinting at full speed across the lot.

My feet hit the pavement at the same time the child crumpled.

Up ahead, a large figure erupted from the Lincoln. “Leave her!” he shouted, strutting in Tucker’s direction, gun raised, a cocky stride to his steps.

Ignoring all threats, Tucker fell over the girl, blocking her small frame with his massive shoulders.

The pimp pointed the gun Tucker’s direction and hurried his pace. “Back the fuck away.”

Tito struck before the guy aimed, the two men falling into a tangled ball on the ground.

The passenger door of the Lincoln opened just as I rounded the rear. A skinny shit with a shaved head stepped in front of me, struggling to pull something from the back of his baggy jeans. A throat punch took him down. A kick to the skull ensured he’d stay horizontal. I cleared the vehicle for threats, and by the time I’d reached Tito, the other guy lay bloody and unconscious at his feet.

Tucker hauled the child off the ground, her head and limbs hanging limp. “She breathing, but she needs a hospital.”

“Go. Go.” Tito motioned toward Tucker’s hidden truck. “We got this.”

Tucker turned and disappeared into the dark lot.

“Ready for some fun?” Tito asked, squatting next to the shithead on the ground.

I nodded, jonesing for blood.

“Go grab the sedan.” He tossed me the keys. “There’s rope in the back.”

After binding those child peddlers tight and packing them in the trunk of our stolen vehicle, we headed to the on ramp, my mind heavy with thoughts of Mim and what-could-have-beens.

“You saved another kid tonight. Another life. How does that feel?”

Up ahead, the freeway blended with the dark, cloudless sky. “Feeling twitchy, you want the truth.”

“You’re feeling that way ’cause there hasn’t been any closure yet. I mean, the girl is safe. But that’s not enough, right?”

Not sure where he was going, so I grunted.

“You see”—Tito tapped his thumbs to a rapid beat on the steering wheel—“these fuckers won’t stop unless we take them down.”

“Okay.”

“Tucker doesn’t want anything to do with that side of the business.”

Didn’t surprise me. Fucking good ol’ American boy.

“We got deep-seated issues, you and me. We need to make them pay. Make them bleed.” He threw me a sideways glance, brow hitched. “Am I wrong?”

“No.” Nothing better than bringing down your enemies. “The bloodier, the better.”

“I knew we’d be on the same page.” He rolled into the lot of a run-down motel. The sign read, SWEET CREEK LODGE, but there was nothing sweet about the property. The L-shaped, two-story building needed a new roof. The siding had long since served its purpose. Two windows were boarded with warped wood tagged with graffiti. The only bright spot was the red neon NO VACANCY sign hanging in the office window.

Tito threw the vehicle into park, hung his arms over the dash, and pointed to the neglected building. “The owner lets it slide, all the girls passing through these rooms. I suppose he gets a cut. Every day before he leaves, he deletes the security footage.” Tito pointed out five different areas on the lot, each where a camera was perched. “I bypassed his feed two weeks ago. That footage is on its way to the Feds.”

“That’s it?” I rolled my stiff neck. “You do all that work, then trust the Feds to handle shit?”

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