Page 1 of Truck Stop Titan

Dane

“HOLD STILL.” HAMMER GRIPPEDmy hair in a tight fist, his rank breath blowing across my face.

“Jesus.” I shifted my ass on the hard stool, gripping my knees to keep from punching the bastard. “Just get it done.”

The ugly fucker sneered, peering down at me, his gaze unsettled. “You want that piece of glass outta your forehead, or not?”

“I wanna get this fuckin’ show on the road.”

“Then maybe you should’a shot that tweaker instead of wrestling him through the window.” He jerked my head back. “This is gonna hurt. Close your eyes.”

Hammer yanked. I winced, blinking against the pain. Glass clinked in the sink. An unholy fire burned above my right eye. The stench of alcohol seared my lungs.

Pinching the wound closed, he got busy with the liquid stitches, then held my skin in place while the glue dried.

Screams echoed through the house, terror laden cries of a child, amping my adrenaline to dangerous levels.

“What are we doing here?” I growled, rising to stand.

Hammer hadn’t offered details as to why we’d come to Wilson Kyle’s cabin, other than we were collecting a debt. Clearly, he’d visited before, as he knew where to find the spare key.

“You’re here for backup.” He pointed a bloody finger in my direction. “Not to ask questions.”

I turned to check the damage, meeting my own eyes in the mirror, hating what I found in their depths, hating what I’d become. “What’s with the girl?”

“Not your fucking business.” Hammer tossed the bloody cotton balls in the trash, then stomped toward the back room shouting, “Jesus, kid. Shut the fuck up!”

The man in the bathtub groaned, the sound a bubbly gurgle. Good. I wanted him conscious. I tore back the curtain and knelt, pinching his chin to keep his focus on me.

“You’re gonna burn today. Hope you know how much it kills me I can’t stick around to watch.” I patted his cheek.

Pleading eyes bulged, the man thrashing against his binds.

“You know why this has to happen, right?”

He stilled, urine staining his jeans in a slow spread. Yeah. He knew why he had to die.

Still, I reminded the sick fuck. “That girl. What is she? Five? Six? She’s fucked for life. She’ll have nightmares for years. She’ll probably end up in foster care, with more sick bastards. Most likely, she’ll end up on the street, sucking diseased cock like yours in exchange for her next fix.”

What Kyle had done to that little girl, what I’d walked in on, broke something in me, brought to surface buried memories, the scenes of the Slayers and what they’d done to my cousin, Addy, after they’d thought she’d betrayed them.

I was one hundred percent a Satan’s Slayer, from my first ride, my first toke, my first fuck, and my first kill. I’d done time for my brothers. I had scars to prove my loyalty, but the fucker lying beneath me? The pedophile motherfucker? He ruined me. The fact that one of my brothers had stood by watching and hadn’t dismembered that piece of shit?

Final nail in the coffin.

I was done.

I yanked the gag from Kyle’s mouth, shoved the funnel between his teeth, then poured what was left of the gasoline down his throat, making him swallow.

Then I landed two strikes between his eyes, because I wanted him to hurt, and dragged him down the hall, to the back bedroom, past the woman lying on the floor, and to the hole in the center of the room. The dirt prison that was currently occupied.

“Jesus, Hammer. Get her outta there.”

“She ain’t moving,” Hammer growled, standing hands to hips, looking down at the vacancy in the hardwood. “Ain’t no way in hell I’m jumping into that pit.”

“Jesus H Christ.” I shoved Hammer aside, grunted, “Check on the woman,” then dropped to all fours, and ducked my head into the dark hole, covering my mouth and nose, the stench too much for even vermin like me to bear.

My guts protested, twisting into fierce knots. The tiny child wore a man’s dirty white T-shirt, the collar sliding off her bony shoulders, the hem dusting her feet. Her head hung low, offering me a view of her wild mane, which had at some point been braided, but was mostly a tangled mess.

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