Page 3 of Truck Stop Titan

He ran a hand over his bald scalp, took one last drag, then used his cigarette to light the wick sticking out of his glass bottle. He tossed the bomb, hitting the fuel-soaked porch.

We didn’t wait for the house to catch fire. We’d made sure it would burn.

# # #

Thank fuck we’d brought the Jeep, or the ride down from the mountain would’ve been god damn impossible. Took both arms and one leg for me to keep that baby still, and a good twenty minutes before she passed out from exhaustion.

Silence hung like a third wheel in the cabin of that vehicle.

“Gonna tell me what the hell happened back there?”

“No.” Hammer sucked a final drag from his Marlboro, then chucked it out the window. “And you speak a word of it to anyone, I’ll skin you myself.”

I’d never had cause to question my brother, but damn, my hackles were raised. “Prez know we were on that run?”

“Yep,” he lied, scratching his jawline just below his ear. His one tell.

“That was Mick.”

Hammer nodded, then pounded the steering wheel. “Damn shame. She’d been clean for three weeks.”

“Did you know she had a kid?”

Jaw clenched, he nodded.

“Kyle Wilson the girl’s dad?”

“Don’t know. Don’t fuckin’ care.” He jabbed a finger my direction. “You should’a left her.”

I didn’t question further. Everything about the day had been off. Wasn’t like Hammer to keep shit on the down-low, so I figured he had good reason.

The child’s body slackened, and for the first time in hours, I relaxed, too. When her head rolled back on my arm, I noticed the chain around her neck, too damn heavy for her tiny frame. The thick silver braid looked new, but the heart locket attached was tarnished, and the key hanging next to it, out of place. I thumbed the piece of metal, then rested my head on the back of the seat and closed my eyes.

We hit the clubhouse and Hammer headed inside, fists clenched, mumbling under his breath. I stayed in the cab, scared shitless I’d wake the kid.

Didn’t take long for Prez to storm my way, not a hair out of place, or a wrinkle in his clothes, but wearing a scowl known to set even the strongest men back a step. “The fuck you thinking, bringing a kid out here?”

“Did you know what was going down in that cabin?”

“What cab—”

“She was locked in a damn hole.” I cut him off before he could spew any bullshit. I raged, itching for a fight. “The fucker was making movies.”

Prez tried and failed to hide his disgust, then covered his tracks with, “You goin’ soft, Trailer?”

Fuck no. I was hard as a mother-fucking tank. Hard enough to take down him and everyone in that damn clubhouse. “I don’t have a fuckin’ clue why you sent us to that cabin. Hammer ain’t talking, but I know he’d been in and outta that place, and I know damn well he knew about that fucker’s extracurricular activities. And that shit don’t sit well with me. She’s a fucking baby, Prez.”

Prez flinched, seemingly confused, then yanked a hand-rolled out of his pocket. He lit the bud, and drew a deep inhale, eyes aimed over my shoulder, clearly working something out, and apparently not ready to divulge.

His silence spoke volumes, cementing my resolve.

“I’ve paid my debt to this club. More than you ever asked of me.”

His gaze sliced to mine, brows furrowed. “What’re you saying?”

Before considering their weight, the words left my lips. “I’m out.”

“Out?” Throwing his head back, he released a maniacal, threat-laced laugh. “There is no out. I own you, kid. Every breath, every blink, every kill. Every piss you take, every load you blow into skanky pussy. They’re mine. Don’t ever forget that. You were nothing but trailer trash, like your old man. Only reason you’re not pushing up daisies is because you do the nasty shit others won’t. Don’t forget what I did for you.”

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