Page 4 of Truck Stop Titan

I would never forget. Wore the scars like a god damn suit of armor.

Still, if I backed down, I’d lose respect, and the girl would die. Wasn’t another girl dying because of me. “I’m out. Kill me if you have to, but I’m taking this kid somewhere safe first.”

The child twitched in my arms, her head jerking back, catching Prez’s attention. A long, hard minute passed. Jaw clenched, he gnawed on his bottom lip. I watched him, watching her, undoubtedly thinking about his nieces, one of whom had been taken by sex traffickers only a year ago. With a head shake, he checked over his shoulder where a few of the brothers were spilling out of the clubhouse. On a deep inhale, he met my glare, then pulled his Sig out of its holster, and aimed straight between my eyes. “Get out of the truck.”

“Fuck,” I growled, shoved the door open, and hauled the girl out of the cab.

“The cut.” He gestured to the kid. “It’s mine. Hand it over.”

Sure as hell wasn’t expecting that order. By some miracle, I unwrapped the girl and tossed my leather vest at his chest without waking her.

“Down the road, you’ll find a white sedan. It’s hot. Keys are inside. Get the fuck outta my sight and don’t come back unless I call you back.”

He was letting me go, without losing face. The day had gone from strange to downright insane.

Without a word, I turned my back on my brothers.

“And Trailer,” he called. “You’re not out. You’re never out.”

I didn’t look back. Wouldn’t. But I couldn’t help my grin. The asshole still had a heart.

And that shattered little girl may have just saved my life.

# # #

“Breathe, baby. C’mon.” I pulled the tiny thing against my chest, rubbing her back, rocking, fighting my own fucking panic attack because I had no god damned clue how to comfort anyone, let alone a traumatized child.

Purple-faced, she struggled to breathe, silent screams racking her body.

“Please. I won’t hurt you. I’m not gonna hurt you.” I was so far over my head I feared I’d never see daylight. “The bad man is gone. He won’t touch you again.”

Her body trembled, but her chest rose and fell against mine. Once. Twice. She managed to suck in oxygen between sobs. Thank fuck.

I held her close but not tight, her body fragile with bruises. She needed words. Solace. I had none to offer. What did I know about that shit? What the fuck did I know about anything?

When her tears slowed, and her breaths turned wet and shallow, I forced a string of deep inhale-exhales. Muscles weary, my bones ached, and my head buzzed like I’d survived a three-day bender.

I held her for an eternity, running my fingers through her long, dirty hair, bile rising in my throat. She smelled like piss and raw earth. How long had that bastard had her? How was she still alive? How had her tiny, breakable body taken that abuse and not shattered?

When she relaxed in my arms, a soft snore coming from her lips, I shifted, eager to lay her down and get back on the road. Tiny fingers gripped my shirt collar, clinging for dear life.

“Listen. I know you’re scared. But I have to lay you down. I need to drive. I need you to help me out here, Little One.”

She only whimpered, burrowing her face in my neck.

Fuck.

Fuck me.

Fuck it.

I yanked the seatbelt around our joined bodies and pulled back onto the highway. The sky had darkened to black. Nobody would see the multitude of wrongdoings I committed, unless of course I got pulled over. So, like a fuck, I drove the speed limit, maintained a safe distance between passing cars, and sweated rivers for the remaining five hours of my drive.

Thirty minutes from Whisper Springs, I pulled out my burner phone and dialed the number I’d programmed earlier.

“This better be fucking important to wake me at three in the morning.” Tango Rossi’s voice rattled through the phone.

“It’s Reynolds. I need your help.” More painful words had never escaped my lips.

---