Page 93 of Truck Stop Titan

I kissed her wet lips, then let her go. “This is who I am, Moriah. I’m sorry you’re stuck with me, but I’m not leaving. Not ever. Not letting the best thing that ever happened to me slip through my fingers.”

I yanked my boxers off the bed, stumbled into them, and then pulled my T-shirt over my head. “You love me now?” I asked, mocking—a defense mechanism, cruel and meant to hurt.

Moriah flinched, but didn’t take the bait. Instead, she asked, “Where are you going?”

“Mim wakes up calling for me, I’m gonna be there. I wanna hear her say my name. Want her to know she never has to be afraid again.” I slipped out the door, knowing I’d pushed too hard, revealed too much.

Hell, wouldn’t have surprised me if the police came knocking and dragged me away in cuffs after my confession. Would have been the smartest thing she could do.

Only, the police didn’t come. Mim called for me in her sleep, her voice an angel’s song, and I woke her from her bad dream, whispering promises in her ear, and I let her kiss my cheek, and rake her fingers through my beard, and fall asleep curled against me, clinging tightly.

I’d be her hero. I’d be her everything. Because…God damn my motherfucking, fucked-up life, I loved that kid, and her crazy aunt.

# # #

“Authorities have not confirmed whether these attacks are connected with the Rest Area Reaper, but they aren’t denying that whoever is behind this bizarre scene wanted to send a warning.” On the screen, the camera panned wide, showing a low-budget motel. “Three men were found bound, and strung from the ceiling, with the words CHILD RAPIST carved not only into their faces, but all over their bodies. One source tells us that evidence was found in the room linking these men to as many as seventeen missing persons reports, eleven of those missing persons being children under the age of fourteen. One of those missing girls was admitted to Hopstead General Hospital early this morning…”

“At first they thought the guy was only mugging truck drivers,” Moriah said, pulling the butterfly puzzle apart and dropping the pieces one at a time into the box.

Shame. It’d taken Mim and I three hours to put that one together.

“Mmm,” I grunted, lifting the beer bottle to my lips and taking a slow sip.

“Now they say the Reaper is targeting people involved in underage prostitution.”

“Yeah. I heard that.”

“If that’s the case, I hope that vigilante makes them suffer.” She closed the lid, sat back on the couch, and tucked her feet under her butt. “If I could meet that guy, I’d give him a hug.”

Shit. My chest. “So, you think what he’s doing is a good thing?”

“Yes. Don’t you? I mean, if what they say is true, and this man or woman is hunting child rapists and sex traffickers, then, hell yes. Make them suffer. Make an example out of them.”

Hadn’t expected that response from little MissI Don’t Like the F Word.

“The violence doesn’t bother you?”

“Before Mim, I might’ve said yes. But now? I don’t know. Feels good knowing somebody hurt them back.” Moriah pointed the remote and shut off the big screen. “It terrifies me, thinking what could’ve happened to our little girl.”

Our little girl.

Moriah didn’t catch her slip, but I did, straight in the gut, and God damn I was about to suffocate on the sudden rush of feelings. I didn’t do feelings. Didn’t like them. So, I pushed off the sofa and made for the kitchen, biding time to pull my shit together.

I suffered no moral conviction. What Tito and I had done to those men was legally wrong, but I’d never felt so right, so justified in carrying out a violent act. That whole night had been euphoric, despite the gruesome nature. Knowing we’d saved another kid? Fucking fantastic. Only two days had passed, and I was already itching to do it again. For Mim. For Addison.

Hated to admit that Moretti had been spot-on. I was the right guy for the job. We were cut from the same cloth, both suffering the innate need to punish, to atone for past sins, to purge.

I wanted more. Only, I couldn’t move forward without bringing Moriah into the loop.

“Dane.” Her voice seemed far away.

I had to tell her. Had no choice. She wanted truth. All my ugly.

“You okay?” A warm hand landed on my shoulder.

I opened my eyes. Hands planted on the white marble, head hanging, I sucked in a sharp breath.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

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