Page 100 of Truck Stop Tempest

Guy was right. We no longer had Voltolini to back us up. We were nothing against the Satan’s Slayers.

Still, I could see Tango’s gears grinding, so I stepped in. “That all?”

“No.” Dane’s glare finally met mine. “Found your boy.”

My BPM spiked. “Erik Meyer?”

He blew a smoke ring. “Banshees have been giving him shelter.”

My palms twitched. “Where is he now?”

“North of town. About forty-five minutes out. Off the grid. He’s attending the rally. Word is, Carver is stepping down; Erik’s taking the throne. I figured you might enjoy watching us bury him before that happens.”

No hesitation. “I’m in.”

Dane nodded. “We leave now.”

“Not a problem.”

He dropped his smoke, leaving it to burn, and threw a leg over his bike. “Hope you can keep up.”

“Tito.” Tango toed dirt over the smoking butt. “You have no reason to go. Slayers aren’t gonna let him live. Keep your hands clean.”

Fuck that shit. Erik Meyer put hands on my girl. The monster in the crisp, clean suit hurt children. Bastard was gonna bleed. “Clean hands are for pretty boys.”

Dane snorted.

I wasted no time on goodbyes. Dane’s ride rumbled. I jogged to my car, ignoring the fucks coming from Tango, pulled up my killer playlist, and readied for war, the darkness already descending.

The darkness descended like an omen, closing around me, its whispered warnings stealing my breath as I watched the live feed through the television screen.

“Jeremy Carver, leader of The Christian Brotherhood of Faith Church, was found dead this morning at his Rockypoint home.”

The reporter stood at the guarded entrance to The Christian Brotherhood of Faith Compound.

“One eye-witness stated, and I quote, ‘It was gruesome and inhumane, and I can’t imagine what kind of monster would do this to another human being.’” The reporter then continued, “Authorities have seized the one-hundred-acre compound.”

I muted the sound. In the background, past the main field, red lights flashed. My mom’s house was on the other side of that field.

My mother. Oh, God. She had to be okay. They hadn’t mentioned her once in any of the reports.

I dialed her number again. No answer.

I texted again. No response.

I sunk deeper into the sofa cushions, shivering despite the warm temperature.

Where was Tito?

I dialed his cell for the tenth time. Nothing. I see-sawed between worry and anger. He hadn’t met me at the diner the night before. No phone call. No text.

A knock sent me flying off the couch and sprinting toward the door in hopes that a pair of strong arms and stormy eyes waited on the other side.

Slade greeted me, still in her uniform. “Hey.”

“Hi,” I said, breathless, anxious. “What’s up?”

“You watchin’ the news?”

---