Page 104 of Truck Stop Tempest

“But you didn’t.”

He gnawed his bottom lip, then paced the room, hands to hips. Back and forth. Breathing deep.

“Tito. You’re scaring me.”

He stopped. Dropped his hands, his shoulders, his chin. Three deep breaths and his eyes met mine. “Can I kiss you?”

He didn’t want a kiss. He wanted to talk. Confess. Our game was the only way he knew how.

I played along. “Tell me something I don’t know about you. Something big.”

Another deep breath. Tito nodded as if he needed to convince himself to speak, then lifted those dark eyes to mine, holding me captive. “When I was eleven, I killed the priest who raped me.”

The Earth slipped away. I stumbled backward, the brick wall catching my fall. “What?”

I’ll kill Jeremy Carver and burn that church to the ground.

The room spun. A sharp pain twisted my insides.

Jeremy Carver found dead. Gruesome and inhumane.

“Bunny. Say something.” He reached for me.

I slapped his hand away.

A priest? He killed a priest? God, he’d tried to warn me, that morning on the running trail. My secrets will hurt you. My truths will be the end of us.

“Baby. Don’t shut down on me,” he begged. “You said you wanted every dirty piece of me, remember?”

Oh, God. Oh. God. His bruises. His torn-up hands. No. No, no, no. “You killed Jeremy.”

His head snapped up. “What?”

“Was it you?” A vicious rumble started in my chest, rising, rising. Spilling over.

“Jesus, Tuuli. No.” He shook his head, backing away. “You can’t think I’d—”

My palm met his cheek, the crack loud and grotesque. “You killed Jeremy Carver!” I screamed, releasing all the ugly, vile emotions I’d stockpiled, regretting my outburst the second I made contact.

His head jerked to the left. The air turned frigid.

Oh, God. I wanted to scream and cry. Throw punches. Make him hurt like I hurt because he was killing me. Why would he go after Jeremy? Why would he risk everything? Risk us? Why?

Tito dragged his tongue along his lower lip, chest rising and falling, fist clenched. I waited, razor-spiked blood pounding through my skull, the air roaring between us, thunderous and devastating.

“Tito,” I whispered, hating the disconnect, desperate to understand his motives. “Why?”

He turned, dark eyes aimed over my head and moved past me, dragging all my oxygen with him. I couldn’t watch. I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t wait for him to leave. I couldn’t let him go.

He reached the door. His body coiled.

With a roar so loud, guttural, and pained I felt it in my toes, he threw his fist through the heavy wood, effectively leaving a hole in my chest.

Then he was gone.

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