Page 41 of Truck Stop Tempest

“What?” he barked.

“The nearest store is miles away. It’s pouring rain.”

His truck keys landed on the table next to the cash. “Take my Chevy. Give me four, no, make it five hours. I’ve got a shit ton of fucking to do.”

“I didn’t need to hear that.”

“Fuck off. Just get dressed, brat.”

I obeyed. Not because I’d felt obligated, but because I really did not want to be anywhere near the trailer when his relief arrived.

I didn’t bother to change out of my baggy clothes. When Jonas locked himself in the bathroom, I grabbed my purse from its hiding spot. I lifted the carpet in the corner of the living room and found the envelope containing my emergency cash. I didn’t trust him not to search the place. With Jonas home, I’d have to get my own apartment sooner rather than later. Which was doable with my savings, as soon as I found a new job.

I shoved the large wad of cash he’d offered into the middle pocket of my purse, snagged the keys, and left without saying goodbye.

Had I known what I would return to, I would’ve turned east onto I-95 and disappeared with my brother’s truck.

“That his truck?” Tango asked when a red Chevy came into view.

Tucker shifted in his seat, stiffening. “Sure as shit is.”

We passed the rusted contraption halfway up the pothole-riddled driveway. The front end of the vehicle was smashed against a boulder—one wheel bent, the bumper hanging crooked. The windows were thick with filth like it had been sitting for months. The tire tracks, however, looked fresh.

I fought off a violent shiver and chalked-up the weird vibes to being tired.

Sleep had eluded me, and I’d spent half my day debating whether to look for Tuuli. Went for a run. Hit the gym. Passed through the diner five times to see if she’d shown up for work. Couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that she’d lied about where she lived. Pissed me the hell off, to be honest.

I’d been on edge all day and had finally decided to head home and do a full work-up on the little beast when Tango and Tucker wrangled me into joining them for a “drive,” insisting they needed backup. Sounded intriguing, so I pushed thoughts of Tuuli down, tucking them away, and settled into the back seat of Tango’s Rover.

My nerves were worn beyond their limit by the time we reached our destination on the edge of the wooded property. “Tell me again who we’re visiting?”

Tucker turned to look at me from the passenger seat. “Jonas, the punk who almost ran Aida down in the parking lot last fall.”

That snapped me out of my Tuuli funk. “The racist shit who tried to kill you?”

Tucker huffed. “He was released yesterday. High-tailed it out of Seattle, headed straight for home. We’re just gonna pay him a little visit.”

The fucker had messed with Aida. I couldn’t fathom how he was still breathing. “We dusting him?”

“No,” Tango snapped.

“Crippling him?”

“No,” he repeated.

“Can I break a fuckin’ bone at least?”

“No!”

Tango clearly wasn’t feeling my level of ire. “Would it be a problem if my knife accidentally slipped and nicked an artery? I’m feeling a bit twitchy.”

“Tito. We’re not killing anyone. Just reminding him to steer clear of The Stop. Christ, you’ve been a miserable fuck all week. What crawled into your boxers?”

A little white bunny with a viper’s tongue. Sure as shit wasn’t gonna share that bit of intel with those meatheads. They’d never let me hear the end of it.

Tucker backhanded Tango’s shoulder. “It’s Tuuli. Leave him alone.”

Tango’s eyes met mine through the rearview. “You missing your girl, cousin? Slade says she’s been sick. Missed her past two shifts.”

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