Page 42 of Truck Stop Tempest

I opened my mouth to argue, then figured it’d only give them cause to rib me more. Instead, I focused on the trailer home up ahead and tried to get my head in the game.

The moment we pulled up to the shabby dwelling, I jumped out of the Rover, adrenaline cranking my gears, moving me forward.

The front door hung crooked, the top hinge torn from the frame. Plywood steps bowed under my weight, threatening to snap, and I paused at the threshold, hackles raised. The place reeked of death. A scent I knew too well.

The living room was a wreck. Curtains ripped off the wall. Sofa overturned. Carpet torn. Women’s clothes strewn across the floor. A familiar pink and green dress lay at my feet.

Despite Tucker’s warnings not to enter, I made my way inside, drawn to the pink handbag lying on the kitchen counter and its contents spread across the worn laminate. Leather satchel. Broken handle.

All the blood in my body drained to my feet. I rifled through the contents and found a driver’s license.

Tuuli’s picture smiled up at me. “What the fuck?” I stumbled backward, bumping into Tango.

My cousin shouted orders, but I couldn’t register a word with the blood-beat banging through my ears. I stormed down the short hallway, the knot tightening in my gut, kill-rage coursing through my veins.

If she was hurt…

I slowed my pace at the end of the hallway. The door to the bedroom was open wide, revealing the carnage. Three naked bodies. Two females. One, brunette and pale, the other, brown skin with ebony waves. Neither one of them were Tuuli, and I fell to my knees in relief.

Both women had bled out on the floor, judging by the stains beneath them. The man, however, was spread across the mattress, wrists bound behind him, ass and thighs bloody, rope tied around his neck, steak knife sticking out of his shoulder blade.

The dead man’s head was turned to the side. Eyes open wide.

I stepped over the bodies, searched the small room, under the bed, then made my way back down the hall and into the bathroom. A Truck Stop T-shirt hung on the shower rod next to a small pair of khaki pants.

Mother fuck.

Tango came behind me, laying a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Don’t touch anything. Christ. Stop leaving your DNA all over the crime scene.”

“She’s been here.”

“Who?”

“Tuuli.” I turned and smacked her ID against his chest. “She’s fuckin’ been here.”

Tango yelled, “What the hell?” At the same time, the first wail if sirens reached earshot.

“We need to go. Now.” Tango grabbed the back of my neck and yanked me toward the door, where Tucker was already sliding into the SUV.

“We can’t leave. We have to find her.”

“I know. I know. We will,” he promised, pushing me onward. “But think, cousin. We can’t be here when the cops show up. How’s that gonna look?”

He was right.

Only, I didn’t give a fuck. Because Tuuli had been in that trailer. Where the fuck was she? Voices rattled in my head, wailing, inviting the darkness. I tried to shake them off.

Tango must’ve sensed my distress because he squeezed harder and slammed me against the passenger side door. “Get in. Keep your shit together. We’ll find your girl. I promise.”

I crawled into the back seat, every nerve in my body screaming for me to stay.

He headed toward the main road. When we passed the old Chevy, I got the same chill as before. Something wasn’t right about that damn truck. I turned in my seat to get a better look.

Swear to Christ, when I saw movement inside, I aged ten years. I didn’t bother asking my cousin to stop the car. I jumped out, falling ass over elbow in the gravel, and landed against the front tire.

I pushed to my feet and yanked on the handle. Locked. Without considering the consequences, I punched a hole in the window, fumbled for the latch, and pulled the door open.

A guttural noise escaped my lungs. Tuuli sat, curled in a tight ball against the driver’s side door, hugging her knees, eyes vacant, body trembling, blood stains on her arms.

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