Page 112 of Truck Stop Tempest

My lungs seized, my throat closed.

“Tuuli,” Tito mumbled. “Run.”

Erik stalked closer. The roar between my ears grew louder.

I scrambled to my feet, slipping twice before finding my footing.

“Don’t run. You’ll only make it harder on yourself.”

I didn’t want to leave Tito, but I knew Erik. He hated losing, and if I ran, he’d chase, giving Tito a fighting chance.

Rain pounded the roof and windows, distorting sound in the dark hallway. Step by step, I moved back, feeling my way along the wall until I reached the corner. I was certain Erik could hear my desperate breaths, the loud boom, boom, boom in my chest.

“Come here, kid. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

I turned and sprinted down the hall, through the diner, smashing into the front door, my hand shaking so hard I struggled to turn the lock. The sky lit up, brightening the room. On impulse, I counted. One, two, three, four, five. Boom.

The door rattled against my hand. Oh, God. The storm, or Erik? I didn’t know which was worse.

There’s a beast inside you.

I pushed, first through my fear, then the exit, the wind jerking the door out of my grip.

I ran. Into the dark storm. I ran across the flooded lot, the water slowing me down. I lifted my legs higher, pumping my thighs until they burned.

Erik was behind me. His splashes louder, growing closer. I didn’t dare look back. Only forward.

My clothes weighed a ton, sticking to my skin. The wind was against me, challenging my escape. I hit the base of the hill, thankful to be out of the puddle. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t see, but I forced one foot in front of the other.

Twice I slipped. Twice I pushed to my feet and continued.

Three more strides and I would’ve hit the crest of the hill. Three more steps, and maybe Tango or Slade would’ve heard my screams.

A mountain of wet, hard, angry muscle crashed over me, knocking me to the ground. His chest pinned my head to the wet grass, and the steady stream of water covered my face. A heavy hand splayed over the back of my head, grinding me deeper into the wet soil, suffocating, crushing.

His weight disappeared and I lifted my face, sucking in precious oxygen, coughing and sputtering rain and mud.

Allowing no time to recover, Erik flipped me to my back and laid his weight over me, pinning my legs between his own, fisting my wet hair, holding me at his mercy.

I couldn’t see his face through the sheets of rain, but the rage in his voice was palpable. “You should’ve married me. The Brotherhood would be mine. You’d be a fucking queen.”

He spit in my face, hopped to his feet, grabbed my ankle, and shouted, “You ruined everything. Useless, fucking bitch.” Then he turned to drag me down the hill, back toward The Stop.

I kicked, clawed, and twisted. The wind and rain drowned my screams. I was wet. I was mud. I was dirt. Blood. Torn clothes. I was angry. I was a beast.

True, my beast was no match for Erik’s strength, but I was never again going to be his victim. Never again would I concede or submit. I would fight until my last breath.

I lost my shirt halfway down the hill, along with several fingernails, and I was sure, too much skin. Still, I fought.

Erik stopped when we reached the parking lot, dropped my leg, and squatted. “You know…”

I didn’t wait for him to finish. I swung my leg. My boot connected with his face, knocking him sideways, but not down.

I kicked again. Then twisted, pushing to my feet. Something struck my head, knocking me back to my knees. The world spun. My vision blurred.

Like I was nothing more than a winter jacket, Erik threw me over his shoulder, knocking the air from my lungs. I struggled to stay conscious.

He carried me back into the dark diner. Lightning brightened the sky, and I counted. One, two, three. Boom.

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