Page 40 of Truck Stop Tempest

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!”

Jolted from a deep sleep, I shot upright, struggling to free my arms from the tangled bedding, unable to focus through my swollen eyes.

“What the hell are you still doing here, brat?” came a deep, gravelly voice.

Icy prickles danced across my skin, my body vibrating with nervous energy.

Oddly enough, I wasn’t scared. I was angry. Wiping sleep goo from my eyes, I mumbled, “JoJo. How nice of you to show up.”

“Jesus, Brat. Don’t call me that. We’re not kids anymore.” Jonas crouched, brushed the hair off my face, and held it in a fist on top of my head. “You look like shit. Why the hell are you sleeping on the couch?”

“Because I’ve seen the things, and the women, you’ve done on that bed,” I blurted, surprised by my brazen response. “Don’t want any part of me touching any part of that freak-fest.” I blinked up at him, half-expecting a slap across the face, and not caring one iota. “Where have you been?”

“Prison.” He dropped my hair. “You didn’t know? I left you messages.”

Lordy, the man was dense. I refrained from rolling my eyes. “You destroyed my phone, remember?”

Jonas fell backward onto his butt and roughed his hands over his shaved head. “Yeah. Right. Sorry.” He lifted his blue eyes to mine. “I can’t believe you’re still here. Why didn’t you bolt? You had an out. I’ve been gone for months.”

He mentioned nothing about my end of the bargain, and why I was even living in his trailer in the first place. I wasn’t about to remind him.

“I had nowhere to go,” I said, giving him a partial truth. Because the whole truth, especially the part involving Tito, would’ve pissed him off. Pissed-off Jonas scared me to death.

“Why were you in prison?”

“Nothing you need to worry about.” He studied the small living space. My heart stuck in my throat when his eyes landed on my Bible. He leaned forward and plucked it off the floor, then thumbed through the pages. “You reading this shit?”

I didn’t answer.

I waited for him to explode. He only huffed and tossed the book into my lap.

“The place looks nice.”

“I did the best I could with no electricity.”

Regret shadowed his eyes before he slammed them shut and pushed to his feet.

“I need you gone.” He pulled his shirt up his torso and over his head, revealing his ugly, hate-filled tattoos. Swastikas. Devil’s faces. Quotes from Dad’s scripture. Pin-up girls wearing combat boots and nothing else but a confederate flag. He had gained weight, his muscles thicker, more defined than the last time I’d seen him.

“Are you kicking me out?” Unbelievable.

“No, dumb-fuck. I’ve got friends coming over.”

I stared at him, unsure why I needed to leave because of his friends.

Then he grabbed his crotch, in a crude and disgusting gesture. “Need to get laid, brat. Been awhile. Pretty sure you don’t want to hang around for that show.”

“Oh. Oh. Right.” I stood, gathered my blankets, and shoved them in the small closet next to the bathroom.

Jonas looked through the cupboards, then the fridge. “There’s no fucking food.” He turned to look at me. “No wonder you’re so damn skinny.”

I closed my eyes and sucked in a breath, imagining Jonas as the punching bag at the mansion. “No electricity. Couldn’t keep things in the fridge. No car, so I couldn’t haul many groceries.”

“Right. Sorry about that, too.” He scratched the back of his head. “Goddamn. Why the hell didn’t you get out of town, or go home? Christ, kid, you could’ve frozen or starved to death out here.”

He pulled a wad of cash out of the back pocket of his jeans and tossed it on the small coffee table. “Here. Go buy some food. I’ll call about getting the electricity turned back on.”

Again, I stood staring, not trusting his subtle, and grossly out of character, gestures of kindness.

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