Page 69 of Truck Stop Tempest

The Banshee only smiled a creepy as fuck, bloody smile.

Entertaining as Dane’s interrogation tactics were to watch, I really did need to get back to my girl. “Anyone got a pen?”

Three sets of eyes turned my way. The guy standing guard next to me reached inside his cut and pulled out a blue Bic. Skinny. No frills. Perfect. “Thanks,” I said, snagging the utensil from his hand. “May I?” I asked Dane.

Brows raised, he stepped away and gestured toward Matt, giving me the go-ahead. I bit down hard on the bottom of the pen, then chewed, crushing the plastic to give it a sharp edge. I stepped in front of a laughing Matt, grabbed his hair, cranking his head back at a sharp angle on his neck, and shoved the chewed end of the ballpoint up his left nostril.

I only had to dig around for a few seconds before Matt yelled, “We’re shipping them to Idaho. Brotherhood is paying ten thousand a head for the virgins. Fifteen if they’re drug-free and prettied up.” Matt’s frenzied laugh turned to tears.

“The Brotherhood? You talking about Jeremy Carver?”

“No. Jeremy’s not running the girls…his son-in-law runs that show.”

My blood ran cold. “Carver doesn’t have a son-in-law.”

“Semantics. You think Carver’s pretty little baby has remained untouched out of respect for Jeremy? Hell no. Erik laid claim to that bitch and her pussy years ago. Meyer’s a certified psycho. Every man in The Brotherhood knows not to so much as blink in her direction unless they have a death wish.”

I shoved the pen into the fucker’s eye, dug around a bit, for fun, and because he’d talked about Tuuli’s pussy. When he stopped screaming, I ordered him to continue.

“Rumor has it there’s a wedding planned for later this summer. Erik has a shit ton of supporters. Carver’s followers are ready for some fresh leadership. Erik has been keeping that sect afloat financially.”

“Trafficking blonde-haired, blue-eyed babies,” Dane interjected.

“That’s only part of the income he’s generating for The Brotherhood under Carver’s nose.”

The conversation continued while I pushed outside to the cool fresh air. Mind reeling. Muscles twitchy. Fucking Erik. Fucking Brotherhood.

Fuck. I needed to get home.

I found Tucker across the lawn, leaning against a gate post, deep in conversation with one of the Slayers. He’d opted to stay outside during the interrogation. Suited me. The country boy needed to keep his hands clean, for Aida and the baby.

“So, you’re the Rest Area Reaper,” the bald guy said, shaking his head.

Tucker only nodded.

“Guys and I been taking bets on whether the Reaper was a psychopath or a criminal genius.”

Dane slammed through the barn door, blood-soaked and brimming with rage. He met my glare, then shifted his attention to Tucker and the bald brother. “We good here?”

Baldy replied, “Yeah, we’re good. Prez is on his way.”

“Gonna need your intel on the pimp that brought her here,” Dane said, more an order than a request.

Fine by me.

I pulled up the files on my cell and hit send. “Check your inbox.”

Morrison was as good as dead. Motherfucker, meet meat grinder. Damn if I didn’t get a little tingle.

“Where’s the girl?” Tucker asked, pushing off the rail to stand straight.

Dane spat. Wiped his brow with the back of his arm. “She’s safe.”

“No offense,” Tucker said, pushing his luck. “But I’ve witnessed what happens to the girls in your club.”

Dane twitched, stepping closer. “She’s safe.”

“I need a guarantee,” Tucker growled, stepping nose to nose with the Slayer, ready to kill for the child.

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