Page 72 of Truck Stop Tempest

BILE ROSE IN MYthroat. My body burned, rage fueling the fire. I sucked in a hearty dose of oxygen and pushed into the dark apartment.

The space was quiet, save the buzz of the refrigerator’s motor. I flipped the switch that lit the room. Nothing out of place. Two empty mugs sat in the sink.

I kicked off my shoes and headed to the bedroom, that damn organ in my chest attempting some high-flying, Cirque du Soleil type shit, dragging my intestines along for the ride.

Soft, steady breaths greeted me. Layer by layer, I peeled off my clothes, biding time, hoping for a shred of calm amidst the chaos buzzing through my head. When I joined my soft bunny between the sheets and pulled her against me, I couldn’t tell who trembled harder.

“I fought him, Tito. I fought back,” she mumbled into my chest.

Jesus Fucking Christ, I wanted to scream for her. Hunt the fucker down and tear him limb from limb.

Instead, I pulled her closer, and whispered, “That’s my girl.”

“Don’t let go.” The words floated up to me, so soft, I thought it’d been my imagination. Tuuli’s small body inflated, then deflated before she dragged her fingers up my torso, then curled them around my neck, digging into my flesh. “Don’t ever let go.”

I struggled to hold her trembling form, fearful that her pain would set me off. She needed assurance, a promise that everything would be okay. I searched in vain for the right words. All I could manage to say was, “He’s going to bleed, baby. He’ll never hurt you again. I promise.”

Despite her shiver, she didn’t admonish my threat.

“Where are you hurt?”

She sighed, rolling onto her back. “I have a few scratches. Nothing too bad.”

I rolled out of bed, hit the light switch, and threw the covers back. She was bundled in my sweatshirt, drowning in my sweats, but fuck if the sight didn’t rearrange my guts.

“I need to see you, baby. Take the clothes off.”

She wiggled out of the pants first. Her knees were bandaged, but not enough to hide the bruises. When she lifted the sweatshirt over her head, revealing the marks around her neck, my knees hit the mattress. My soul screamed, battling a level of rage I’d never experienced.

I hadn’t been physically ill since I was a child. Used to brag I had a strong constitution. My stomach, however, unaccustomed to my newfound feelings, revolted at the sight of Tuuli, bloody and bruised.

I sucked that shit up, shoved it down deep, and crawled over her, inspecting for more damage. Tuuli watched with feathered breaths, features softening every time I touched her exposed skin.

Scalp to toes, I examined the beauty beneath me, gauging her reactions—winces, gasps, or changes in breathing. She trembled under my touch, blushing, shivering, nipples puckering tight. So responsive. So goddamn brave.

I sat back on my heels, reverence stealing my breath.

Tuuli was changing my landscape. Bulldozing her way through all the bullshit. Clearing a path, allowing light to reach the parts of me that had yet to shrivel under all the rubble.

“You wanna talk about what happened?” I asked, forcing my jaw to relax, bracing for details I might not have the strength to hear.

“No.” Weary eyes begged me not to push.

“Okay. When you’re ready.” I lay beside her once again, curled my arms around her small, naked frame, and buried my nose in her hair, fighting the urge to kiss every battered inch of her body.

We stayed that way, silent and warm, clinging to each other.

“Tito?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to learn how to fight.”

I wanted to growl my disapproval. Pound my chest and assert my authority. Tuuli had suffered enough under the thumb of male ego. I couldn’t tell her no any more than I could stop planning Erik’s unfortunate, untimely, and if I played my cards right, gruesome death.

Tuuli would never face Erik or anyone from The Brotherhood alone. Telling her so would demean her worth, her desire to protect herself.

I knew that deep down.

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