“Fifteen. Scared as hell. Still a virgin, far as I can tell.”
“Kill the perp?” He asked me the same question every damn time.
I always gave him the same answer. “No.”
“You should have.”
He gave “Misty” another once-over before closing the door. “Good catch, Tuck. Good catch. Mama will be thrilled.”
“Don’t think they’ve shot her up with anything yet,” I added, following Christopher down the long, narrow hallway and toward the short stairwell leading to what once, lifetimes ago, were servants’ quarters. “No track marks, eyes were bright, but I’d like the doc to give her a quick check as soon as possible. Don’t think she’s a flight risk, but stick to protocol on this one, Chris.”
He opened a door, and I carried Misty inside and laid her down on the full-size bed. Drawing a deep breath, I reached down to brush tangled hair off her face.
God. She was beautiful. Like Nicki. Before they’d destroyed her.
Pressing a kiss to Misty’s forehead, I closed my eyes and whispered, “Take care of yourself, baby girl. You’re one of the lucky ones.”
I stood and headed out of the room with Christopher hot on my heels. When he closed the door, I turned to face his warm, hazel eyes. “I’m done,” I grunted. “She’s my last.”
Christopher cupped my shoulder with a hearty smack. “You said that after the last one, and the one before that.” He dropped his hand, tilted his head, and studied my face. “Although, something in your eyes tells me you mean it this time.” He scratched his chin, smirked, turned and headed up the stairwell. “You never did have the stomach for it. And that’s okay. You’ve atoned for sins that were never yours. You’ve done a good thing here. And if you never carry another girl through these doors, know that Mama and I will be okay.”
I heard the familiar shuffle of slipper-clad feet coming our way. Marleen “Mama” Compton barreled toward me with arms spread wide and a large bosom that bounced beneath the loose fabric of her nightgown. No modesty. Didn’t matter. Mama was the kind of woman you loved regardless. And no one on Earth gave better hugs. Made me almost forget that she once gave me a shiner for leaving a hickey on her daughter’s neck.
“Tucker. Why didn’t you call? I would’ve had your room ready. Were you hunting, or just on a run?”
“Wasn’t planned. Kind of just happened. Snatched a good one. You’ll like her. She’ll be awake soon. I’d stay, but Dad just called, got a problem at home, need to run.”
“Oh.” Her smile faltered, only for a second before she righted it. “Well. I hope everything is okay. I better head downstairs then.”
Every time Mama looked at me with those deep brown eyes, whether smiling or sad, my heart bled. Aside from the grey hair, and the twenty pounds of curves she’d earned since the accident, she was the spitting image of Nicki.
My hands trembled as I pulled Mama close and kissed the top of her head. I hated leaving almost as much as I hated the memories that plucked my nerves when I walked through the old house.
“I’ll walk you out,” Christopher said, curling his fingers around the back of my neck. I avoided looking at the eight-by-ten portrait of Nicki perched on the fireplace mantle. Guilt would strangle me, as it always did, and I’d have no choice but to head back into the night and hunt for another child.
When we reached the front door, I gave Christopher’s hand a shake, then pulled him in for a hearty hug.
I wanted to tell them about Aida. I ached to share my joy with them. But it seemed a betrayal, as much as logic told me it wasn’t. I’d killed their daughter. The girl I’d once thought I’d marry. Her death was on my hands, burrowed into my conscience, despite their protests to the contrary.
So as much as I wanted to share the news, that I’d allowed myself to move on, that another woman had pierced my shell, I pressed my lips together. With a smile in my heart, but absent my face, I headed into the foyer.
Eyes forward, one step at a time.
Toward a new future, a new purpose, a new me.
To Aida. Wherever the hell she was.
“Where the hell is the girl?”
For the second time that night, I found myself staring down the nuzzle of Christopher’s rifle. Only this time, a goddamned five-foot-two, doe-eyed, and by the looks of her, pissed off mafia princess was holding the gun.
I’d never been so turned on in my life.
I’d never been so disgusted in my life. That was saying a lot considering my history.
I’d followed Tucker to the large white house and watched him carry the unconscious child inside with some half-naked, geriatric perv.
Naturally, I had followed, considering I now had two men to murder and one girl to save. Idiots had left the front door unlocked, not that it mattered because I could bypass any lock. So, I let myself in, surprised to find a gorgeous, well-kept home. Also, a loaded rifle. Which came in handy.
Tucker didn’t seem surprised by my break-in. In fact, the asshole seemed pleased, judging by the depth of his dimples.
“Where’s the fucking kid?” My arms shook, vibrating with rage.
“Aida.” Tucker huffed. “What the hell are you doing here?”
The old man stepped back, snapping his hands up in surrender, unconsciously exposing himself, his flaccid dick peeking through the opening of his loose hanging boxers.
The scene distracted me enough to allow Tuck an opening. He lunged my way, reaching for the barrel. I dodged, shifting my hold on the Arrieta and swinging the butt, hitting my mark with a sickening crack.
Tucker stumbled backward, then fell on his ass, shaking the walls and floor of the old home.
I righted the gun at my shoulder, aiming at Grandpa. “Where the fuck is the girl?”
Holding his head, and struggling to find his bearings, Tucker shouted, “Jesus, Bambi. Put the gun down.” He tried to stand, but only made it to hands and knees, grimacing. A trickle of blood trailed down the side of his face.
“You make a move, Tucker, Grandpa gets a hole in his skull.”
“Tuck,” Grandpa said, a bit of humor in his voice. “Mind telling me what’s going on here?”
Tucker mumbled a few fucks combined with other colorful words, and slowly rose to his feet.
My heart raced a million miles a second. “Sit down, Tucker. I swear to God, I’ll shoot this man, then I’ll rip your fucking heart out with my bare hands.”
Tucker ignored my command, rising to full height, his cheeks, hell, his whole face as red as the wool of his jacket. “Christopher. I’d like you to meet my…” His gaze darted to me, then dropped to the floor. With a huff and a head shake, he mumbled, “This is my girlfriend.”
The old man started to laugh. Tucker joined in.
So, I shot him.
And because I was being punished by the gods of mindless bimbos, because I had my head stuck up my ass over a fucking man of all things, I missed my target.
Okay. I missed on purpose, leaving a nasty mess in the bookshelf behind the laughing bastard.
Shut him up, though. The old Aida would’ve put a hole in his gut, most likely the area south of his navel. Instead, I stood there like a dumbass, while two child molesters treated me like the joke of the day.
Crazy part? Neither one of them flinched. Although, Old Man Limp Dick did slap his hands over his ears.
“Aida, lower the gun. This is all a huge misunderstanding.”
“I’m not moving until you bring me that girl.”
“I can’t do that.”
“You can. You will.” I sucked in a breath, trying to make sense of the chaos. “And tell Grandpa to hide his sausage; it’s distracting.”
Christopher righted his Fruit of the Looms like it was nothing.
The shuffle of feet echoed through the hallway. “Christopher. For the love of all that’s holy, what did I tell you about that damn rifle? You okay? Did you break a hip chasing that damn ‘coon again?” A tall woman came around the corner. Long silver
hair, silk robe over a too-tiny chemise, frilly pink slippers. Worry wrinkling her brown eyes. Beautiful. Not at all someone I’d expect to be involved in a child sex ring. She stopped dead when her eyes found mine. “Oh.”
“Mama,” Christopher spit through new fits of laughter. “This is Tucker’s girlfriend, Aida.”
“Girlfriend?” she said, popping a huge grin.
“I’m not his girlfriend. Someone tell me what the hell is going on here. Where’s the girl?”
“What girl?” the woman asked, not at all convincing with her feigning ignorance.
I turned toward a chuckling Tucker. “The girl I watched you fuck in that truck. The girl I watched you drive away with and carry into this house.” That put an abrupt halt to the laughing.
“Aida. What you saw…” He cleared his throat, scratched the top of his head. “What I did with. Wait. What the hell were you doing at The Lovelace?”
“Never mind that. The girl?”
Tucker planted his hands on his hips. “Chris, Mama, you mind giving us a minute?”
“Nobody’s moving a muscle until I see that girl with my own two eyes.”
Chris and Mama completely ignored me and scampered off, disappearing behind a door at the other end of the room.
Tucker charged, hellfire in his eyes, moving faster than I’d ever seen, disarming me, leaving me empty-handed, and dizzy. Before I could make sense of what had happened, my cheeks were captured between his massive palms, and he smashed his lips against mine. I tried, in vain, to pull away.
Tucker held me tight, kissing my mouth, my nose, my forehead. “First of all, hello. Nice to see you. Second, don’t ever hit me again. And third, you’re wrong about everything.” Dropping his hands, he stepped back, giving me space. “This is a safe house. I know what you think you saw, and I understand why that would upset you. I had to make it look like I was using her, in case the fuckers that threw her to the wolves were watching. How the hell could you think I’d do something like that?”
I dodged his question completely. “Safe house?”
“Yeah. Christopher and Mama … um, Marleen, run an underground shelter. Nobody knows about our operation, not my parents, not Slade, no one.”
“This is what you do when you disappear for weeks?”
“Mostly.”
“I don’t understand. Why keep it a secret?”
“Because the girls we help don’t always want to be found, and what the Comptons do here, although successful, is not legal.”
I pondered his simple explanation, my head swimming with questions—too many for me to form into any coherent order. I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted his explanation to be truth, but anger and adrenaline still pumped through me with vicious resolve. My hands trembled, heat blasted my cheeks, and I still had the rancid taste of vomit in my mouth.
“I need to see her, Tucker. I need to see she’s okay. Please. I’ve never been so angry, just let me see with my own eyes that the girl is safe.”
“You don’t trust me.” His chin dropped low, shoulders slumped on a long sigh. “Fine. We have to ask Mama first. Her house. Her rules. She’s very protective of the girls.”
“I’m protective of you, too, Tuck.” Mama Compton peeked her head around the corner. “That’s why I insist you sleep here tonight. It’s too late to drive home. You can take the big room.” She came my way and planted a dry towel and a frozen bag of peas in my hand.
I wasn’t surprised she’d eavesdropped on our conversation. The mother-hen was notorious for knowing everyone’s business.
“My house is only ten miles away,” I reminded her, wrapping the bag in the towel, then pressing it to the throbbing bump on my head.
“Shush.” She silenced me with a wave of her hand. “You head upstairs, get washed up, and I’ll take Aida downstairs to see Misty.”
I wasn’t about to let Aida out of my sight. “How ‘bout I come down with you.”
Fists to hips, she scolded me, “You know the rules. You drop ‘em off … they don’t see your face again.”
Arguing with Maureen was never a wise idea. However, I’d rather suffer a Mama rebuke than give Bambi the chance to split again. “I’ll wait in the hall.”
Aida cussed under her breath before stating, “He wants to keep an eye on me.”
Smart girl.
“Fine.” Mama flapped a hand in the air, shaking her head as if she’d had enough of us already, and headed downstairs. “Christopher told me this was your last rescue, Tuck. He thinks you mean it this time.”
“I do. I’m done,” I said, following close behind the ladies.
“That’s good.” She reached over and grabbed Aida’s hand, giving it a squeeze, pretending she needed help navigating the narrow steps.
I knew what she was up to. Forming an alliance. Damn woman had been pushing me to move on for years.
“It’s time you live your life. We’ve got plenty to keep us busy around here. Remember Santana?”
“Course I do.” I remembered every girl I brought to the Comptons.
“She brought two sweethearts in last month. One of them was even clean.”
Mama stopped and turned on her heels, hands cupped over her heart. “And they’re such good girls, Tuck. So beautiful, so grateful, and happy to be off the street. One of ‘em is back with her family, safe and sound. The other, well, we didn’t catch her in time. Poor thing has been through hell the past year. We’ll get her clean, start therapy. No one’s looking for her, far as we can tell.
“So, then what?” Aida asked. “What if they have nowhere to go?”
“We take them in. Get them clean, first. That’s always the biggest obstacle. Then? Give them a new start, a new chance at life.”
“And if they don’t want to get clean?” Aida asked.
“We don’t give them a choice, dear. We don’t give them a choice.”
Aida shot a look at me over her shoulder, brows raised in understanding.
For all intents and purposes, I was kidnapping the girls from their kidnappers. The Comptons and their team of professionals worked hard to get the girls clean of their drug habits, willing or not, and helped them get home, if they had a safe home to return to.
“Here we are,” Mama said, slipping a key into the lock. She waved me back, away from the door.
I rested a shoulder against the wall, pulled my cell out of my pocket, and pretended to be otherwise occupied while Aida and Mama slipped into Misty’s new room. My stomach twisted when I heard Mama say in her soothing voice, “Oh, good. She’s awake,” before shutting the door behind her.
I texted Dad, let him know I was with Aida and that we’d be home in the morning. I checked my work emails, paced the wood floor. Then I got busy researching Rafael Turner, disappointed, but not surprised to find that he didn’t exist in Google world.
The last thing I wanted to do was call in a favor, but I didn’t have a choice. I needed to know how big a threat Turner posed. I sat in the stairwell, out of earshot, and made a call I’d never thought I’d have to make.
I ended my convo as Aida came out of Misty’s room, eyes red and soggy.
“So?” I asked, eager for her reaction, standing back and tucking my phone into my pocket so as not to seem overly enthusiastic.
“So. I owe you an apology.” The tough little shit fought hard not to lose composure, chewing her lip, blinking rapidly.
“No. You don’t. I would’ve jumped to the same conclusion had I been in your shoes.” I grabbed her hand. “C’mon. Let’s get some shut-eye.” I led her up two flights of stairs and toward our room for the night.
The large boudoir boasted a four-poster bed, a floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the Comptons’ fifteen acres of land, pristine hardwood floors, and its own master bathroom. Framed art Mama had collected over the years decorated the walls. She loved to support local artists. This room, in particular, housed pieces from her favorite landscape artists, the colors on the canvas blending perfectly with the go
ld and mauve tones of the wallpaper and fabrics.
I watched Aida make her way around the boudoir, studying the paintings, feeling the heavy fabric of the drapes, peering through the window into the dark night. Avoiding me while I stood, helpless do anything but drink her in head to toe. Black silky hair, sinful curves, and that damn heart-shaped ass that taunted me with every step she took. God. The things I wanted to do to her.
“I’d love to know why you were sneaking off in the middle of the night.”
Aida turned to face me, one hand still holding the gold jacquard curtain, the other resting on her stomach. “You’re smart, Cowboy. Pretty sure you’ve figured it out by now.”
“Tell me one thing.” I closed the distance between us, braced my hands on the window behind her, and caged the petite firecracker between my arms. “Were you running from me, or toward home?”
Slow and hesitant, her doe eyes lifted to meet mine. Those fucking sexy lips parted on a soft exhale. Face to face, I absorbed the pelts of her soft breaths against my skin. Her cotton candy scent invaded my senses. My heart beat quickened, roaring through my veins, amplifying the pain in head, causing a ruckus behind the fly of my jeans.
Aida Voltolini. All hard edges, and soft, gooey middle. I’d make her mine. I’d make her see that I was where she needed to run—always.
I leaned closer, savoring the heat of her breath on my lips, craving a taste. Her eyes glazed, and I was about to take my fill when her mouth opened on a loud yawn.
“Oh my God, I’m sorry. Shit.” She laughed, clapping a hand over her mouth. “Talk about ruining the moment.
Yeah. That was our cue. “C’mon. Let’s get you to bed.”
“Wait.” She pressed a palm to my chest. “Don’t you have something you want to say?”
I had so many words. Not one of them appropriate. “Like what?”
“Come on, Cowboy. Throw it at me,” she said as I tugged her toward the large bed.
“Throw what?”
“The lecture. The guilt trip.”
“We’re both too tired for a heavy convo like that.” I threw back the down comforter, revealing soft gold, inviting sheets. “Let’s sleep. We can talk in the morning. Left side is mine, unless you have a preference.”
Truck Stop Tryst Page 13
