“Um.” Aida sucked her lips between her teeth and contemplated the bed.
“Well?”
“I guess not.” Sleepy eyes met mine, and she shrugged. “I usually sleep dead center.”
“Works for me.” The closer the better.
“You’re really not going to chastise me for sneaking away in the middle of the night? For stealing your mother’s truck?”
“No. I get it.”
“You do?”
“You’re worried about your father. You don’t like feeling helpless. You hate being out of the loop. You’re used to getting your way. I get it. Thing is, Bambi, you are precious. Worth holding on to, worth chasing down in the middle of the night. You need to fight for your father. I need to fight for you. You run again, it wouldn’t surprise me. Just know, I’ll be hot on your heels.”
Aida peeled off her cardigan, tossed it across the foot of the bed, toed off her shoes, and climbed in wearing leggings and a stretchy tight tank top.
I crossed the room, flicked the light switch, and returned to the bed, making myself comfortable on top of the blankets.
With a huff, Aida complained, “You’ll get cold. Get under the covers with me. I won’t bite.”
Wasn’t her I was worried about. “I might.”
“I might like it if you bite.”
“Aida, please. It’s been a long day. I get under there with you, neither one of us will get the sleep we need.”
“You’re very sure of yourself, Cowboy. What makes you think I’m so easy?” she teased. “C’mon. I promise. No hanky-panky. Sleeping only.”
Sighing in defeat, I rolled off the bed. So much for playing the gentleman.
I slid between the sheets. Heat coiled through me.
“Tucker,” she whispered, rolling to face me, careful not to touch.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you for understanding.”
She found my hand, in the small space between us, and curled warm, soft fingers around mine. That small gesture made my heart explode like the Grand Finale of the Fourth of July fireworks. Hot damn, how I wanted to act on that adrenaline rush.
She yawned.
Right. Sleep.
I stopped fighting the heavy weight of my lids.
The mattress was firm, the sheets warm and soft, and small fingers clung to mine.
I leaned closer and whispered, “Run all you want, Bambi. I’ll always chase you.”
I WOKE TO A BRIGHT room, warm, achy, and with a full bladder. Assuming Tucker was sound asleep behind me, I slid out of bed, quiet and careful not wake him. Groggy, and desperate for the toilet, I barreled into the bathroom, never considering it might be occupied.
Holy hell, was it occupied. By a six-foot-something naked man roughing a towel over his hair. Muscles taught. Skin dewy.
A heady citrus scent enveloped me, making my senses hyper aware of the glorious, sexual male on display.
He hadn’t heard me enter the room.
My gaze fell like a lead weight to this erection. I knew Tucker was big—long and thick. I’d held him in my hand, through his pants anyway. What I didn’t know, what I wished I’d known, was that he was also grotesquely scarred, from a few inches below his navel, down to the root and halfway up his penis, and from what it appeared, with my quick glance, the entire area surrounding his manhood. Scars resembling a cracked windshield, crooked arms stretching multiple directions.
I should have backed away—covered my eyes, turned around, something, anything. Instead, I froze, horror stricken by the grim facts clicking one by one into place, filling the last holes of the Tucker puzzle I’d been too slow at piecing together.
No wonder Tucker hadn’t wanted to fuck me. Men and their pride.
I’d stabbed and scarred a man, in a man’s most prized feature. I’d bragged, laughed even, about doing so.
All these months, Tucker had been hiding a horrific wound, while I’d been proud of inflicting one. What a sadistic bitch.
“Aida.” Tucker snapped the towel to his crotch, covering the very thing I could never un-see. “Jesus. You scared the shit out of me.”
Funny. He didn’t seem embarrassed. Or devastated.
I was mortified.
“I. Um. I’m sorry. I. I. I had to pee … didn’t know you were in here. Oh God. I’m sorry.”
Sorry for so many things.
God, he must think me cold and heartless.
I backed out of the small space, pulled the door closed, and dashed to the bed, slipping under the blankets, my back to the bathroom. Eyes pinched shut, I willed sleep, or a massive black hole, to swallow me whole. Take me away from the guilt and shame.
Sleep didn’t come. Nor did I disappear into a dark abyss as I’d hoped.
I waited, heart thumping, for the unavoidable, uncomfortable conversation.
So, when Tucker came out of the bathroom, kissed my head, and whispered, “Bathroom’s all yours, Bambi,” before slipping out of the room, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Laugh, because I’d dodged a bullet, at least for a little while, or cry because I wanted to know the intimate details behind those morbid scars. More so, I wanted Tucker to want to share those details, not just with anyone, but with me. Only me. I wanted that. Oh God. I wanted that. To the point my chest ached.
My heart not only ached. The moment the door clicked behind me, it cramped, in protest most likely, of things left unsaid, apologies left dangling on the tip of my tongue.
Or maybe, the sharp pain in my chest was merely, simply, caused by the sudden absence of a man I had fallen for.
I’d fallen hard. How did I know? Because when Aida’s wide-eyed gaze fell on my scars, my flaws, those incessant reminders of past sins and a future I’d long ago given up on, I hadn’t been embarrassed. I hadn’t been ashamed. I wasn’t any less a man.
Damn, what a great feeling.
It was done. The hard part was over. Didn’t go down as planned. But, such was the way of life.
Now, it was up to her to process. I figured she needed time alone to do just that. So instead of forcing the uncomfortable conversation, I walked around to where I’d left her laying, and dropped a kiss on her head. “I brought up your suitcase. I’ve got something to do. Be back in an hour.”
I tucked the nerves away and willed my brain to carry me away from the beauty in the bed, because my heart wanted nothing more than to join her, bury myself in her soft, sweet warmth, seek comfort in her acceptance.
Funny thing, and confirmation that I’d fallen hard, was that I trusted her to process, and question, and work through the shock of seeing my dark and ugly without running for the hills.
We both had flaws, be them internal or external. In exposing my imperfections to Aida, I was free. I no longer had anything to hide.
Whether she could live with, lay with, want a man with my disfigurement, I would wait and see. I would be patient.
Because I had fallen that hard.
When I returned, an hour and a half later, Aida had changed clothes and tied her hair into a floppy mess on top of her head, revealing her long neck.
“Ready to hit the road?” I asked, grabbing her suitcase off the bed so as to keep my hands off those curves, and that enticing olive skin.
She’d avoided my gaze since I entered the room, busying herself with straightening the comforter, fluffing pillows, picking nonexistent lint off her sweater.
“Aida,” I said, dropping the luggage and stepping deep inside her personal space.
Her attention remained on the floor between our feet.
Dipping low, I caught her lips with mine in a soft exchange, and hopefully, a reassurance.
Her gasp caught me off guard. Her compliance boosted my ego to the moon.
Too soon, she pushed me away, eyeing me warily, uncertain and completely out of character. “How?”
“How what?” I asked, missing her mouth already.
Her hands raised to my chest, palms flat. “How can you kiss me li
ke that? How can you not hate me?” She stepped back and gestured to my crotch. “You obviously suffered something horrible. I stabbed a man in that same area, and bragged about it.”
“What you did to Rafael has nothing to do with my scars. Physical or otherwise.”
“Is that why … Are those … Your scars … Are they the reason you haven’t wanted to fuck me?”
“Partly,” I lied. Truth was, I hadn’t wanted her to destroy me.
Aida stepped closer, pressing against me once again, one hand on my chest, the other rubbing the scruff on my jaw. “Were you worried I would be turned off?”
“In the beginning,” I confessed.
She hit me with a hard glare. “It doesn’t bother me.”
“You don’t know how happy I am to hear that.” I forced a smile.
“I mean, obviously, you’re hung like a horse, so there’s that. I happen to know from experience that the plumbing works.”
“That’s the thing. It doesn’t work. Not like it should.”
“You’re sterile,” she interjected, not a lick of sympathy in her voice, just cold, hard truth. “How did it happen?”
“Sit down,” I said, cupping her shoulders and angling her toward the bed.
I sucked in a breath, for pause, for courage, then released it slow and steady. “You might find this hard to believe, but I wasn’t always a nice guy. Ran with a rowdy group when I was a kid. Got into all kinds of trouble. Dad put me in martial arts, hoping to channel my energy, and it did.”
Aida leaned back on her arms. “You were good at it, too, judging by the trophies lining your wall.”
“Yeah. I was. Got cocky, though. Hurt a kid that’d messed with my girlfriend, Nicki.”
“No shit. You? Cocky and overprotective?” she teased.
“After that incident, Dad enrolled me in military school. Shipped me off to Texas. I promised Nicki I would come back for her. When she disappeared halfway through her senior year, I came home and helped with the search. She was gone. Vanished into thin air. Fucked me up good—we’d been friends since kindergarten. She was my first kiss. My first everything. We never found her.”
“That’s terrible. I’m sorry.”
“I joined the Marines fresh out of high school. Barely legal. Recruited into special ops straightaway.”
“A Marine? Wow. I had no idea, Tucker.”
“I don’t like to talk about it. Heavy shit. Did my time, came home, went to work with Dad. His friend in the FBI heard I was home, asked if we’d consult with a local Child Exploitation Task Force he’d help put together.”
I squatted at her feet and rested my hands on her knees. “You see, those lot lizards you were asking me about? Many of them are plucked off the streets as kids, forced into the life. So yeah, naturally, Dad and I helped. Let the feds use our trucks. We helped shut down two human trafficking lines. Pulled damn near one hundred women off the streets. Offered them shelter, education, jobs, fucking lifelines. Thing is, most of them didn’t know anything better. They didn’t have a safe home to return to, or couldn’t beat their drug habits, ended up right back where they’d started, knocking on truckers’ doors at three o’clock in the morning, offering their services. I couldn’t do it anymore. It ate at me like cancer. I wanted to kill every fucker who paid for one of those girls. Wanted to skin the bastards alive who put them on the streets.”
“I would’ve killed them,” Aida chimed in. “After I’d fed them their own cocks for dinner. I was damn close to murdering you last night.”
“Glad to hear we’re on the same page.”
“Me too.” She reached out and brushed a knuckle down my cheek. Her face softened. “But you still haven’t explained your scars.”
I sat back on my ass, needing the solidity of the floor. “This is the fucked up part. About a year after pulling out of the task force, I was on a long-haul run, Missouri, about to tuck in for the night, when I watched a girl stumble out of a cab across the lot, clearly high, but also hunched over and having a hard time staying upright. She fell to her knees, vomiting something dark. Looked like blood. I dialed 911 and ran across the lot to help her. When I approached, I couldn’t believe my fucking eyes. It was Nicki. Stick thin. Ratty hair. Eyes vacant. Bloody lip. She didn’t recognize me. I’m pretty sure she didn’t see me at all, she was so far gone. Same time I heard the sirens, girls started scrambling. Another woman screamed at me to get my hands off her friend. She thought I’d hurt Nicki. Started throwing punches, then tried to pull Nicki to her feet. Nicki cried out on pain, vomited more blood. I lost my shit, had nothing but murder on my mind. I headed for the cab Nicki had come out of. Fucker must’ve heard the sirens and was firing up his truck to split. Next thing I know, I’m in his cab, beating the shit out of him, while he’s trying to drive away. Another driver had been shooting up in the back of the cab. Must’ve hit me over the head. I woke up in the hospital two days later.
“Oh my God,” Aida breathed, eyes glassy and wide.
“Fucker was so high, he drove his truck over the side of an overpass. The driver and his partner both died. I escaped with my life and a gut full of twisted metal.”
“And Nicki?” Aida asked, holding her stomach, face pale.
“Fucker ran Nicki and her friend over in the process. And it was my fault.”
Aida pushed off the bed, knelt in front of me, and grabbed my chin like a mother scolding her child. “No. It wasn’t.”
“If I’d stayed with her, instead of going after the guy, she’d be alive. She’d be here, with her family.”
“Here?” She studied my face.
I dropped my head and mumbled, “Yeah, Bambi. Nicki was Chris and Mama’s daughter.”
Aida fell back on her ass and rubbed a fist over her heart. “That’s why they help the girls. That’s why you rescue them.”
“It happened by accident, really. My first run, after I’d recovered, I couldn’t sleep. Sat up all night watching a couple of girls slither from cab to cab. Fucking killed me. These girls were daughters. Couldn’t fathom how mothers and fathers would let this happen to their children, while people like me, could never be a parent. When I watched a young girl climb into a Mack with a man who had to be sixty, I decided to skip the legalities and get that child out of the fucking life. Choked the guy out, carried the girl, who was kicking and screaming something fierce, back to my cab and brought her here. Told Mama, ‘You wanna help. Here’s your chance. Make sure Nicki hasn’t died in vain.’ Mama and Christopher took it from there. Saved thirty-six girls so far. One hundred percent success rate.”
Aida sucked in a gasp, pushed to her feet, and towered over me, fisted hands landing on her hips. “You’re the Rest Area Reaper they’re talking about on the news.”
I nodded.
Her gaze trailed the length of me, from crotch to chin, in a torturous perusal. The corners of her mouth lifted, and when her eyes finally met mine, she whispered in the sexiest damn growl I’d ever heard, “So, you’re kind of a badass, then.”
Swear to fuck, my universe imploded.
I don’t know why I’d waited to tell her. I should’ve known she’d understand.
I didn’t understand. How could Tucker, a man who rescued truck stop prostitutes, all of them children, be so kind to, so accepting of a woman who, in a sense, and not wholly by choice, exploited women. Because that was exactly what I’d done from the time I realized the women on my father’s payroll were obligated to obey my every word. Be it directing them on the stage, or behind closed doors, I had been their Madame.
Madame. Nothing more than a pretty word for pimp. A pimp like the men Tucker wanted to murder.
In my defense, abuse of any kind toward Dad’s women was forbidden and strictly enforced. Dad’s girls were clean. No drugs, no alcohol. Freedom to come and go as they pleased. Each and every one of his dancers or escorts worked for Dad of their own free will. Most of them were happy with their jobs. If they weren’t, I’d made sure any grievances were rectified, by
any means necessary.
Sixteen was a young age to fall into such a position of power. Dad had recognized early on that I had a soft spot for his ladies, and to keep me busy, and under his thumb, he’d given me the job. Unofficially, of course. But the women respected my father, and, in turn, showed nothing but admiration for me.
No matter how I spun it, it didn’t change the fact that Tucker and I clearly operated on opposite sides of a blurred moral line. He fought for the good guys. I was raised one of the bad.
Water and oil.
We would never work.
Although, until I’d met Tucker Slade, I hadn’t considered myself morally corrupt. Mob life was all I knew. Until being immersed in small town sweet and innocent, I’d never had cause to question whether my existence was leaving a nasty stain, or brightening the world I’d occupied. My only concern had been staying on top of the food chain.
Tucker was cleansing, scrubbing gently at my tarnished pieces.
I only hoped I wouldn’t muddy his soul in the process.
“We should head out.” Tucker’s gruff voice broke my reverie. “Got a lot of road to cover.”
Deep blue eyes regarded me thoughtfully, and I couldn’t help but feel a little less dirty.
“I’m sorry, Tucker. I’m sorry for sneaking out in the middle of the night. And I’m sorry for almost blowing your head off.” I meant it, too. I didn’t want to be the cause of grief in that sweet man’s life. I’d acted on impulse, as was my nature, putting not only myself at risk, but my baby, too.
I had to trust that my father could handle his business.
Tucker curled an arm around my shoulder and dropped a kiss on my head. “All’s forgiven, Bambi. Let’s go. Got a surprise for you.”
I followed Tucker downstairs and into the crisp, sunny Montana morning. Lifting my face to the vast, blue sky, I drew a deep breath and released my worry to the beauty surrounding me.
Tucker grabbed my hand and pointed to the end of the driveway. Frankie sat, shiny and proud, pinned to a massive, blue trailer.
Truck Stop Tryst Page 14
