“Luciano, forgive me, I just need a moment,” I said into the speaker. I set my cell on the hood of the vehicle, balled my fists, and struck. Once, twice, three times, and the man fell to the ground. It wasn’t enough; it wouldn’t be enough until he shared my pain, but Luciano Voltolini was waiting, and he was a man you never put on hold.
“I no longer require your services,” I said to the bloody heap at my feet, tossing a roll of bills on his chest.
I grabbed my phone, brought it to my ear, and headed to my SUV.
“I need help,” were the only words I needed to speak.
Three words. Three words and I’d pledged my life, my loyalty, my soul, to the devil himself.
“BABYLOVE.”
Soft lips warmed my forehead.
“Mom,” a sweet voice whispered. Tiny fingers brushed my cheek. “Mom. Wake up. Grandma and Grandpa came to see you.”
Rocky.
I needed to get to him. I had to find him.
“Mommy,” he whispered. “I haven’t danced with anyone. I’m waiting for you.”
Darkness, heavy and warm, weighed me down, enticed me to stay. Pain accompanied the light. I had to find Rocky. I had to hold him. I had to dance.
Bright green, brilliant eyes met mine when I blinked the room into focus. Rocky threw his arms around my neck and squeezed tight.
“Ow, ow, ow,” I both laughed and cried. My face felt like one giant, throbbing bruise.
“Whoa, buddy. Take it easy.” Tango lifted Rocky off my body and set him on his feet next to the bed.
Soft, cinnamon bun lips landed on mine, caressing like a soothing breeze. His hands slid up my neck, his eyes searched mine, he smiled, and released a hot breath. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“Did they get him?”
Tango tilted his head, studied my face. “Who?”
“Walter. Walter Reynolds. He was going to kill—”
He shut me up by pressing a finger over my lips. His gaze darted to Rocky, then back to me. “Hey, Rocky. Come here.” Tango walked to the door, stuck his head out, and caught the attention of a nurse. They exchanged a few whispered words.
“Lina is going to walk with you to the waiting room. Can you tell everyone your mom is awake and they can come and see her soon?”
Tango nodded to the nurse, who took Rocky’s tiny hand and led him out the door.
When he turned to face me, the harsh lines framing his eyes made me shiver. “Tell me what you remember.”
I told my story, wincing at the painful parts, crying when I remembered my kitchen in flames. When I told him the part about Kim, his face paled, his large body trembled, and he excused himself to the small bathroom. He came out minutes later, eyes glassy, and stood at my side, brushing a knuckle down my cheek.
“How bad is it?” I asked.
“To put it gently, your face looks like you lasted three rounds. Thankfully, he didn’t break any bones. The doctors said you’ll be fine. The knife didn’t hit anything vital, your leg isn’t broken, just beat to hell.”
I raised my hand to stop him. “I meant my house. How bad is my house?”
“Oh.” Tango scrubbed both hands over his face, drew a deep breath, then sandwiched my hand between his. “It’s gone.”
Salty liquid stung my eyes. “How did I get out?”
“I’m not sure.” Lips pinched together, he focused his gaze on our hands. His face contorted, as if fighting back his own tears. “They found you and Maurice in the back yard.” He shook his head and huffed. “Someone must’ve pulled you out of the house.”
“Maurice?” I shook my head. “I don’t understand. How? I mean. He wasn’t there.”
I remembered the loud bang and Walter falling backward before I had passed out. Had it been a gunshot I’d heard?
Tango choked back a sob. “He didn’t make it, baby. Heart attack.”
I sought his eyes, for comfort. “Maurice is dead? He can’t be. I promised to visit him tomorrow. I was going to bake his favorite muffins.” I cried. It hurt my chest, my face, my lungs. Hard as I tried, I couldn’t stop the release, couldn’t stifle the pain or tuck it away.
Tango leaned over the bed, wrapped himself around me, and held me tight while I bled.
When I finished, he wiped my face, held the tissue as I blew my nose, then called the nurse for more pain medication.
“What about Dane?”
“They didn’t find any bodies in the house.” Tango paced back and forth across the small space. “I spoke with the fire chief an hour ago.”
“What?”
“That means the fucker is still out there.” His face darkened three shades. He looked everywhere but at me. “I have to go. Not sure when I’ll be back. Rocky will stay with Tucker tonight.”
“But—”
He raised a palm to cut me off. “Your family is anxious to see you. The police are waiting to question you, too. Tell them everything, baby. Everything you can remember, even if it doesn’t seem important.”
“Where are you going?”
Squeezing his eyes closed, he ran a hand through his hair, then down to the back of his neck. I didn’t recognize the man who met my gaze. His dead eyes sent a shiver down my spine.
He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my lips before whispering in my ear, “He’ll never hurt you again, I promise.”
“No. Don’t go. Let the police handle this.” I grabbed his wrist, but lacked the strength to hold on as he backed away.
“They can’t protect you like I can.”
“Tango. This isn’t you. You can’t…” I tried to sit up, misjudging the effect the pain meds had on my muscles. “Just don’t. Please,” I begged, knowing, by the strain on his face, that it was already too late.
Tango reached back and wrapped his fingers around the door handle. He banged the back of his head against the door, then dropped his chin.
Silence poisoned the air between us.
Dread crushed my chest. He wanted me to tell him it was okay. He wanted my approval. I couldn’t do it. Not because I didn’t want Walter Reynolds to suffer, but because I didn’t want the man I loved anywhere near those dangerous criminals.
“I love you,” he said before slipping out of sight and leaving me breathless.
Breathless and bloody, Walter Reynolds arced his knife one more time through the air. Pathetic really, his ineptitude with the weapon he wielded. And here I’d thought I was in for a good fight.
He hadn’t been hard to find. Would be easier to take down, which I planned to do as soon as I finished playing. I had a fuck ton of rage to burn off before I put this piece of shit out of his misery.
The morbid dance had started inside the dilapidated trailer home he owned north of town, along the river. Wasn’t much room to move, so I’d thrown him through the door ten minutes ago. The dogged bastard bounced right back to his feet and continued to come at me.
He swung and missed; I punched and struck hard. Walter charged, and I dodged, striking him to the ground with a blow to the back of his head.
His recovery took a bit longer this time. I waited, bouncing on the balls of my feet, throwing punches at the night air. With one arm snug around the haphazard bandage on his torso, he pushed off the ground. Walter was slowing down; I was just warming up.
Sirens wailed in the distance. Slade must have talked to the police already. Walter’s home would, of course, be the first place they looked.
I widened my stance. Dropped my fists. “They’re coming for you, Reynolds. They can find you alive or dead. It’s up to you.” I had no intention of sparing his life, let alone handing over the pathetic piece of shit, but I wanted him scared, desperate, and begging for mercy.
His working eye searched the darkness. “You won’t do shit except get me out of here.”
I hadn’t expected that reaction.
Okay, I’ll bite. “What makes you think I’d do anything for you? You’ve done nothing but ruin people.”
On wobbly legs, he
stood, hunched and huffing. “I’ve done nothing but collect what I’m owed.”
“What exactly might that be?”
“An eye for an eye.” He tapped the tip of the blade to the corner of his milky peeper. “The Mason bitch stole my niece from the club. I owe them a girl and a ki—”
I struck so fast and hard I felt his jaw shatter against my knuckles. Before he could spit any broken teeth out, I wrenched his knife free and held it to his throat. Red lights flashed through the thick of pine trees, casting eerie shadows across the dirt lot.
“I wanted to kill you slow. Seems there isn’t time for that. Too bad.”
“You won’t kill me,” he mumbled, half-laughing.
Slade’s bloody, swollen face was still vivid in my mind. Death was the least of his worries. I leaned closer. “Tell me. Why shouldn’t I cut you wide open, right here, right now?”
He struggled to breathe. “I die, your father dies.”
Fucking hell.
I was out of time. I yanked him to his feet and pushed him toward the Impala I’d stolen. He fit all too easily in the trunk. I had disconnected the safety release, but I used my fist to render him unconscious anyway. One can never be too careful. Besides, the fight had ended too soon. I had more steam to blow off. For a little fucker, he could take a beating. A skill he’d no doubt perfected in prison.
The police would find evidence of a fight. They would find the knife that Walter used to stab my girl. They wouldn’t find Walter. Pieces of him, maybe.
While I drove along the undeveloped stretch of river road, I dialed Tito. I ached to see Slade, hold her, and tell her everything would be okay.
But that would be a lie.
I wouldn’t face her again until I made it truth.
Things would change. The life I’d hoped to settle into was nothing but a pipe dream. I belonged to Luciano now. A worthy sacrifice if it meant keeping my family safe, and running the biker shit heads out of my town.
Tito sounded groggy when he answered, “Cousin. Everything all right? You get the fucker?”
“I have him. Change of plans, though.”
“What’s that?”
“He has Dad.”
“What the fuck?”
“My thoughts exactly. What time does your plane land?”
Tito huffed into the phone. “Had to reschedule. Bad shit went down at the fights. Fill you in later. Right now I have a meeting with Voltolini. He’ll go ballistic when he hears the Slayers have your Pops. Text you my flight schedule when I have it.”
“Yeah. Thanks, Tito.”
I ended the call. Luciano would lose his fucking mind when he heard the latest development. He loved my dad like a brother. Had tried to recruit him early on, but Dad had initiated his own plans for world domination. Plans that hadn’t included New York, or Voltolini’s brand of violence. Although, recalling the stories Luciano used to share with me, Carlos Rossi could hold his own in a knock-down-drag-out.
I knew what the Satan’s Slayers were capable of. Trusted that my father could handle himself for a short spell. Convinced myself that he was still alive, or Reynolds wouldn’t have played his I have your father card. They had Pops for a reason. I suspected it was money. It always came down to money.
“I promise, I don’t need money. I’m rolling in dough.” I tried to laugh, but every inch of my body screamed in protest.
“Honey, if you and Rocky need to stay with us, you’re more than welcome.” James kissed the top of my head and rested his hand over mine.
“Thank you. That means the world to me.” I pinched my working eye closed, determined to hold the tears at bay. Even that slight movement proved excruciating.
Lettie peeked her head through the door. Her whole face lit up when she looked at her husband. “Am I interrupting?” she asked.
“Of course not.”
She settled her handbag on the wide windowsill and came to stand at my side opposite James. She placed a red shopping bag near my feet. “I brought you some new clothes, sweetie.” She bent to kiss my forehead and before I could offer gratitude, she continued, “I bumped into your doctor outside. He says you can go home this afternoon.”
I no longer had a home. I forced the sadness down, burying it somewhere between grief and anger. I was alive. A house didn’t matter. My family celebrated my life while Maurice … Oh, God, Maurice’s family. I imagined them gathered in his big, beautiful house, mourning, planning his funeral.
How in the world had he been sucked into my nightmare?
I had slept for the past twenty-four hours. I had vague recollections of Rocky and Tucker storming in and out, hugging and kissing me. Lettie and James sitting at my side, whispering, holding my hand.
I’d refused pain meds, or at least anything stronger than ibuprofen since that morning. I hated the effect narcotics had on my body, how, when under the influence, I couldn’t distinguish dreams from reality.
What I hated most, was that I hadn’t been able to talk Tango out of going after Walter. He hadn’t come back, and his absence hurt, deeper than the physical pain. I refused to let my trepidation show. I knew why he hadn’t returned.
Part of me wanted to tell someone, so they could stop Tango from doing something he might regret. Most of me wanted Tango to succeed. All of me wished I had killed Walter Reynolds the night I’d saved Rocky. If I’d swung the bat harder, hit him one more time, Tango wouldn’t have cause to hunt him down. Maurice would still be alive. I’d have a house to go home to.
It wasn’t fair, considering the horrors Walter had put Addy through, that he continued to breathe. How unjust that Walter’s actions had turned me into a monster who would take pleasure in another man’s suffering.
“Honey?” Lettie gently stroked the top of my head. “You okay? We lost you there for a sec.”
“I’m fine,” I whispered, blinking up at her. “I just. I just can’t believe Maurice is gone. I’d like to attend his funeral, but what if they don’t want me to come? What if they blame me?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Nobody could blame you for what happened,” James chimed in. He looked down at me with enormous blue eyes full of compassion. Full of love. Bursting with fatherly concern.
“What if they catch Walter and he tells them what I did? What if they investigate and figure out my connection to Addy and Rocky?”
“Shh.” He patted my hand. “Walter won’t speak to the police. He’s a career criminal. And one thing I know, despite how fucked up those bastards are, they’ll die protecting their club. Walter tells the police about the history you share, he’d implicate his brothers. So unless he’s got a death wish, his lips are sealed. Hell, he’d bite his own tongue off before talking.”
Lettie reached over the bed to pinch James’s cheek. “Honey, you’ve been watching Sons of Anarchy again, haven’t you?” She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Your father is obsessed with Kurt Sutter.”
My father. I wasn’t sure if it was a slip. Lettie had never referred to James as my father, or Tucker as my brother. I needed to hear her acknowledgement. Needed to feel like part of a family, whether she meant it or not.
I slumped against the scratchy pillow, buried my anxiety under the blankets, and enjoyed the company of my father and his wife.
Five hours later, I settled into Tucker’s king-sized bed, in his seventh floor, downtown condo, with a full view of the lake. He’d insisted I take his room. I hadn’t the energy to argue.
Rocky wiggled and squirmed next to me. “Mom?” he whispered, even though I’d sworn over and over that I was okay and I didn’t need to sleep anymore.
“Yeah?”
He rolled to his side and blinked his big dewy eyes at me. “I saw our house on fire, and I was really scared.”
“I know.” I swallowed the thick lump in my throat.
“And Tango was scared and crying. Tucker said I couldn’t watch anymore because we needed to let the firemen do their jobs.”
Grunting through the pain, I roll
ed to face him, nose to nose, and brushed a chunk of hair off his face. “He was right. It wasn’t safe for you to be close to the house. Fires are very dangerous.”
“Tango got to stay.”
I cupped his hands between my own. “He did. But the firemen made him move way back.”
Tucker had mentioned that Rocky refused talk about what had happened. I was overjoyed that he was opening up to me.
“He wanted to save you. I saw him try to run into the house, and he fought with the firemen and everybody was yelling. They tackled him.”
Oh God. I hadn’t heard those details yet.
“Tucker made me stay in the car by Marion, and he tried to help Tango, but he came back and he was crying, too.”
“Oh, baby. I’m sorry. I’m sorry you were scared, and I’m sorry we don’t have a house anymore.”
“It’s okay, Mom.” He sat on his knees and pressed a small, sticky hand to my cheek. “I like Tucker’s house, too. It’s right by the beach, and the park, and downstairs he has a swimming pool that’s warm like the bathtub.”
Such a boy. “That is pretty cool, huh?”
Rocky scooted to the edge of the bed and looked around the room. “Are you sad that our new stairs got burned?”
“Sure. I’m sad about everything. But we’ll be okay. We can buy new things. I’m happy we’re both safe.”
He hopped to the floor and ran to the chair in the corner of the room to rifle through the stack of new clothes Tucker had bought for him. “I’m glad I had my football with me.” He held his favorite toy in the air.
Definitely his father’s son. “Me, too.”
“Tango said we can’t practice for a few days.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Oh. Did you see Tango?”
“He called and said I have to give you lots of hugs.”
“He called you?”
“Yeah, on Uncle Tucker’s phone.”
Relief washed over me. If he’d called, he was alive and safe.
Rocky wouldn’t understand why Tango hadn’t been around. The fact that he’d called to reassure his son made me love him even more. It did absolutely nothing to soothe the burgeoning ache, though.
Truck Stop Tango Page 24
