I missed him.
“I missed you, baby.” Aida’s moist lips pressed against mine, sticky with red goop.
When I didn’t reciprocate, she dropped her arms and stepped back, rubbing her belly.
No. No. No. Not happening. Aida Voltolini, in my town? Hell had officially frozen over.
A red glow highlighted her high cheekbones. “Daddy didn’t tell you, did he?” Aida snapped her red-tipped fingers in my face. “Tango, darling, say something.”
“Fuck me,” I managed to declare.
Tito’s massive arms choked me in a tight embrace, breaking the tension. “Cousin. Sorry about the surprise. I couldn’t tell you over the phone.”
I clapped his back, still too stunned to form a coherent response.
I studied the petite brunette. Stunning as always. Enormous brown eyes. Full red lips. Impeccable hair and make-up. She’d always been curvy, but there was no mistaking the new curve. Especially under the tight black dress she wore. She was either bloated, or … fuck.
Math was never my strong suit, but I ran the numbers in my head. I hadn’t been with Aida for over six months. And fuck that idea anyway, because I had never dived into her pool without a wetsuit.
“How far along are you?”
Aida’s deep, raspy laugh grated my nerves. “Shit. You should see your face right now.” She reached up and patted my cheek. “Don’t worry. You’re not the daddy.”
“Who? What are you…” I glanced from Tito, to Aida, back to Tito. Luciano would never send his pregnant daughter away. I needed to hit something. “What the fuck’s happening here?”
A beefy, bald man in a sharp, navy suit carried luggage down the steps of Luciano’s private jet. He made no attempt to hide the Glock tucked into his belt holster. Tito gave him a chin nod and grabbed the suitcase handle. I snatched Aida’s luggage and pulled it behind me as I led them to the car.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What the fuck was she doing on my turf? How the hell would I explain her to Slade?
After helping Aida into the passenger side, Tito claimed the seat behind her, leaning forward to pat my shoulder. “It’s great to be back in Hicksville, USA.”
I turned the key and found my voice. “Explain, Tito.”
He settled back against the leather. “Listen. I would’ve called to warn you, but Luciano’s got a mole. Phones aren’t safe.”
“Okay.”
Aida reached over and placed her hand on my thigh, stretching her pinky toward my crotch.
“Not gonna happen.” I lifted her fingers and set them back in her lap.
She pretended to pout, then laughed. “You were right, Tits. He’s got it bad.” Aida patted my cheek, then pinched hard and whispered, “Just fuckin’ with ya, pretty boy.”
Tito chuckled behind me. “Luciano made a few calls. Your suspicions were spot on; the Satan’s Slayers have been looking to branch out, run their shit through the hunting roads and retired highway, hoping to stay off radar.”
“And?” The inside of my car filled fast with Aida’s fruity musk. A scent I used to enjoy, that now left a bad taste in my mouth.
“T. Man. Luciano had words with the chapter president. Guy by the name of Butler. He insisted that they didn’t know what Reynolds was up to. Tried to convince Luciano that the guy is working on his own. Claims to know nothing about your pops.”
“You and I both know that’s bullshit.”
“Yeah, but they don’t want a war. They probably thought this would be a quick and clean abduction. Now that Voltolini has jumped into the mix, these dipshits are scrambling. He made it clear to them, if one hair is out of place on Carlos Rossi’s head, he won’t only wage war, it’ll be a biker, butt-fucking genocide.”
Aida made a tsk sound. “Boys. Language. Please.”
“Whatever you say, princess.” Tito shook his head in mock irritation.
“So, you know, if they don’t already have your dad, they’re frantically searching. Wanna get their hands on him before we do, make sure your dad is returned safe and sound. Is Reynolds secure?”
“He’s secure.”
“That takes us to princess bun-in-the-oven, here.”
My intestines knotted.
Aida stared out the window. Nothing in her expression gave away her state of emotions. I was almost fooled into thinking she wasn’t worried until I heard the familiar Click, click, click. Click, click, click of her acrylic nails tapping against each other. The sound made me shiver. It was her one tell. On the outside, Aida was cool composure, a stone-cold beauty. On the inside, the girl was a ball of nerves wound tighter than the cha-cha.
Christ. Shit was bad.
“Princess got herself into a bit of trouble. Needs to lay low. Nobody knows she’s here aside from you, me, and the big guy we left on the jet.”
“Poor bastard,” Aida huffed.
Translation. Neither the pilot nor the big guy would make it home alive.
My life sentence had begun. My heart sunk. No. It shriveled. I had hoped to have more time with my family before the ugly side of my life seeped through the cracks. “Luciano is calling in his favor already.”
“You’re the only one he trusts. Nobody would expect him to let her out of his sight, let alone hide her across the country.”
“Lucky me, now I’m playing babysitter.” To the girl I used to fuck while trying to get the girl I should’ve been fucking out of my system.
I had dodged a bullet, I supposed. Luciano could’ve ordered me to New York, thrown me back into the ring. Aida’s fuck-up may have just saved me from having to leave my family.
Click, click, click. Click, click, click.
“Hey.” I merged into the carpool lane and set the cruise control.
Click, click, click.
I flattened my hand over hers. “Aida. I don’t know what kind of trouble you’re in, and I don’t want the details until I get Pops home. You’re safe here. Got me? Nobody is going to touch you.”
Aida dropped her head against the seat and rolled it to the side to look me in the eye. “Thank you, Tango. I promise, I won’t cause any trouble for you and your girl.”
My girl. My rockstar. My warrior.
Slade needed me, and I needed to deal with this shit so I could get back to her arms. I was empty. Desolate and angry without her.
After settling Aida into a guest room at home, introducing her to the staff, and leaving her in Maria’s care, Tito and I left to dispose of Walter Reynolds and bring Pops home.
I CLOSED MY FIST AROUND the colorless napkin bearing the Rooster Crow Bakery logo and squeezed hard, willing my nervous energy into the tiny ball of recycled pulp. When adequately smashed, I placed it on the red formica and flicked, aiming at the space between the sugar jar and napkin holder on the opposite end of the table.
“Miss Mason.”
The deep, rich voice drew my attention from my goal line to the man standing at my side.
“Hi. Um. Jason, right? Good morning.” I shifted to stand, but the man put his hand on my shoulder.
“No. Please. Don’t get up.” He slid into the seat across from me.
Jason McReary was tall with solid shoulders. Wrinkles framed his soft brown eyes. When he smiled, it warmed his face and the very air around him.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, tucking sunglasses into his breast pocket.
How was I feeling? I wasn’t the one who had just lost his father.
“The truth?” I asked, tapping my toes under the table. “The bruises will fade. It’s my heart that hurts, for you and your family. I’m a mess. I feel like this is my fault somehow.” I swallowed the lump in my throat.
Jason leaned closer and patted my wrist. “How could this possibly be your fault? You were brutally attacked.”
“I don’t know why your dad was at my house. I had just said goodbye to him. We had coffee and a long visit.” I pulled my hand free, sat back in my chair, and dabbed the moisture on my cheeks.
Jason rested his elbows on th
e table and nodded when the waitress asked if he wanted coffee. He waited for her to leave before continuing, “Slade. I have some things to tell you. My brother wanted to be here, too. Unfortunately, he had another family matter to take care of. We wanted to talk to you personally. Our lawyer advised against us meeting you without him, but considering your long history with Dad, I thought this would be better.”
Oh crap. Lawyer? They wanted to sue me. It was my fault Maurice was dead.
My intestines seemed to take on a life of their own, moaning, groaning, twisting, and tightening. I was going to vomit, or faint. God, what I wouldn’t do to have Tango by my side.
You were my warrior.
I inhaled and released the air, nice and slow, forcing my eyes to dry.
“Christopher and I have known about you for years. When we confronted Dad the first time, he denied it, but he had never been a good liar.”
Okay. I was lost. “Known about me? I don’t understand. Lie about what?”
He smiled again, and I noticed the dimple, the same as his father’s, the one that reminded me of Mom.
“I know why Dad was at your house.”
My heart sunk and shriveled.
“And it wasn’t your fault. It was mine.” Jason ran a hand over his balding scalp.
I took note of his wedding ring, it’s thick gold band, braided with a thin vein of platinum. Solid, and sturdy, much like he appeared to be. So why was he talking like a crazy man?
“Jason, I don’t understand.”
“He called me right after you left his house. Said he was going to tell you the truth the next time you came to visit. I told him not to wait. I told him to get in his car, go to you, and tell you everything. He’d waited too damn long already.”
“Tell me what?”
Thump. Thump. Thump. I placed my hand over my chest, to keep my heart from breaking through its flesh and bone cage.
Jason pulled a worn photo from his wallet and pushed it across the table with his forefinger. I looked at the image without touching it, trepidation freezing my limbs, tearing my heart to bits.
The man in the black and white snapshot looked to be in his late teens, early twenties. He stood in front of the Truck Stop. Proud. Tall. One hand on his hip, the other pointing to the OPEN sign hanging on the door.
Off to the side, three women stood in capri pants, aprons, and button-down blouses.
“Dad carried this in his wallet.” Jason tapped the photo, drawing my eyes to the woman in the middle. She paid no mind to the camera. Her face, her eyes, her body language, seemed to be aimed at the man with the giant smile. “Do you recognize her?” he asked.
I looked closer. She could’ve been my mother. She could’ve been me.
“Is that…” I couldn’t finish my thought.
“That’s Dad.” Jason’s bottom lip curled between his teeth while his head bobbed up and down. “He worked at the Truck Stop for a couple of summers. Dishwasher.”
“And that’s my grandma. Oh my God.” I covered my mouth with a trembling hand.
My grandmother had lived across the lake, until she’d died when I was nine. I’d never known who my grandfather was. Mom had never mentioned that Grandma had once worked at The Stop.
Jason only nodded, waiting for me to play catch up.
My insides warmed a thousand degrees as I played back Maurice’s advice about regret and lost love.
His daily visits.
His twenty-eight cent tips.
My daughter was born on the twenty-eighth. You aren’t the only one with secrets.
“Mom’s birthday was October twenty-eighth,” I whispered, holding back a sob. “He always left a twenty-eight cent tip. Every day. Every single day.”
“Sounds like something Dad would do.”
“Are you saying? I mean. Are you telling me? Jeez.” I dropped my elbows to the table and rubbed my temples. “I can’t even say it.”
“Dad was your grandfather. That’s what he wanted to tell you. That’s why he was at your house.”
Once again, life, the evil bitch, had thrown me a bone, only to snatch it away and bury it. This time, quite literally, six feet deep.
Emotion I couldn’t decipher welled inside me.
Suck it, life.
Jason McReary cleared his throat. “Listen, Slade. I’m sorry to dump this on you, considering what you’ve been through. We just thought it was important for you to know. You’re allowed to mourn him the same way we do. The memorial service is the day after tomorrow. Christopher and I would like very much for you to be there.”
I stared at the photo still lying in front of me, putting pieces together in my head.
Maurice had cheated on his wife, with my grandmother. Grandma had died alone. James, my father, had cheated on his wife, with my mother. Mom died, a drunk. Carlos Rossi cheated on his wife, repeatedly. Marta died, bitter and angry, by her own hand.
How could people so easily ignore the trail of destruction left in the wake of their selfish acts? Why was it the women who suffered most? There was a pattern, yet people chose to ignore it. Infidelity equals devastation. Broken homes, poisoned children. Wash, rinse, repeat.
My hands trembled. “Does the rest of your family know?”
“Know what?”
God, I was angry. It wasn’t Jason’s fault, but I couldn’t hold the ugly words in. “That I’m the granddaughter of his mistress. That I’m the daughter of the town whore Maurice was too ashamed to claim as his own. Who else knows?”
Jason’s kind eyes disappeared behind his thick lashes. His thumb tapped a rhythm on the handle of his coffee mug. “My brother and I are the only two people, besides you, who know the truth. The rest of the family know you as the girl my grandfather had a soft spot for. His favorite waitress from his favorite diner. I can’t remember one conversation I’ve had with him over the past ten years where he didn’t mention you.”
“Oh,” I mumbled, as the boiling rage reduced to a slow simmer. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take my anger out on you.”
“You’ve been through hell. No need to apologize.” He drew a deep breath and pinned me with a hard glare. “There’s one more thing.”
I opened my mouth to speak. Jason stopped me with a palm in the air.
“I need you to understand that Christopher and I, hell, the whole family are one hundred percent okay with this. The last time Dad updated his will was over five years ago. This wasn’t a last minute, rash decision.”
Will? His will? My heart raced, frantic and erratic. I couldn’t speak.
“Dad left you his house.”
That house. It physically hurt to look. I studied the charred remains of the few bones left standing. The base of the stairway, once a bright and hopeful ray of sunshine, now mocked me, black and ugly, from beneath the ash and rubble pile.
So many memories. Growing pains, stolen kisses, pointless fights, study sessions, refuge, laughter. Dancing. Planning.
I offered God a silent thank you, for keeping my family safe. Then I fell to my knees and silently begged forgiveness for what I’d done to cause this devastation, for what I was about to do to make it right.
Tito blew a low whistle between his teeth. “Damn, T. I can’t believe you let the guy live.”
I cleared the emotion from my throat. “I didn’t know fear until I stood here and watched it burn, believing they were inside.”
I’d wanted to burn with them.
“You’re a stronger man than I am.” Tito smacked my back. “Shall we?”
I stood, rolled my shoulders, and shook off the funky vibe. “Let’s get this over with.”
The flesh beneath my skin itched. On the surface, I burned. Twitchy and irritable, I pumped my fists, closed my eyes, called my monster to the surface.
One more time, I told myself. One more trip to the dark side. Only then could I face Slade, look her in the eye and tell her, with one hundred percent certainty, that she was safe. That I’d protected her. That, from now on, I
would be her warrior.
We headed back to the van. Tito rounded to the front door and claimed the captain’s chair. I threw the back door open, jumped inside, and pulled it closed behind me.
Walter Reynolds rolled his working eye up at me and mumbled through the gag in his mouth.
I made a show of pulling on the latex gloves and working them over my wrists.
“This is how it’s going down.” I glared into Walter’s wild eye. “I made a call, talked to your prez.” I tilted my head. “Nice guy. Although, he’s none too happy about the heat you brought down on your brothers. You cost them a chance at absorbing this territory.”
Walter thrashed against the chains that bound his wrists and ankles, stretching him from one side of the van to the other like a human X.
“Butler wants you back.” I lifted the lid of my black tool box and held up the rongeurs, twisting, turning, giving him ample time to study my favorite bone cutter. “Until you tell me where my father is, we’ll send him a piece at a time.”
I pulled the goggles over my eyes, pulled his index finger straight, and cut off digit number one.
Walter screamed into his gag, shaking his head from side to side.
“You got something to say?” I ripped the duct tape from his mouth and pulled the rag from between his teeth.
“I’ll fucking kill you, like I did your mother, you piss-ant piece of shit. Like I’ll do to your father.”
As if blindsided by a Mack truck, all oxygen left my lungs. Rational thought scrambled to hide. I struck hard, between his spread legs, with the tool still in my hand. With equal force, I shoved the rag between his teeth to quiet the scream.
Face to face, I waited for him to work through the pain, catch his breath.
“Did I hear you right? My mother?”
The lunatic laughed. “Eye for an eye. That cunt and your father helped put me away. Bitch already had the drugs. Made my job easy.”
“Aww, fuck.” I heard Tito say.
The metal under my feet vibrated as the engine roared to life. The small space shrunk around me. I turned my back to hide the flash flood of emotion tearing me apart.
Truck Stop Tango Page 25
