Page 59 of Truck Up

Christian

My phone buzzes again from where it’s sitting face up on the center console. I glance over to see the message that pops up before the screen goes dark again.

Angel

Please answer me. I’m worried. Anything will help calm my nerves.

I reach for it and flip it over, hoping like hell Ember didn’t see it. That woman is unlike any of the other women we’ve helped before. She’s talkative, strong, and has no problem voicing her opinions. I can’t imagine her ever letting a man abuse her.

Then again, I guess people do crazy things when it involves their parents.

“Is that your girlfriend?” Ember asks. It’s an innocent question. I can tell by her tone she’s just trying to make small talk. She does that a lot. Unlike me, she doesn’t like silence.

It’s been a long three days driving these women to Montana. Normally, I’d drive a lot more miles each day and make it to the destination in half the time a normal person would. I don’t needmuch sleep and driving brings me peace and comfort. I can drive for hours before needing to rest.

But not with five women. They have to stop for the bathroom every hundred miles because apparently, they can’t all piss at the same time.

Unlike Ember, her sisters are quiet. They whisper amongst themselves and occasionally have a conversation with Ember. But mostly they sleep. It’s like this is the first time they’ve slept in years and are making up for lost time.

I can see the evidence of their abuse all over their bodies. Plus, their quiet, reserved—almost fearful—demeanor makes it apparent. If their father did half the things the media has said he’s done to them, he deserves to be castrated before a lifetime of torture is inflicted on him.

“Well?” Ember probes.

When I glance over at her, she’s staring at me with her arms crossed over her chest. “Well, what?”

“Answer my question. Is Angel your girlfriend?”

I groan, annoyed that she saw the text message. I do not want to talk about Amelia with this woman, but if I don’t give her something, she won’t stop asking me. “You could say that, I guess.”

She snorts. “You guess? If you don’t know, then you should probably figure it out.”

“It’s complicated,” I growl, and it causes her to retreat toward the window. When I glance over at her, it’s the first time I’ve seen fear in her eyes. My gruff demeanor can be too much for most people. It probably comes across as threatening to an abuse survivor.

“Sorry, I’m not going to hurt you,” I say in a much softer tone. I don’t usually have to worry about how I sound with the woman I help, because they never want to talk. But all Ember wants to do is talk.

She takes a few deep breaths before she nods. Her body relaxes as she adjusts in her seat. “It’s okay. Just caught me off guard.”

Silence falls over us for several miles after that. I focus on the road while Ember stares out the window. There’s not much to see right now, considering it’s almost one o’clock in the morning. I probably should have stopped for the night hours ago and gotten some rest, but I’m anxious to get this job over with.

We’ve only got a little over an hour before we reach the safe house. Once I drop them off, I can sleep for a few hours before I start my long drive home.

Home.

There’s going to be hell to pay once I get back. Grams and my brothers are going to be pissed at me for disappearing. I didn’t tell any of them I was leaving. The only person I told was Amelia, and I didn’t tell her much.

Rule number one for this job is to tell no one where you’re going or what you’re doing. Rule number two is no contact with family or friends after a package is picked up. Burner phone only just to be safe. Overkill? Maybe. But I don’t make the rules.

Short trips are easy, but a job this long is proving to be challenging.

Chase has messaged me almost as much as Amelia has. The rest of my brothers send me random text messages asking me where I am. They’re all worried I’m using again. It pisses me off even though I can’t blame them. I’d assume someone like me is using again too if they just up and vanished for almost two weeks.

Two weeks.That’s how long it will be by the time I get back. I’ve never disappeared for that long before. Not even when I was using.

God, I’m an asshole.

But what choice do I have? Lives are at stake. If I speak to anyone about what I’m really doing, it could jeopardize the job. I will not be the one responsible for getting these women hurt. They’ve been through enough already.

Besides, I like helping Edge. It gives me a greater purpose and a slight hint of redemption for all my past transgressions. It by no means wipes them away, but it makes me feel a little better about myself.