Page 24 of Truck Stop Tempest
Cut deep, hearing the words, “my fiancé.” Not a woe is me, my heart is broken, kind of pain. More like an, Aw, fuck, I have to kill another piece-of-shit lowlife sting. I had hoped that Whisper Springs would grant me a reprieve from the innate call to murder I’d lived with for so many years. I was tired of fighting. Tired of killing. Just plain tired.
That Erik character raised all my hackles. The guy was a fraud, any fool could see. The poser had pissed on my territory. For that act alone, there would be consequences.
One thing I knew sure as shit: guys like that pretty boy in the expensive suit didn’t respond to warnings. Punks like Erik needed to be taken down, swift and hard.
Tuuli didn’t want him around. I’d make sure he respected her boundaries.
I followed the fucker outside to his Mercedes, watched until his vehicle disappeared, then trekked up the hill to my apartment, fired up the coffee pot, and settled into the sofa with my laptop.
Two hours later, I’d learned everything I needed to know about Erik Meyer.
I continued to dig.
Another hour in, I’d decided I wasn’t so tired of killing.
I sat in the dark. Alone. Raging. Struggling to make sense of the facts I’d uncovered.
The screams grew louder, ricocheting against the confines of my skull. Riotous bastards.
I dialed Tango. Three rings in, he picked up. “Cuz. What’s up?”
“I need to spar.”
“Great. Meet me at Dad’s. Five-thirty good?”
“Now,” was all I needed to say.
No hesitation. “I’ll be there in twenty.”
I made it to my uncle’s home in ten. Waited on the front porch for Tango to arrive. Followed him in silence to the basement gym.
My cousin loosened his tie and threw it to the corner while kicking off his shoes.
I ripped my sweatshirt over my head, toed off my Nikes, and attacked. Tango was ready, dodging an uppercut.
“This how it’s gonna be?” he asked, working at the top button of his shirt.
I snarled a warning.
“That bad, huh?” he huffed, working at his cuffs.
I paced, knocking at my skull to quiet the noise inside.
“At least let me get my shirt off. Don’t wanna bloody this one.”
I was a geyser ready to blow, steaming to release the unbearable pressure searing my insides. I paced until Tango came at me, muscles bunched, an unholy fire in his eyes.
He was never one to shy away from the promise of a good old-fashioned fist to face.
Tango didn’t dodge the next strike or the next. He took my assaults like a champ, then came at me, clipping my jaw, throwing a weak jab to my gut. Fucker was holding back. Pissing me off.
“Hit me,” I screamed, pounding fists to chest.
“Not without gear,” he shouted back, shaking his head.
“Afraid I’m gonna blemish that pretty mug?”
“No.” He jogged to the corner of the mat to grab headgear and gloves. “Afraid you might kill me.” A set of leathers landed at my feet. I kicked them away. Didn’t want protection. Didn’t need it.