Page 25 of Truck Stop Tempest
Then again, the gear wasn’t for me. Few men had seen me fight. Where Tango fought with his head, I surrendered to blind rage and instinct. Meaning I was never allowed in the ring.
I didn’t fight to win.
I fought to kill.
So, unless sanctioned by Luciano Voltolini, I didn’t fight.
At that moment, though, I sure as hell needed to hit someone.
Tango didn’t see me coming. He took a pound to his right temple and fell, face to the mat.
“Motherfucker,” he grunted, pushing to his knees.
“Get up,” I ordered, pounding at my skull, the voices taunting me.
“No.” He sat back on his haunches.
“Get up and fight.” The room spun. Bloody images whirled in my head.
“Not gonna happen.” He covered his face with one hand, held up the other in surrender, halting my advance. “I don’t trust your mood right now.”
The screams amplified. Time for them to shut the fuck up. Turning to the bag, I swung, the impact vibrating my arm, adrenaline spiking my blood. I hit again. Again. Blow after blow I attacked the heavy bag until I was nothing but sweat and heavy breaths. Until the voices disappeared. Until my muscles failed to work. Until I fell to the ground, depleted of oxygen, purged of anger, and free to think clearly.
I lifted my lids and stared at the knotty pine ceiling.
“Ready to talk?” Tango huffed, falling to his ass at my side.
“Just needed to blow off steam,” I said, wiping sweat from my brow.
“No shit?” Tango laughed. “Hadn’t picked up on that.”
“Sorry about your face.”
“No, you’re not. You’ve always been jealous of my good looks.” He slapped my chest and draped his arms over his knees, waiting for me to spill.
My eyes, my lungs, my chest burned with fury and an urge I didn’t understand. A call to protect the little bunny who’d wandered into my den.
“It’s Tuuli.” Her name on my tongue was the sweetest drug, unfurling through my bloodstream like a snowstorm in the desert, cooling the hot spots, temporarily soothing the scorch of the sun. “Friend of hers came to The Stop. She wasn’t happy to see the guy. Creepy fucker. So, I looked into him.”
We shared a stare-down before Tango blinked and looked away. “Aww, fuck,” he said, smoothing back his hair with a rough scrub. “Slade was right. You like her.”
“Fuck off.” Should’ve kept my mouth shut and dealt with Erik on my own.
Tango dropped his head between his arms and chuckled. “Never thought I’d see the day. My untouchable cousin, googly-eyed over a girl.”
I let the googly-eyed comment slide. What I had to say would shut his trap.
“In fact,” he continued. “I’ve never seen you—”
“The fucker has been in Branson, Missouri the past two years, fighting child abuse charges. Fuckin’ rape charges. Youngest was seven. He walked because the boys either changed their stories or disappeared.”
“Shit.” Tango fell back on the mat and rubbed his hands over his face. “No wonder your head is such a fucking mess right now.”
Tango, my parents, and Luciano, were the only people who knew what I’d survived as a child.
“That’s not all. He has ties with a white nationalist group in Ridgedale.”
As expected, Tango didn’t take the news lightly. “Fuck. We can’t get free of this shit, can we?”