Truck Stop Tryst by Krissy Daniels
I’d never been so disgusted in my life. That was saying a lot considering my history.
I’d followed Tucker to the large white house and watched him carry the unconscious child inside with some half-naked, geriatric perv.
Naturally, I had followed, considering I now had two men to murder and one girl to save. Idiots had left the front door unlocked, not that it mattered because I could bypass any lock. So, I let myself in, surprised to find a gorgeous, well-kept home. Also, a loaded rifle. Which came in handy.
Tucker didn’t seem surprised by my break-in. In fact, the asshole seemed pleased, judging by the depth of his dimples.
“Where’s the kid?” My arms shook, vibrating with rage.
“Aida.” Tucker huffed. “What the hell are you doing here?”
The old man stepped back, snapping his hands up in surrender, unconsciously exposing himself, his flaccid dick peeking through the opening of his loose hanging boxers.
The scene distracted me enough to allow Tuck an opening. He lunged my way, reaching for the barrel. I dodged, shifting my hold on the Arrieta and swinging the butt, hitting my mark with a sickening crack.
Tucker stumbled backward, then fell on his ass, shaking the walls and floor of the old home.
I righted the gun at my shoulder, aiming at Grandpa. “Where is the girl?”
Holding his head, and struggling to find his bearings, Tucker shouted, “Jesus, Bambi. Put the gun down.” He tried to stand, but only made it to hands and knees, grimacing. A trickle of blood trailed down the side of his face.
“You make a move, Tucker, Grandpa gets a hole in his skull.”
“Tuck,” Grandpa said, a bit of humor in his voice. “Mind telling me what’s going on here?”
Tucker mumbled a few profanities combined with other colorful words, and slowly rose to his feet.
My heart raced a million miles a second. “Sit down, Tucker. I swear to God, I’ll shoot this man, then I’ll rip your heart out with my bare hands.”
Tucker ignored my command, rising to full height, his cheeks, hell, his whole face as red as the wool of his jacket. “Christopher. I’d like you to meet my…” His gaze darted to me, then dropped to the floor. With a huff and a head shake, he mumbled, “This is my girlfriend.”
The old man started to laugh. Tucker joined in.
So, I shot him.