I didn’t flinch when he laughed at my truck; I’d had worse thrown at me than a stranger’s arrogance in a Tampa gas station. But when his hand closed on the tarp in my bed—on the only cargo that still meant anything in a life measured in miles and funerals—something cold moved behind my ribs. By the time the tarp fell and the afternoon light hit the brass plates, the smirk was already dying on his li… Continues…
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