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He’d caught Jake’s arm and twisted it behind him, and just now had him pinned up against the wall.
Her brother was struggling, but though he was tall, Tyler had the advantage in mass.
Tyler gave her a look. “Hurry up, huh?”
Quinn hustled.
Greasy boy took all this in stride, his sharp eyes watching everything. “Is that Tyler Morgan?” he said. “Dude, I didn’t know this was your scene.”
“It’s not,” said Tyler. His voice was even, as if Jake wasn’t trying to buck his hold.
Quinn flung clothes into her backpack without looking. Her heart was in her throat. Jake was cursing at Tyler now. Tall-dark-and-sinister was flicking a lighter, but he couldn’t seem to get it to spark.
She had no idea whether this was going better or worse than if Tyler hadn’t intervened.
The bag wouldn’t hold any more, and she jerked at the zipper.
“Get the keys out of my pocket,” said Tyler. “Go down and start the truck.”
The dark-haired boy flicked the lighter again. Still no flame.
“Sure you don’t want to stay, sweet thing?”
“I’m worried I might puke on you,” said Quinn. It took everything she had not to kick him in the face.
Especially since he grabbed her ass when she skittered by him.
She whirled, her hand balled into a fist.
“Go,” said Tyler. “Ignore him.”
“I’m going to f**k you up,” Jake wheezed. “You think you’re so—”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Tyler. “Quinn. The keys.”
His body was tighter than a bow string, taut and rigid as he held her brother against the wall. Quinn had to get close to fish the keys from his pocket. This felt too intimate, sliding her hand along the front of his hip, searching for a metal ring.
Then the keys were in her fingers.
“Go,” said Tyler. “I’ll be down in a second.”
“The hell you will,” Jake snapped.
Quinn hesitated. That lighter kept flicking, never finding a flame.
Tyler glanced over his shoulder. “Go on,” he said, and for the first time, she heard a breath of strain in his voice. She saw the warning in his eyes. This could unravel in a real hurry. “Don’t stop. Start the truck.”
She ran. Halfway down the stairs, she heard them start to fight. Someone was yelling. Then a woman was shrieking.
Her mother.
Quinn hesitated at the turn in the steps. A gun fired. Glass shattered. The shrieking stopped.
Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. There was no love lost between Quinn and her family, but had Tyler shot—had he—?
And then he was just there, grabbing her hand, yanking the keys out of her fingers, physically picking her up when she couldn’t run with him.
He shoved her into the cab of his truck and she scrambled across the seat to get away from him. He started the ignition and rolled out of the parking place, but not with any great burst of speed.
