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Quinn couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t stop shaking, and she wondered if she should be diving out of the vehicle right now, running for her life.
“Are you okay?” he said. “Hey, look at me. Are you all right?”
She realized she was making hysterical little keening noises.
Tyler rolled to a stop at the stop sign. A siren kicked up somewhere in the distance.
He looked at her, and she grabbed the door handle, still contemplating leaping out of the vehicle. Her breath shook with panic. “Did you—did you kill them?”
“Are you insane? No!”
“But a gun—a gun—”
“It wasn’t mine. It was Anthony Spinnetti’s.”
She must have looked blank, because he rolled his eyes. “The douche bag with the crack pipe.”
That was a crack pipe?
She stared at him. Her eyes felt too wide. She still couldn’t get a handle on her breathing. “Who got shot?”
“No one. Well, your door frame. I got it out of his hands and threw it through your bedroom window.”
The glass breaking.
But Tyler had wrestled someone with a gun?
He was on Ritchie Highway now, but he glanced over at her.
“He was about to come after you. Your brother told him you stole his money. Is that true?”
She put her hands on her cheeks. “No.”
“Maybe a little warning that you were leading me into a dealer’s den would have been in order.”
“I didn’t—I had no idea.”
“Jesus Christ, girl, how long have you been living like that?”
“I don’t—I didn’t know what they were doing.” She felt naïve and stupid, which was ridiculous. She couldn’t wrap her head around this. “You really didn’t shoot them?”
“Sweetheart, I don’t walk around armed. My gun is locked up. I’ll prove it to you when we get to my place.” He paused and ran a hand back through his hair. “Unless . . . do you want to go to the cops? Your neighbors are already calling them, but . . .”
Her life had to be pretty shitty to have two guys offering to take her to the police in the span of one week.
And this time, at first, she did want Tyler to take her to the police station. She’d tell them everything she’d seen, and she’d have him there to back it up.
But then they’d arrest her brother. And possibly her parents.
Quinn was only seventeen. Where would they send her? A foster home or something? Or would she be arrested, too?
And what would they do to Jordan? At least her little brother was practically living at his friends’ houses. She hadn’t seen him in over a week. She didn’t have to worry about him coming around.
“No,” she whispered. “No cops.”
“You all right?”
She shook her head. “How do you know that Anthony guy?”
