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“Collins?” Robbie’s voice sent a rush of relief through me as I tried to process what was happening. “Collins.” He was in front of me in a flash. “You’re okay. You’re fine. If you don’t stop digging your nails into your skin, you’re really going to hurt yourself. I got you.”
“Kyle,” I croaked, unable to move yet. I was frozen. Scared out of my mind. Possibly in shock. No, definitely in shock.
“On it,” Benny stated. “What were you two thinking?”
I couldn’t answer him. Not yet. I was still too fucked up to even think straight, let alone answer Benny’s questions.
“Now might not be the time,” Robbie chided him.
“Get their shit, so we can go. Don’t need to be around when the cops get here.” Shit, the cops. My blood was on the knife. My fingerprints were on my car. I screamed. The gun shots. Someone saw us. There was no way around that now.
I fucked up. Oh God. I’d been so damn stupid. Robbie didn’t give me a chance to say anything. He gathered up all of our bags and my purse, then threw me over his shoulder, not my proudest moment, and carried me to the waiting Land Rover—fucking Land Rover. Robbie situated me in the seat, buckling me in, then plucked the keys to my car out of my hand. He closed the door in my face, pounding on the window before taking off once more.
That was the last thing I remembered until waking up inside the main house with Miceli standing over me. He didn’t look happy to see me at all.
Oh shit. I think I royally fucked up this time.
