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“Get out of here, Marina,” Mickey wheezed. “Run. They’re gonna kill you again.”
A pang of guilt went through me. Now wasn’t the time to remind Mickey that my mother had died by putting a gun to her temple and pulling the trigger.
“Get the fuck out of the way, blondie,” Tyler purred. “Before Imakeyou move.”
I swallowed hard and took a step forward, my eyes on Tyler. None of what had drawn my eye to him in the first place was there anymore. It had all vanished.
But I held onto the slim, desperate hope that I’d heard right. Mickey had said that this man, Tyler Michaelson, albeit all he was, didn’t hurt women.
“Please. Call for help,” I begged. “He’s dying. We can—”
I broke off as Tyler stepped forward and grabbed my shirt, easily lifting me off my feet and over to the side. Then he aimed the gun at Mickey.
“Who do you work for?” Tyler snarled. “BPD?”
“No,” I gasped. “No one, I...”
Suddenly, Tyler set me down and grabbed the collar of my shirt, yanking it to the side. I gasped and tried to fight him off but he’d already twisted the necklace and broken it off.
“What are you doing?” I said and tried to grab it, but one of his guys had materialized and caught my arms behind me. “That's—”
“Well, well,” Tyler said and held up the necklace. “Never thought I’d meet someone who owned another one of these.” His eyes flashed to mine. “Who the fuck do you work for?”
“No one,” I gasped, remembering how Ryan White said I was on my own if things went sideways.
I didn’t think there was a word for how sideways the situation had gone. The man I was supposed to be getting information on was holding my flash drive. He’d shot a cop. He had me at his mercy.
I’m going to die, aren’t I?
“Riddle me this, how are we meeting here of all places, blondie?” Tyler asked in a mock flirtatious voice as he stuffed the necklace in his pocket. “You one of Hendrix’s?”
“No one sent me,” I gasped and tried to pull free. “Just, please. Call a fucking ambulance.”
My voice began to shake and tears blurred my vision. To my horror, they began to stream down my face and I couldn't hold in the sobs. My eyes travelled from Mickey, who was unconscious in a pool of blood – my sweatshirt mangled and useless at his side, and then to the handsome man I'd been secretly dreaming of for days.
My judgment is as bad as my father's.
Rubbing the back of his neck, Tyler sighed and rolled his head on his shoulders, then stepped forward. Immediately, the man holding me let me go. I tried to dart for the door but Tyler had his hand around my throat.
“Why were you in the bar the other night? Were you asking about him?”
“No,” I gasped. “I needed a job.”
“Fucking Dean,” Tyler muttered. “Of course. Thatstunod.”
“Bet he sent her to White,” one of the guys said.
“White doesn’t do shit unless he’s paid for it first,” Tyler said and increased the pressure around my neck. “Who paid him? Who sent you?”
“I-I don’t know,” I managed to say and sobs racked my body. “But you have to call — help Mr. Weiss. Please. Please help him.”
“I don’t have to do shit,” Tyler said and squeezed harder. “Tell me who sent you. White? If it was him, just nod.”
Oxygen wasn’t making it to my brain anymore, which must have been why I whispered, “Fuck you.”
For a long moment, Tyler stared at me. For a second, I thought I saw a trace of amusement in his eyes but it clouded over into something else: pity, or concern.
Before I could make sense of it, he let me go and I fell on the floor, my fingertips inches from the pool of blood spurting out of Weiss.
