Page 73 of Four Times Saved

Ryan leaned down, nose to snout with Terry. He scrunched his nose and sniffed. His breath—the weasel patriarch of Lily's f'ed up 'nuclear family'—smelled like death. I got a whiff from where I was standing. It was surprising that Ryan didn't drop like a rock being so close to that hot ass breath.

"But, then," Ryan continued, "last night, you'll never guess what happened." A wildness twinkled in his hazel eyes as well, though it was no match for Tyler's onyx gaze. "Lily fell unconscious. Yes."

Ryan nodded and I balled up my own fist. He walked over to kidnapper number two, the one whose chest Ethan had been crunching his booted foot into for the past ten minutes as the little rodent squeaked on repeat.

"You'd never guess the reason why." Ryan stooped down next to the man and wobbled off balance.

I was wondering why he was talking so much. He was a little bit deranged at the moment, his skin was pale despite the melanin in his skin, and his eyes were drooping.

"You okay, man?" Ethan placed a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off.

"I'm fine." He gritted his teeth, angry Ethan had the nerve to interrupt him. He turned his attention back to the turd. "As I was saying. Turns out you fractured her skull in more than one place."

He wagged his finger at Terry's accomplice.

"So, who knows what the future holds for Lily? Huh? For us?" Ryan threw his hands up, defeat in his shoulders. "I don't know. You guys weren't thinking about that, though. Were you? You were thinking about your futures." He started to laugh and swayed in his attempt to stand up. I helped him to his feet. "Well, I can see into your future now and it's looking a little bleak if I'm being honest."

"Okay, brother." I patted him on the shoulders and pulled him away.

We all shared the same pain and his words were clear expressions of the turmoil within us, but we didn't come here to talk the men to death. "Don't you worry about them. Let's get you back to the car."

"Not so fast." Tyler stopped us both on the way out.

Convinced there was a cymbal crashing somewhere, and realizing it was my heart, I turned around from the cutting tone of his voice.

"What's up? Ryan needs some rest and some food. Let me get him to the car," I reasoned, though my pulse was throbbing.

This was the part in the movie where the mob boss turned around and killed everyone, leaving no witnesses, wasn't it?

"Oh, he can do all of that..." Tyler started.

Oh, thank goodness, I breathed. Solid sign that we wouldn't be joining Lily's kidnappers on the spit roast today.

"After all of you help me kill these men," he announced.

Chapter 33

Ryan

Say what? Come again? Both phrases I would have been saying if I wasn't dry heaving on the cinder block steps outside the container door. What the hell did he need help for? He was the professional, not us.

"Ha ha. Very funny. You know, I didn't know you had a sense of humor." Eric guffawed from beside me while I searched Tyler's eyes for a sign that he really was joking.

It would have to be a joke. This was not our specialty. I was a photographer, Eric was...had been a free-loving surf instructor and vlogger, Ethan was the lucky billionaire, and Matt was the trust fund millionaire, carefree backpacker.

And Tyler, well, he was the murderer. It didn't get any simpler than that.

For the last decade of our lives, we'd been drifting by, enjoying the expensive simplicities of life without a care in the world. We were only, almost, three decades old. The first decade we were victims of our circumstances, toward the end of the second decade we decided to take charge of the reality we wanted to live in, and within the past decade, we'd had freedom. We were just starting to live, discover love and commitment, and we were in the stage of learning to build a life with someone.

Now we'd not only had to face death as an idea, but here we were faced with the option to play a part in death as a reality. It wasn't something we could detach from and store someplace else in our minds, or on a canvas, in a vlog, on an adventure, or in a hotel room with strangers. Forget it at the bottom of Hennessy or champagne. This involved getting our hands dirty. Staining them forever. Being scarred from the memory of it for the rest of our lives. Changing our identities. Becoming killers.

No way, this was not how I imagined spending the next decade of my life.

The next several decades.

This wasn't something we could come back from.

Hate to say I told you so, that level-headed voice, the one that takes the moral high ground, returned again. But it was right. I shouldn't have gotten involved with Tyler. Where was that voice when I was on the plane?

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