Page 95 of Don't Let Go

“I didn’t know my best friend, and you were so close. Plotting behind my back, that’s wonderful,” she spat, turning her attention to the heap of clothes on her bed.

“We’re not conspiring against you, Rory. I found a gun in your glovebox, and you haven’t been yourself since… you know…”

“Since Lizzy was shot like a dog in my front yard right in front of me?” She flared her nostrils. “I need you out of here. Now!” She stormed across the room and opened the door. “Get. Out.” She gave me a hard shove, making me stumble back a few steps.

Carmen was down the hall by the bathroom when she looked over and saw Rory kicking me out of her room.

Carmen shook her head. “Trouble in paradise?” she asked, giving me a twisted grin.

Rory slammed the door in my face. I wanted to pound on it and force her to talk to me, but I knew it was pointless.

I didn’t respond to Carmen. Her gaze pierced into my back as I locked myself in my room and grabbed my phone, texting Chloe.

Rory is getting ready to leave. She says she’s going to an exclusive party. Invite-only. She tried to bite my head off when I asked for more info. You know anything?

I placed my phone on the dresser and paced my room, waiting for a reply. I was also keeping an ear out for Rory. She was still rummaging around and muttering to herself. I needed a plan before she took off to an undisclosed location.

My phone buzzed. I grabbed it, Chloe replied.

The Goodman party?! You need to follow her!

I was afraid her response was going to be panic and wanting me to intervene. How do I stop her? She’s a hurricane on the warpath. Rory’s mind was set on revenge. Hell, she hid her ties with the mafia from me for weeks. What else could she be capable of?

I rubbed the back of my neck and thought of a reply.

She’ll know I’m following her. My car isn’t discreet.

There was a bang on the wall I shared with Rory as if she threw something at it, maybe a shoe. I looked at my phone, reading Chloe’s latest message.

Follow her! I don’t care how! I’ll meet you there. I got the invite too.

A door slammed shut, and footsteps stomped down the hall toward the stairs. I poked my head out of my room and caught a glimpse of Rory’s head before she disappeared down the stairway.

Shit!

I shoved my shoes on and grabbed my keys. I sent a quick reply.

She’s on the move!

I raced down the stairs and out the door. Rory had already pulled out of the carport and drove down the street. As I jumped into my Rolls-Royce, I had no idea how I'd tail her without her seeing me, but I had to try.

Whatever Rory was mixed up in, I had to somehow get her out of it. If I took a moment, I could still smell her apple shampoo and honeysuckle scent as she slept on my chest the other night. All I wanted to do was protect her and help ease her pain. It appeared I also had to save her from herself. If it was the last thing I did, I wasn’t going to allow Rory to shoot that gun and blow up her future. I loved Rory too much to let her slip into the darkness of her madness.

38

Aurora

I pulled up the long driveway to a house in the hills of Paradise Valley. It was the typical mansion hidden away in a mountainside that probably had a breathtaking sunset view of the desert. A lot of people said Arizona sunsets were the best in the world. I wasn’t coming here for the view. This house was owned by James Goodman. He was the mafia’s best hitman on the west coast. He usually lived a low-key lifestyle until his son Nate blew into town. Nate was loud, a drummer in some punk band that toured around the country in seedy dive bars, and on occasion, he helped cook a batch of glass.

After receiving an invite to Goodman’s party, I saw the perfect opportunity for revenge. A lot of younger members were invited because it was polite to include family at your parties. Nate was notorious for throwing a hell of a bash when his father was outon assignment in another state. Nate was a wild child, but he knew how to keep the mob family safe. No matter how extreme his parties were, it was always invite-only so he could control the story.

Nate’s infamous parties were something I always avoided, but the rumor was if you were caught without an invitation, two guards executed you in the basement and dissolved your body in acid, then sold your car overseas. There was never a trace of that person again. They evaporated faster than the crimes my mamma covered up.

Two men in black suits and reflective cop sunglasses held their hands up as I reached the top of the mountain where the mansion stood alone.

The taller one with a goatee had a German Shepherd on a short leash. He walked around my car with his hand resting on the pistol at his hip. The other guard knocked on my window with his gun, signaling me to roll it down. The guy at my window was huge. He had to have been a linebacker for an NFL team for years to be that lean. I think if you hit him with a cinder block, it would turn to dust, and the guy would be left unscathed.

“Invite?” he said dryly, offering me his other hand palm up.

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