Page 99 of Don't Let Go

My thoughts swam. What was going to happen to me once Paolo ratted me out?

I closed my eyes, but all I saw was Vincenzo falling to the ground. The memory played on a never-ending loop.

Tyler squeezed my hand. “Hey, Rory? You still with me?”

“Yeah,” I breathed, wiping my nose on the back of my hand.

“What does Paolo know about the deaths of my parents? What will I find in that police report?”

Shit.“Umm, well…” Maybe I should’ve died back there. “It’s a long story.”

Tyler eased off the gas once we were on surface streets. “We have time.”

Could this day get any worse?

39

Tyler

“I don’t know if I should tell you this while you’re driving,” she said quietly while wringing her hands together in her lap.

“Okay. We’ll talk when we get there.” I stared straight ahead to avoid crumpling at Rory’s sad glances. Her eyes, full of anger and violence a few moments ago, have melted into a soft green, like a cool pool that could drag me to my death. She truly was a beautiful siren.

God, I think I’d do anything for Rory, even after everything that has happened. What does that make me?

“Where are we going?” Her voice hitched. It was barely above a whisper. She turned the radio off. All I could hear was her breathing and the tires on the road.

“We’re going to my parents’ lake house. It’s in an undisclosed location.” I squeezed the steering wheel to keep myself fromsaying more. I was on the verge of wanting Rory to tell me everything she knew about my parents’ deaths and wanting to remain in the dark forever.

“At least it’s not the police station,” she mumbled, sinking further into her chair.

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” I said, reaching over and taking her hand in mine. She squeezed my hand before letting go.

I snuck a sideways glance at Rory. She turned her head toward the window. Her hair hid most of her face but based on the quiet voice she had, I could only imagine how somber she looked.

Did she truly believe I’d hand her over to the cops?

As I drove the winding road to my parents’ lake house, or I guess my lake house now since all the deeds were in my inheritance, we sat in silence. Rory mumbled things to herself in Italian, but I couldn’t make out what she was saying.

Gravel cracked under the Charger’s tires as I turned off the main road and toward the lake house. There was a half a mile between the houses with tall, thick pine trees all around. It was crazy to think a two-hour drive out of Phoenix would take you into a beautiful forest near a crystal-clear lake.

I killed the engine and opened my door. Rory didn’t move. I thought maybe she had fallen asleep, but then she sat up and slowly moved her arm, unbuckling herself.

“Let’s go in. The kitchen should have something. The least we can have is a strong cup of coffee.”

“I could use some coffee,” she said, opening her door and dragging herself out of the car.

Her hair looked like a wild mane around her face as the wind howled through the trees. Rory twisted her hair together in a messy handheld ponytail as she moved toward the house. I wanted to wrap my arms around her and tell her she was going to be okay, but I had no idea if she was. She killed someone today, and she shot Paolo. I wasn’t up to speed on who was whoin the Italian mafia, but I was pretty sure they frowned on killing each other without being ordered to.

“Make yourself at home,” I said over my shoulder as I unlocked the front door.

I walked through the living room to the kitchen, searching through all the cabinets and finding nothing but expired crackers, a brand-new can of coffee, and some random seasonings. After my mom died, we didn’t visit the lake too much. I did have a few parties here, though, until my dad found out and took away my keys earlier this year. I clenched the keys in my hand. They weren’t mine. The keys I had now were the ones my father used. This keyring had keys to everything, even things I had no idea what they kept locked up.

“Looks like I was right. All we have is coffee.” I sighed, filling the coffee carafe with filtered water from the tap. I poured the water into the coffee maker and put three tablespoons of coffee into it before closing the lid and turning it on. The machine bubbled and gurgled as it brewed the wondrous brown liquid of the gods.

After grabbing two blue mugs from the cabinet above the sink, I poured coffee into each once it was ready. “I hope you like your coffee black. There’s no sugar, and the fridge is empty,” I said, walking into the living room with a mug in each hand.

“It’s fine,” Rory grumbled.

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