“Last chance,” Tyson speaks. “Why did you stab my wife?”
My eyes widen. Wait? This is about me?
The guy is on all fours, looking up at my husband. He smiles. “Why would I tell you?” He falls onto his ass and wipes his bloody face. “I’m dead anyway.”
“Clear your conscience,” Tyson offers.
He laughs once more. “I will tell you this, though. Someone wants your wife more than you do.” Tyson stiffens and my breath catches. “You’re not the only monster out there, Tyson. They know every move you’re going to make. And you can’t save her. Just like you weren’t able to save Whitney.” He laughs, showing his blood-covered teeth. “Your wife will die in your arms just like her sister.”
I swallow nervously.How does this guy know all of this?
“History repeats itself,” he adds.
Tyson reaches out his right hand and Colton places the knife in it. He throws it, making contact with the guy’s shoulder, knocking him to the concrete floor, screaming out once again. “Fuuccckkk,” he gasps.
Tyson goes over to him and places his boot on the man’s chest, holding him down on his back. “Who wants her?” he demands.
The guy shakes his head. “I don’t want to ruin the surprise.”
Tyson leans over and yanks the knife from his shoulder, making the man grunt. Grabbing the man’s hair, Tyson drags him to the center of the room and positions him on his knees. Stepping behind him, he yanks his head back and places the knife to the guy’s throat.
I stiffen when the guy’s eyes meet mine. “Good luck.” He smiles before Tyson runs the knife across his neck, splitting the skin like butter.
I slap a hand over my mouth to keep my gasp from being heard. No one realizes I’m here expect for the dead man that has blood gushing from his neck wound. A gargling sound fills the room as his body convulses.
Tyson lets go of him and the guy drops to the floor, a pool of blood growing larger by the second as he bleeds out. “I’m going to go shower. Meet me in my office after you’ve cleaned this mess up,” he orders.
I run up the stairs on shaky legs and exit the basement. I walk on autopilot to the wait station. The club has opened since I’ve been down there, and the blinding lights make it feel like I’m walking uneven. Or maybe I am. I stop, placing my hands on the bar. Bowing my head, I close my eyes and try to gather my thoughts.
All of these years, I really thought Tyson killed my sister. Even my brother tried to tell me that he hadn’t. But I didn’t want to believe Miller.
But what if Tyson hadn’t? What if he was innocent and someone went after her because of him? I’ve never thought of it that way. Like me. Who have I pissed off? No one. But why would someone want me dead? It doesn’t add up. Because the guy was right, no one thinks Tyson loves me so why would my death matter? Just to make him relive Whitney’s death maybe?
“Couldn’t handle it, huh?” Bethany laughs, seeing the look on my face.
I lift my eyes to Beau, and he gives me a sympathetic smile. “I tried to help you,” he says before giving me his back to go grab an order.
Bethany comes back to place an order and I look over at her. “You can have my table,” I say, and turn, giving her my back. I make my way to the elevator and go up to the apartment.
FORTY-ONE
TYSON
Senior year at Barrington University
Ienter the house, shoving the door open. Her car wasn’t outside. “Whitney?” I call out, but there’s no answer. “Whitney?”
I’m pushing doors open, yanking blankets and comforters off beds, trying to find her but don’t see her anywhere. The place looks somewhat abandoned. Cabinets open, but nothing in them. Old furniture in the front living room. “Whitney?” Where the fuck is she?
I come to the last door in the four-bedroom house, and it’s locked. “I’m kicking this open,” I warn, just in case she’s on the other side, my adrenaline pumping that something really is wrong. Whitney has been over the top but she’s never this dramatic. And I’d hate to be downplaying something that’s really wrong.
Lifting my foot, I slam my boot into the door, splintering the wood and I enter the room. There’s a bed in the middle with nothing more than a blanket wadded up and covered in blood. My eyes drop to the floor, and I see her lying there on her back, arms out to her side and eyes closed. I drop down beside her and place my fingers to her neck. “Whitney? What the fuck?” She’s got a pulse. Barely.
Without wasting any time. I pick her limp body up in my arms and carry her out of the house. Ryat is already waiting in my car by the curb.
The passenger side door opens when he sees me carrying her. “Fuck.”
“Drive us to the hospital,” I bark, and he’s already opening the back passenger door for me to crawl in with her. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay,” I whisper to her, sitting in the back seat. Her body lies in my arms, blood runs from her broken jaw and busted nose. “I promise …” My voice cracks and I clear my throat. The fact that her clothes are covered in dirt, shirt is ripped, and her jeans undone tells me all I need to know. Not to mention the bruises around her neck.
