Page 107 of Don't Let Go
“What kind of cars?” Michael asked, rubbing his bald head.
“Lamborghini and a Porsche. I was told to drive the Porsche and follow Vincenzo in the Lamborghini.”
“To where?” Mr. Dickson took a step closer. He hung onto every word of my story.
“We drove down this dirt road to meet these Mexican guys who had an eighteen-wheeler to smuggle the cars out. I guess there was a communication error on where to meet up. I got out of the car, and one of the Mexicans pulled a brick of what appeared to be heroin from the rear wheel well of one of the cars.”
“Damn it!” Mr. Dickson cursed, stomping his foot.
My heart leaped into my throat. “After that, I ran and hid the best I could. They abandoned me there.”
Tyler’s gaze seared into my flesh. He was probably piecing together that hellish day when I sent him those texts to come get me and then told him I was fine after realizing he was still busy with his away game.
“I’m sorry. I knew it was wrong to help Vincenzo, but I didn’t want him to hurt my sisters. Then I lost Lizzy, and I learned it was Paolo who pulled the trigger. I lost control. All I saw was red, and I wanted justice. I wanted—”
“Revenge,” Mr. Dickson finished for me.
Tears fell down my cheeks as I nodded. “Yes,” I admitted quietly.
Mr. Dickson clapped his hands and glanced over at Michael. “I think we’re done here. What about you?”
“Indeed,” Michael said, his voice boomed, rattling around in my head.
I stole a look at Tyler. We locked eyes and then looked away. I feared the mob’s retaliation for the crimes I committed and what the punishment might be. I hoped they didn’t harm Tyler.
“I’m sorry. Please don’t hurt—”
Mr. Dickson motioned toward the door. “You’re free to go.”
I stood, and Tyler shadowed me. “Sir?” I was confused.
Two men behind us came and took our chairs away.
“Go. You cleared up a few things for us. We’ll be in touch.”
Tyler put his hand on my arm, his eyes pleading for me to drop it and go.
“What about Paolo?” I dared to ask.
Mr. Dickson ran a hand over his face. “He will be dealt with. Don’t worry about him.”
“Okay,” I said softly, walking toward the door.
“Aurora?” Mr. Dickson’s voice was as rough as sandpaper.
I turned my head.
He straightened his tie. “I hope your mamma feels better. She’s an important part of this family.”
My lips bent into a polite smile. “Thank you.”
Outside, we beelined for the car in case Mr. Dickson decided to change his mind.
“That was creepy as hell,” Tyler said after I started the car.
“Yes. It was, but they didn’t seem as upset about me shooting Paolo and Vincenzo as I thought they’d be.”
Tyler wiped his palms on his jeans. “That’s good. When you were with Vincenzo helping with those cars, was that when—” Tyler caught something or someone with his eye and did a double-take behind him. “No. It can’t be.”
