Page 25 of Dirty Little Vow
“Bella.”
The muted, oh, so polite demand in Oliver’s voice forces me back to the moment—to the backseat of a sedan where I’m captive to a stranger with an agenda he has yet to share.
“You wanted to talk,” I say, fixing him with a burning stare full of accusation. “And yet that hasn’t happened. Why?”
“I decided we needed a more private place to chat, which is where we’re headed now. We’re going to pull up to the Four Seasons hotel where I’ve secured you a room.”
That announcement is as brutal as shattered glass raining down on me from the roof of the car might be, stabbing every part of me. That’s how trapped I feel right now, how tormented by what comes next. Nothing good happens when a woman is taken to a hotel room. “I’m not going inside a hotel room with you,” I say. “That will never happen.”
“Are you sure about that?” he asks.
“I’m not going into a hotel room with you or anyone with you,” I add, thinking about the driver with the smashed face.
Oliver offers me his phone, which I want to refuse, but curiosity and fear over what he might be showing me wins. I grab the phone from him and stare down at a photo of Tyler. He’s sitting in the booth at the bar, right where I’d been sitting, the lines of his handsome face sharp, his eyes tormented. But what stands out more than his pain is the fact that he’s being watched and doesn’t know it.
“We can get to him at any time,” he says. “Just like we got to you, Bella.”
I draw in a breath and toss the phone in his direction. I’m done being civil. “You’re an asshole.” I’m instantly irritated at myself for the action.
I showed a chink in my armor, and that means in Tyler’s as well.
Oliver doesn’t react or seem to notice my action. He simply retrieves his phone and says, “I’m really not. We’ll get through this, Bella, and do it without bloodshed. You and I are making that happen. Now,” he says, shifting his tone to what I can only call directional, “We’ll enter the hotel side-by-side and walk to the elevator. No need to feign being love interests as we are not. This is a business transaction. Once we’re in the room, we can chat freely without interruption, and I do believe as two intelligent people, we can find a path to peace.”
The vehicle turns a corner and much to my distress, we’re already pulling into the drive in front of the hotel where the valets work. I have no doubt he’d planned the timing of his announcement in a way that left me no time to fret or think my way out of this. If I don’t go up to a room with Oliver, he’s made the consequences clear, and they involve Tyler.
Tyler will get hurt.
I have to go with him.
But it will be okay, I tell myself. No matter what happens, as long as I live to see another day and so does Tyler, I’ll be better off than my father, who lost the love of his life. I can do this.
For Tyler.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Tyler
I’ve started showing photos to strangers, asking if anyone has seen Bella, but I’m coming up with nothing. I end up back at the bar, where I find Dash standing with a bare faced woman, I guess to be mid-forties, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt.
“What the hell are you doing?” I demand, joining them, my focus on Dash. “Have you been here the entire time?”
“This is Cheryl,” Dash offers, motioning toward the woman, and ignoring my reprimand. “She’s the waitress that served Bella and the man who was with her. She’d just gotten off shift when they left and came back to work to talk to us.”
My throat is raw, and I feel as if I just swallowed a handful of blades. “You saw Bella?”
“I talked to her,” Cheryl confirms but her brows dip. “Actually, I don’t think she spoke. It was all the man with her.”
“What did he look like?” Dash asks.
“Tall, regal-looking Black man,” she says. “His suit was money, you know what I mean?” She motions to me. “Like yours. Money.” She flicks her gaze between us. “He ordered for her. A Bloody Mary. He ordered one too, but then he asked for a bottle of Macallan 25. Like I said, he was money. He didn’t drink it and that bottle was thousands. Paid though, and left me a huge tip.”
I pull out my wallet. “What did you overhear?”
She waves off the hundred-dollar bill I offer her. “You don’t need to give me that. The idea that I didn’t know she needed help, guts me. The more I think about it, the more uncomfortable I believe she was. I really hate that it didn’t click at the time.” She shoves a lock of black hair behind her ear and hugs herself. “I really didn’t hear much at all. The seat backs are high, but he did pay me extra to give the bus boy so he wouldn’t clean up until someone came for the note. I didn’t ask questions. I just thought y’all were late to the meeting or something.”
“Have you ever seen him in here before?” Dash asks.
She shakes her head. “Never.”