Tyed

Izzy takes a step back, and I roll my eyes at her. As if…right?

“Three.”

Izzy grips me by the midriff and tugs me away from the door.

“Two.”

Her eyes are pleading for me to give him a chance to explain himself. That I should at least open the door. I can’t. The guy did enough damage already. Why are we even having this eye conversation?

“One.”

Silence. I huff and shoot her an “I told you he won’t do anything” sneer, when the sound of shattering wood fills the air. I gape as I see Ty’s foot in the air. His kick has sent the door flying open and cracked its frame.

Holy Moly Guacamole.

Ty storms into the room and picks me up like a caveman, draping me over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. He pivots back to the door and marches out wordlessly. I notice my parents standing in the hallway, downright stunned. Shouldn’t Dad be fighting him off? Well, he doesn’t.

Izzy follows us while Mom follows Izzy. Then Dad snaps out of his stupor, rushing furiously after all of us. We’re a chain of crazy people running down the hallway of a Vegas hotel, and we stumble upon half-eaten room service trays and the bewildered stares of other guests.

“Is he really her boyfriend?” I hear Mom panting to Izzy as they try to catch up with Ty’s long stride.

“Yes. But she’s not talking to him!”

I can barely see any of them from my angle, as most of the view I get is of Ty’s tight ass and shoulder tattoos. He is not wearing much, thank God. Black sports shorts and a sleeveless top. Is it wrong that I love the scent of his sweat, especially now, after everything that happened? I know it is, no need to answer that.

“Should I call the police?” Mom asks.

“No, he’s not going to do anything to her. If anything, she’s the one who is in bitch-slap mode,” Izzy says. “Where are you taking her, Ty? She’s wearing a vintage Valentino. Can’t you kidnap her in one of her signature Target sweatpants or something?”

“Thanks, Izzy.” I send her two thumbs up, because lifting my head after all the alcohol is a bad idea.

“Sorry, sissy.”

Ty stops at the end of the hallway, puts me down in front of the elevator and presses the button.

He palms my cheeks, storm in his black eyes.

“Take me to Shane’s room before I kick open every door in this place,” he demands. I’ve never seen Ty so agitated.

Is that what this douchebag cares about? Retaliation?

I put on an indifferent mask. "How did you figure out I was in Vegas?"

He reaches for his pocket, taking out my iPhone cover—a hipster cat with a trendy hat and Harry Potter glasses. Pointing the cover at me, he arches one brow. Yeah, I kind of gave myself away the minute I threw my phone in the parking lot of The Heat.

"Shane didn't tell me anything about you," I say. It's a lie, but I'm done playing fair. He fed me enough lies to last for a decade. “I heard you talking with that Ray guy.”

Ty throws his head back, looking both pained and frustrated. "Stop covering for him, Barbie,"

I squint my eyes in annoyance, turning back toward the hallway and marching my way back to my room. He grabs my wrist, pulling me into his chest.

“Please get mad at me, Blaire. Kick me, punch me, curse at me, break shit. Throw me in the f*cking doghouse and let me pay for what I’ve done. But please don’t walk out on me. I can't change my past, but we can change my future.” He closes his eyes, sighing in despair.

My family is still watching us like it’s a Broadway show.

My ego is wounded. My heart is smashed. This has got to be the worst thing I’ll ever have to do. I shrug and purse me lips. “Sorry, Ty. Shane was right. You and I are just too different to be together.”

Ty’s facial expression shifts back to frustration as the elevator arrives and two seniors smile in our direction from inside.

“Going down?” the woman asks.

“Yep.” Ty pulls me inside with him.

The silver-haired couple exchanges knowing glares. They know who Ty is.

“Wilder! We bought tickets for your fi-—” the man starts.

Ty cuts him off, completely focused on me. “I'm done hearing about this guy filling your head with bullshit about me. He has an agenda, and I’m going to make him admit it. You're going to see it now.”

“Don't shoot the messenger, lover boy. We both know that what Ray said was true." I refuse to spell it out with a pair of avid fans listening. The old couple are staring from him to me, wide-eyed. "Anyway, good luck with your plan. I don’t even know what room Shane is staying in.”

Ty’s phone beeps with a text message. He frowns at it briefly. The elevator door pings open.

“Oh, but I do.”

Ty is racing down the hallway and I follow him, wishing I wasn’t in a vintage cocktail dress so I could run faster and that I didn’t kill my phone earlier today so I could warn Shane. Ty will crush him if he gets the chance.

I’m frantic and when I see a maid pushing her cart in our direction, I stop her and beg her to call security.

Tyler kicks another door open and walks straight into one of the rooms. I don’t know who told him Shane’s room number, but whoever it was had good intel. I see Shane sitting on the edge of the bed, fiddling with his phone.