Somebody to Hold (Tyler Jamison #2) - April Wilson Page 0,7

on that alone.”

Brad pulls his phone out of his back pocket, turns it toward me, and hits play on a video of an enraged Tyler pummeling Brad with his fist. Blow after blow, he pounds Brad relentlessly.

The focus of the video shifts to show two security guards hauling Tyler off of Brad, holding him back as Brad says, “And here’s Ian Alexander, the little cunt who started it all.”

And then the camera is pointed at me as I’m sitting on the bathroom floor trying to catch my breath.

I feel sick as I watch the video. Anyone who sees it would convict Tyler on the spot. And we have no proof that Brad tried to strangle me. It’s his word against ours.

When another car pulls into my driveway, we both turn to look. It’s Miguel’s vintage black Mustang. Thank god.

“You need to leave,” I say to Brad. “Now.”

Brad glares as Miguel gets out of his car. “This isn’t over, Ian,” he says, turning back to face me. “We’re just getting started. You will let me fuck you. You’ll let me tie you up, strap you down, and gag you. And not only will you let me, but you’ll like it. In fact, you’ll beg for more.” Then he jogs down the steps, passing Miguel who’s on his way up.

Brad gets in his car and peels out of my driveway, his tires squealing loudly on the pavement.

Miguel joins me on the top step. “Shit, man, was that Brad Turner? What’s he doing here?”

I watch Brad’s car until it disappears from sight. Then I turn to face my friend. “Nothing. Forget him.” Shaking, I reach down and grab my backpack. “Let’s go.”

Chapter 3

Ian Alexander

Miguel watches me surreptitiously as we head downtown on foot. I wish he’d forget about seeing Brad, but he’s a professional bodyguard. It’s in his nature to be suspicious and super observant. He also saved my life not that long ago, so I can forgive him for being inquisitive.

“Does Tyler know Brad’s been in touch with you?” Miguel’s tone is neutral, and I know he isn’t accusing me of anything.

I shrug as I pick up my pace. “It hasn’t come up.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

I glance at Miguel, wishing he’d drop it. “I can’t.”

“Why the hell not? If Tyler knew—”

“If I tell him, he’ll go after Brad, and he’s already in enough jeopardy as it is. If Tyler threatens Brad again, it’ll only strengthen Brad’s case against him.”

“What does Brad want from you?”

“Nothing.”

Miguel’s silent for a moment, but I can feel the weight of his stare. He can probably tell I’m flat out lying, and I hate lying to a friend.

He jogs to catch up with me. “Ian… you can’t keep this from Tyler. He’ll find out eventually.”

Miguel’s right, but if I tell Tyler, it’ll only make things worse. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to talk to Brad ever again. I promise.” Anxious to put an end to this conversation, I charge ahead.

Miguel catches up to me, but he doesn’t say another word about it.

It’s mid-morning, and the sidewalks are teeming with tourists. We take Rush Street to Superior, which leads us to North Michigan Avenue.

We’re both getting a lot of furtive glances from pedestrians—especially from girls. Miguel is on the receiving end of several come-hither smiles. I don’t blame them. He’s a good-looking guy with his midnight-black short hair, dark eyes, and gorgeous light brown skin. As always, he’s dressed in black from head to toe—a look I’ve come to think of as bodyguard chic. Despite the warm weather, he’s wearing a jacket—undoubtedly for the purpose of concealing the handgun that is holstered to his broad chest. I must say, he looks badass.

“Why don’t you have a girlfriend?” I ask him. He should be fending off the babes. He’s not just good-looking; he’s an all-around great guy.

He shrugs. “When would I have time to date? I work long hours. That doesn’t leave much time for a personal life.”

“You have to make time to date. When was the last time you got laid?”

He laughs. “Hell, I can’t even remember. Well, there was this girl I met at a bar a while back. We hooked up in the back seat of my car.” He shakes his head. “It was a tight squeeze, but she was very flexible, if you know what I mean.”

As we near the bridge that crosses over the Chicago River, we run into a large crowd gathered to watch a group of six guys playing snare drums