Make Me Up (Killer Style 3)

Ice filled up every last part of Cam. One way or another, things were going to end badly for Knight and his friends, but there was business to conduct first. “She’s gonna walk out into that vacant lot and you’re not going to do a damn thing about it.”

“Wrong.” Knight laughed.

Drea screamed.

Cam whirled around and his whole world collapsed in on itself.

Two men in police uniforms held Drea between them. One of them had his police-issued revolver snug against Drea’s ribcage. The other had his gun trained on Cam’s head.

“Perfect timing boys, but you better get her out of here before the rest of the squad shows up,” Knight said. “You see, pretty boy, Tommy decided your bitch here was more trouble alive than dead. Now we’re going to let the folks in county take care of her. She’ll be dead by tomorrow morning. Tommy put up twenty thousand to guarantee it. Game over.”

“This isn’t a game.” Cam let all the emotion drain out of him until the world was as cold as a glacier in the arctic. He took a step toward the cops.

The cop aiming at Cam fired. The shot boomed as the bullet whizzed by his head.

“The next one will go in her gut,” the dirty cop yelled as he jammed his gun into Drea’s side. “Now put your hands up and start talking to the clearing.”

“No fellas, this one’s mine,” Knight said. “He has friends on the force and Tommy doesn’t want him talking to them—or anyone—ever again.”

In the next instant something hard crashed down on Cam’s head and the world went black.

Drea couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She could barely get one foot in front of the other as the dirty cops half dragged, half marched her through the wooded park to the clearing where it looked like most of the Harbor City Police Department had gathered.

“I’m going to tell them everything,” she screamed.

“Go ahead. Who’s going to believe you?” One of the dirty officers asked, chuckling. “You’re the lipstick murderer.”

The helicopter hovering overhead turned the dirt underneath her feet into a whirlwind, and she had to squint and shield her eyes from the flying particles pelting her face. The whirling blades shoved the air against her hard and forced the breath in her lungs as a cold panic poured down her spine. If she didn’t get help, Cam was dead. She twisted in the cop’s grip, pulling against his hold.

“Stop fighting or you won’t like what happens next.” The cop twisted her arm tight behind her back angling it upward and placed zip ties around her wrists.

White-hot pain streaked through her arm, but she couldn’t give up. She had to break free. Fighting like her life—no Cam’s life—depended on it; she blocked out the agony and dug her feet into the ground. It didn’t make a difference.

“Help. He needs help,” she cried out to

the crowd of Harbor City’s finest watching her being yanked toward the patrol car waiting to take her to the station. “He’s out there with one of Diamond Tommy’s thugs! He’s going to kill him.”

Reggie. Cam’s friend. He’d help. She just had to find him. Scanning the crowd of unfriendly faces she looked for him. The one who would help. “I need to talk to Detective Reggie Watts,” she hollered.

“He’ll be waiting for you down at the station,” the cop covered Drea’s head so she wouldn’t bump it against the patrol car’s door and shoved her in. “That’s assuming you make it that far alive.” He slammed the door shut before she’d even settled back against the seat.

Her fault. Cam was going to die and it was her fault. And there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. And he’d known. The moment he promised her she’d never have to worry about him again, he’d known both of them probably weren’t going to make it out of the situation alive.

Her throat tightened and burned with regret. The whole time she’d been on the sneak with Cam, all she’d cared about was what everyone else would think about her if they knew. What would they say about her personal life and all the other negative bullshit that came with hooking up with the Don Juan of Harbor City? And all he’d cared about was her. She’d been a selfish bitch, and now he would pay the price. After the fallout from her parents, she’d thought airing out all her dirty laundry for the world to pick apart was the worst that could happen. Her chin quivered, and tears gathered in her eyes. She’d been so fucking wrong she couldn’t even see right from the backseat of the police cruiser she was sitting in.

In the air conditioned silence, she clamped her jaw tight, but she couldn’t stop what came next. She watched herself in the rearview mirror as the fat tears fell steadily down her cheeks and left thick lines of black mascara in their wake. It didn’t matter anyway. Everything had gone to shit, and no amount of lipstick or eyeliner or blush would make it better.

Cam jerked upright and blinked the world into focus. Drea. The cops. Knight. He bounded to his feet, ignoring as much as possible the nausea and wavy vision that accompanied the move. He had to get Drea. He spun around. Gone. She was gone and the park was silent. Completing the circle he came face to face with Knight’s too-bright gaze. The psycho had the death scent.

“Good morning, sunshine. All this trouble for a piece of ass. Not the best choice you coulda made, bro.” Knight shook his head in mock sympathy. “Now you’ll have to explain all of this to Tommy. He is not going to be very happy with you.”

“Shut the fuck up.” But it didn’t matter. If he couldn’t find and save Drea none of it mattered.

“How long do you think she’ll make it at county? Twenty-four hours? Twelve? Five?” Knight laughed. “She’ll spend tonight in a holding cell, but as soon as she’s been arraigned, that bitch is burnt toast.”

“Not all the cops in Harbor City are dirty.” Reggie would watch out for Drea. Cam knew it as well as he knew the sun would come up in the east.

“But do you know exactly which ones are?” the other man snarled the question. “Tommy does and he’ll find a way to get her. He always does.”