Two things were for certain. Tyler Barrol was dead, and I was a double murderer.
Everything was blurring together. So many thoughts and questions flew through my mind all at once. As I was gunning down Tyler, I heard Jack shouting my name. Why was he here? All I could think of was shouting Get away, Jack, scram, but I couldn't talk. The power of firing Emily's – Amanda's – gun was enough to silence me.
I'd pumped Tyler in the back over and over, and then took one at his head. Finally, I forced myself to drop the weapon, and I slipped on a glove to retrieve the stolen photograph.
Clenching my fist, I asked myself just why I had even considered teaming with Tyler. When I flicked out his switchblade to cut him loose in the parking garage, I should've stabbed him instead. No, I should have shot him with Emily's gun. I had no regrets for leaving Tyler. The only problem? I got shot trying to leave.
I might not have appreciated Emily's attempts to get rid of me, but she'd done so much for me, and I always knew that no matter what, I would do anything for her. Even burn myself at the stake.
The secret of Emily's little box was now contained in the minds of those who intended not to tell the world that billionaire Emily Thorne was Amanda Clarke. Right now, I only cared about leaving.
Jack had come down to the beach and told me to find his Jeep, but it didn't start. In a panic, I accidentally left the photo from Emily that I'd torn in half, and the electronic funds transfer. When that Japanese guy came up and offered me a ride, I was half fucking ready to kiss him.
I could've cared less where we were going. The wound in my side from Tyler's bullet was finally catching up to me. With a shaking hand, I plucked the bullet out, letting myself cry, and then threw it out the window. That was the last thing that happened before I sank into a deep slumber of regret, despair and confusion.