Chapter 22 Rhett
RHETT
My whiskey-soaked brain hasn’t stopped tormenting me with mental images that carve my heart into shreds. I’ve had enough to drink, but I’m afraid there might be no such thing today. The bartender has just announced last call, and it’s time to take this pity party for one back to my room.
A frustrated hand drags over my face, scrubbing this fuck of a day from existence. Then every once in a while, there’s a flash of her looking up at me right before she was gone for good. It’s nearly enough to snap the branch I’m barely holding onto.
But there’s nothing to be done now. It’s over.
Drowning myself in a bottle of whiskey hasn’t helped to erase the last twenty-four hours. If anything, it’s made it worse. An aggrieved sigh heaves from me as my ass slides from the stool I’ve occupied all night. Better to fall apart in the privacy of my own room.
As I reach the bay of elevators, a group of people talk and laugh as they wait.
I could bypass the crowd and take the stairs, but I’m staying on the goddamn top floor.
By the time an empty elevator car arrives, I’m agitated, impatient to be done with this day.
As it moves upward, it stops intermittently, letting people off until I’m the only one left.
The digital display reads eleven, and a loud ping signals that I’ve arrived at my destination.
On the way down the hall, I pull out the key and let myself in Flipping the light switch at the threshold, I stop. Blink.
Where in the hell did that come from? A black box sits on the bed.
Even my drunk ass knows that wasn’t there before I left for the ceremony.
It’s tied up with some fancy ribbon. My brows crash together with an irritated chuckle.
It’s probably just some bullshit thank-you gift Bradley and Noah had delivered to all the wedding guests.
My jaw clenches as I force one foot in front of the other. At the edge of the bed, I stare down at it, a feeling of foreboding prickling along my spine. Reaching out hesitantly, my brows furrow. The last thing I need is a goddamn reminder of their nuptials to take home with me.
A curse traps itself behind my gritted teeth. Before I can think better of it, I loosen the ribbon and pluck the lid from the box. Ragged breaths heave from my chest as my feet carry me forward to inspect the contents. There’s a piece of card stock on top.
The handwritten note taunts me, but I don’t know if I can handle picking it up. It’s probably another apology, another goodbye, or a thank-you note that was sent to every guest in attendance. Which would be worse?
My forehead crinkles in confusion. This is not Noah’s handwriting. Blackness encroaches on my vision and my ears buzz. As I read, my heart lurches in place, then slams to a stop.
Eeny meeny miney moe.
Cowboy let his starlet go.
Did she squeal …?
Maybe so.
That’s a secret you’d hate to know.
I win.
There’s no signature, but without a shadow of a doubt, this is Bradley’s handiwork. Then, as I nudge the card aside, my throat goes dry, and I give myself a firm shake. My eyes have to be playing tricks on me.
Right there beneath the note is a scrap of torn white lace, tainted by smudges of garish red.
No! The way that word roars through my head rocks me to my core.
“What the fuck did he do to her?” If I find out he’s not messing with me and he’s actually hurt her, I’ll personally clamp a Burdizzo to his balls and then feed them to him on his rich-prick silver spoon.
My heart gives a violent kick, and I race to the door, throwing it open.
Every razor-sharp breath slashes my lungs.
Frenetic energy rushing through me, I hurry down the hall.
Recollection of an earlier conversation with Sage bursts into the forefront of my mind.
All the out-of-town guests are in a block on the same floor as the wedding party.
But where the fuck is the honeymoon suite?
I take off at a dead run, my eyes darting from one door to the next, searching for anything that’ll give me a clue as to where Noah might be.
At the far end of the corridor, a couple awaiting an elevator is too busy groping each other to notice me barreling down the hallway.
Suddenly, the car arrives and the woman breaks from the man’s hold and wheels her bag inside.
I recognize her from the wedding, but she isn’t familiar …
though, the man next to her sure as fuck is.
My pace picks up. Every molecule of my body becomes hyperaware, attacking my nervous system. Panic and fear accelerate the beating in my chest. There’s no way to reach them in time. “Hey, asshole,” I shout, making my presence known. “Where the fuck is she?”
My eyes lock with Bradley’s as the door begins to slide closed.
He slings an arm around the redhead—a woman who is not his new wife—and raises his middle finger.
The sound of his amusement bounces off the mirrored walls, paired with the smug-as-fuck grin he shoots my way before the door seals.
I exhale hard, my hands shaking violently as I raise them, clutching at my head. “Fuck.”
Rage pours through me. I could go after that fucker, but he’s not my priority. For as long as I can remember, my compass has pointed to Noah. She is my north.
Something is horrifically wrong. I look around wildly. And then, I’m running, scanning every single door, determined to find which one might be the honeymoon suite.
Turning to the right at the end of the hall, my eyes land on my destination.
I sprint toward it as one ragged breath after another rips from my throat.
She’s in there. I feel it. Feel her. A sob carries to me through the wall.
“Noah!” I bang the hardwood with a tightly clenched fist. “Open the fucking door!”
There’s no response, and with every second that passes and every sound of misery that reaches me, my heart rate ratchets up until I can’t bear the erratic rhythm any longer. “Noah!” I roar as I pound. “Please,” I beg, my voice rough and raw. “I need to know you’re okay.”
“Rhett.” It’s faint, but I hear it as if it were blaring through the hotel speakers. My mind conjures flashes of decimated white lace panties, and all I see is blinding fury.
There’s no waiting. It works in my favor that this is a historic building that was turned into a bougie hotel, and it still has the original antique doors and locks.
Breaths fall raggedly from my mouth as I back up a few paces, then come at the vintage hardwood like a demon, delivering a kick my stallion would be proud of. The hinges creak in protest. I go at it again, then on the third try, it gives way, and I’m in.
The scene is like something from the set of a movie, the sort where drug lords and chaos reign.
The entire suite is in disarray. Trashed.
Heart plummeting into my gut, my eyes flick over toppled furniture and broken glass.
Half-empty bottles of liquor and champagne litter every surface, and traces of a white, powdery substance remain on the coffee table.
Bile rushes up my throat and lands on my tongue when I spot a strip of condoms right next to a bottle of fuckin’ Viagra.
The smell of sex hangs so heavily in the air, my stomach twists, gurgling as if it’s going to expel all the whiskey I’ve consumed.
The thought of what the awful stench represents is far worse, though, and as my imagination runs rampant, rage replaces all logic.
I’m gonna kill Bradley with my bare hands.
Every fiber of my being demands blood. My eyes flick across the mayhem-strewn area, searching.
When they finally land, I know the horrifying truth of whatever he’s done to her lies just beyond that partially cracked bedroom door.
In two long strides, I’m pushing inside.
My heart slams around my chest, and my hands are shaking so badly, I fist them as I close the distance to her.
My broken starlet lies amid a tangle of sheets and madness.
The bedding is halfway pulled off the mattress, and my head screams in agony as I reach for her.
Her name falls from my lips as a strangled plea.
“Noah?” Everything I want to say isn’t nearly enough, but none of it is important now because her dazed eyes land on me, pupils blown wide.
Fuck. “I’ve got you,” I grit out as my chest heaves, heart twisting itself upward and lodging at the base of my throat.
I’ll fuckin’ end him. But that won’t be enough to undo the misery he’s caused.
“Rhett?” The fractured sound of my name from hesitant lips, questioning whether it’s me, brings my focus back to the only place it should be right now. Acting on pure instinct, I draw the bedding back and gather Noah into my arms, removing her from the defiled sheets.
She’s shaking hard and clearly woozy, but neither of those things stop the tears from leaking down her puffy face or her arms from winding around my neck. She clings to me like a wounded animal seeking shelter. Like she’ll never let go.
I carry her to the only armchair that remains upright.
“I’m here.” My lips brush over her forehead.
A part of me wants to tell her everything will be okay, but I don’t know that, and the most terrifying part is I can only guess what she’s been through since she left my arms. Her body shudders against mine, more silent sobs racking her as she buries her face against my neck.
“Never gonna leave you again. Never. I promise.” I edge back, trying to get a look at her. He’s destroyed what he should have seen as a gift. Something precious. Noah’s always been strong, but in this moment, she’s fragile. Damaged. Broken.
My love. My life.
God. Fucking. Dammit. Anguish rips through me, and moisture gathers in my eyes.
There’s something else festering inside my chest, too, but I don’t give it permission to break free yet.
Because when I fuckin’ find that rat bastard …
My mind rages, full of all the things I’ll do once I get my hands on him.
That’s gonna have to wait. As much as I relish the idea of tearing Bradley limb from limb, Noah needs me with her right now. Present. Focused. Prepared to help her through this. Pressing my lips into her hair, I cautiously whisper, “Noah, I’m gonna get you out of here.”
She doesn’t say a word, but a tiny, terrified moan falls from her lips, and her body tenses as she clutches at me in a desperate attempt to keep me close. “I need—” Another sob bubbles from her chest that pierces me right through the heart and a fresh wash of tears flows down her cheeks.
“Tell me. I’ll give you anything.”
She shifts, frantic hands reaching up to claw at the material at the neckline of the tattered, soiled dress. The wild look in her unfocused eyes is a gut punch I wasn’t ready for. “T-take it off,” she wails. Her voice is desperate as her hands continue to tug and pull.
I quickly swallow, looking down the back of the gown where a million fucking pearls keep her trapped inside this hell. I grasp either side of the closure and firmly yank. Buttons pop off in all directions, and the sound of rending lace fills the room.
Together, we peel the dress from her torso and shove it over the curve of her hips.
My eyes crash shut as I take in the damage done to her delicate skin, redness and scratches and bruises.
Her skin is a canvas of painful colors. Shock ripples through my veins.
Some of these marks are older, telling a horror story I wish she hadn’t lived through.
An ache is building inside me, the likes of which I’ve never known. As my gaze lands on the split in her lip, my fury rises. Blood has dribbled down her chin to cake and dry there. Fuck! How long must she have been lying here alone, frightened, and hurting? How long has all of this been going on?
On the verge of insanity, I stuff that down along with all the ways I’m going to dismantle the demented fucker who did this to her. Instead, I cradle her in my arms, then hurry into the opulent bathroom. Yanking a silky white robe from a hook on the wall, I bundle her into it.
The next few minutes pass in a blur as I rush from the suite and down the hall with Noah trembling in my arms like she’s going to completely fall apart at any second.
Back in my room, I set her on my bed and draw the covers to her chin.
Tears continue to stream from her eyes and ragged, hiccupping sobs claim her.
Trying to get hold of myself, I turn around, only to hear her plea.
“Don’t l-leave.” That stutter in her voice nearly breaks me, so I sit back down beside her, brushing a few strands of hair away from her face.
A steadying breath can’t even calm me as I stare out the window into the darkness. Even though it’s late, there’s no hesitation when I pull out my phone and put the call through.
It only rings twice before Kade’s gritty voice reaches my ear. “Rhett?” He gives a dark chuckle. “Make it quick. We just got back to the room, and your brother’s about to fuck your sister.”
His deep rumble of laughter reaches me, and I can imagine the smirk lifting one corner of his lips. In no mood for his humor, my voice comes out like grit over gravel. “My room. Five minutes. Bring Sage.” Pausing, I exhale hard into the receiver. “John fucking Cena.”