39. Knew That Fear
KNEW THAT FEAR
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. Not yet. Not that way.”
The second he pulled in and saw Skye’s car in the driveway, dread slammed into him. Cold and immediate. Telling him she knew. Somehow, she’d put it together. Even after he’d talked to Ash and Tate.
Even after he thought he was in the clear feeding them things to cover his ass.
Stupid. So stupid to leave the phones in the house when Sara had been hovering, clinging, accusing him of cheating. As if he even had time for that. Every hour he worked, everything he did, was to keep her satisfied. And still, he was given no room to breathe. No space for something that was his.
He deserved that. He’d been happy. He’d been his old self coming out of hiding. His little secret.
Until the article.
The taunt burned deeper than anything else. Skye acting like she was better than him now. Smarter. Above him. She wasn’t. She’d been born into the same hell, lived it just like he had. And she was going to pay for pretending otherwise.
Getting inside the house unnoticed was easy enough. He lived there. He knew every squeaky board to move around and spy on what was going on above him.
The voices were upstairs talking. Kind of calm. Almost soothing him, but then he realized what room they were in. What they might have found.
Panic took over. Instinct drowned out thought. He snuck into the garage, grabbed the red gas can, and emptied it across the living room, soaking the floor, the furniture, the base of the stairs. No way past it. No way down. He set the can down to not make a noise.
There was no more time. The match flared. He tossed it and ran.
There’d be no way to stop and stare and watch this one like he’d been doing the others.
He jumped on his motorcycle, hit the throttle and took off, his heart thundering, his mind already rehearsing the story on his way back to work, unnoticed, just another shift like always.
No one would know he had ever left the building since he hadn’t clocked out.
Everyone did it. Everyone stole the time and wouldn’t rat on another person.
Then he turned the corner.
A black pickup lunged into his path, purposely turning sideways in his way as the tires screeched.
Metal screamed. Rubber skidded.
He hit the pavement hard, sliding into the truck, his shout torn free, not from pain, but from fury.
The minute the text came in from Skye, Ash tore through the streets, following the location she’d sent, anger riding shotgun with fear so sharp it made his hands ache on the wheel. She’d done this alone. Again. And whatever she thought she was walking into, it was worse than she’d expected.
He turned the corner as he closed in on Sara’s home and saw a motorcycle racing toward him at breakneck speed in a residential area as if it had something to outrun.
A flashback of Skye saying Sean had a motorcycle had him swerving his truck in the rider’s path fucking the consequences.
He didn’t hesitate.
The motorcycle brakes slammed, it skidded, fishtailed, then dumped its rider across the pavement in a violent spray of sparks and sound. He was out of his truck before it fully stopped, hauling the man up by his leather jacket and ripping the helmet free.
Sean Murphy stared back at him, his eyes wild, his mouth already spewing curses as he swung.
This was the dick he remembered from over a decade ago. Not the guy he was pretending to be for everyone now.
“Get off me, you asshole—”
He blocked the first punch and drove his fist into Sean’s jaw. Once. Twice. Again. He felt the crack of knuckle on bone but didn’t stop. He couldn’t. The roar in his ears drowned out everything but one thought.
Skye.
Then sirens wailed somewhere behind him. Smoke stung his nose and he froze.
He yanked Sean upright. “Did you hurt her? What did you do to Skye?”
Sean grinned through blood. “Too late,” he rasped. “You can keep me here… or save her. Your choice.”
His chest locked tight, his hands dropping away.
A squad car screeched to a halt beside them. Tate was out instantly, gun raised.
“He’s yours,” Ash snapped. “I’m going for Skye. Stay with him.”
“Fuck!” Tate shouted.
He knew that sound.
He knew that fear.
The one that clawed through you when you ran toward flames and prayed you’d come back out.
He jumped into his truck, crushed the motorcycle’s front tire as he pulled away, and tore down the street toward the smoke.
The house was already an inferno.
Flames poured from the front door. The first floor was gone. Fully engulfed. Heat slammed into him the second he stepped out, stealing the air from his lungs.
“Skye!” he shouted, spinning, searching. “Skye!” Looking for any way in.
Then glass exploded.
He ducked on instinct, his heart pounding, then realized it was one window, searched again and found it upstairs. The screen dangled loose near the roofline of the attached garage.
“Skye!” he screamed.
An arm appeared out of it. Then her head as if she was assessing her next step.
“I’m coming,” he yelled.
“She won’t move!” she cried. “Sara won’t move!”
“Get out!” he shouted, jumping for the roofline, and missing. It was just out of reach.
“I’m not leaving her!”
He didn’t argue. He couldn’t. There was no time.
He charged the side garage door and slammed into it shoulder-first, wood splintering everywhere. Inside, it was dim but organized. His eyes locked on a stepladder.
Good enough.
He dragged it to the edge, climbed fast, then launched himself onto the roof, his hands scraping shingles as he hauled himself up and scrambled up the roof to the window.
The glass was already shattered, lamp pieces scattered inside, the broken, twisted metal lying next to it on the ground. Her weapon of choice worked.
He knocked away the sharp edges and climbed in.
She had a shirt over her mouth. Another pressed into Sara’s hand and holding it up for her. But Sara wasn’t moving. As if she couldn’t even get her body to do the one simple thing to buy her time.
He knew instantly that he was carrying her out.
“Go!” he yelled to Skye. “I’ve got her.”
Skye shook her head. “Get her out first. I’m right behind you.”
She bent to grab something a few feet away and he didn’t stop her. There just wasn’t time.
He hauled Sara over his shoulder and climbed back through the window just as a firefighter reached the top from another ladder and hauled himself up and raced toward him.
He passed Sara off and turned back, but hands grabbed him. “Stay with her!”
Alan’s voice.
The realization hit hard: the man Ash had suspected, feared, doubted was saving the woman he loved.
But Skye didn’t need saving.
She was already climbing out, already moving toward him where he stayed next to Sara on the roof and made sure one small move didn’t send her toppling down.
Ash reached for her, pulling her close as Alan got Sara and carried her down. He stayed behind Skye, guiding her, protecting her until her sneakers hit the ground.
Firefighters surged past them, battling the inferno that had almost taken everything from him.
He dragged Skye onto the grass, away from the heat. Her arm was bleeding, he guessed it was the glass, but she was breathing. Alive. Covered in smoke and ash and tears.
He pulled her close to him and rather than hold her, he found himself yelling.
“What the hell were you thinking coming here?” he demanded.
She shoved at his chest. “I didn’t want it to be true! I didn’t want to blame anyone else. I’ve done enough damage doing that! I had to know before I said more. That’s it. It was only to have proof.”
“You didn’t do that much damage. That was Alan,” he said quietly. “He helped get you out.”
Her eyes widened. “It was? But that’s his job.”
He nodded. “It is. Just like mine. And I owe him an apology.”
He should have never doubted the guy but let love cloud his judgment.
“So do I.”
“And he’ll take it,” he said. “Someday he’ll understand too.” His voice broke. It wasn’t the time to fight. “What did you go back for?”
She pulled a phone from her pocket. “This. One of his burner phones. The last email is on it. We know who it is now. Sean. I needed that proof. Even if he got away, we still know. We’ve got this.”
“Tate has him,” he said, kissing her hair, grateful to have her in his arms.
“He does? How?”
A hollow laugh escaped him. “I hit him with my truck. Then beat the shit out of him until your brother showed up.”
“Stop,” she said. “This isn’t funny.”
“I’m not joking,” he said, brushing soot from her cheek. “He told me I could keep him there… or save you.”
Her breath hitched. “You came for me.”
“I was coming no matter what,” he said. “There’s nowhere he could have gone where I wouldn’t have found him.”
“Or my family.”
“Or your family,” he agreed. “Your real one. The one that’s always had your back.”
She looked at him through tears. “Thanks to you.”
“I did the right thing,” he said. “And I’d do it again.”
“Even if it meant waiting so long to have me?”
He rested his forehead against hers. “As long as I get you in the end… that’s all that’s ever mattered.”