25. Chapter 25
Rabble
N ight had officially fallen, its multitude of stars dotting the sky as Declan and Dash drove their trucks down the road Rabble knew so well.
As one, they hit their headlights, allowing the beams to go dark and they continued on, driving by instinct and the light of the moon.
Rabble tried to focus on anything that might keep him sane on the drive.
Through the open window, the song of the crickets and frogs hiding in the weeds reached him.
Fireflies, though less than he remembered, danced across the shadowy stalks of grass, their little glowing lights like beacons, urged them onward.
Declan pulled the truck off the road, next to Dash, just before the bright white gravel driveway leading to the mayor’s house. Rabble gripped the seat buckle, his fingers cramping with the effort to keep from pressing down and releasing the lock. Skye was somewhere in that house. He could feel it.
Dash jumped out of his truck and jogged over, speaking through Declan’s open window.
“How do you want to play this?”
Declan’s usual goofy, joking personality was replaced by a more serious version, a man on a mission, with a purpose and focused drive. This version of Declan would do whatever it took to win, to beat the odds, to emerge victorious.
Declan kept his eyes glued to the long driveway and the house beyond it. “We have a lot of unknowns here.”
Rabble understood the apprehension in Declan’s voice.
They lacked an absolute shit-ton of necessary information, like the layout of the house and property, Skye’s location, and any other active players who may be part of this fucked-up scenario.
Rabble was sure of exactly one thing: Skye was here, and he wasn’t leaving without her.
“Wait a second. I’ve got an idea.” Declan grinned, then proceeded to fill them in on a classic Declan MacAlister Hail Mary.
Thirty minutes later, Rabble crouched under the thick green leaves of the lilac bush. This gift from Skye’s grandmother had grown over the years since watching over them from its sentinel position by the fence. His heart ached for those long-ago days.
When Declan explained the plan to them, Rabble thought he’d crossed over from a creative thinker to something closer to an evil genius. This plan was so far from what they were used to, what they’d planned and executed for years, that Rabble thought it just might work.
From under the giant bush, he could barely see Declan walking right up to the front door. The sound of furious knocking came across the yard as Declan pounded on the door, cursing and slurring, a mostly empty whiskey bottle gripped firmly in one hand.
Dylan, the senator’s son, opened the door and frowned at the interruption. “What the fuck, man?”
Declan’s slurred words were barely audible to Rabble, but he could just make out his friend doing his best impersonation of a pissed-off drunkard.
Dylan stepped outside, not a hair out of place and his black suit jacket impeccable. He flailed his arms at Declan, shooing him like a stray dog.
On cue, Dash jogged up the driveway, apologetically raising his hand as he came to Declan’s side and grabbed hold of his shoulder. Stumbling away, Declan swung at Dash, who ducked and Dylan took a strong fist to the jaw.
That was the signal. And what a beautiful signal it was.
In a stooped crouch, Rabble raced across the lawn and skirted around the windows until he reached the backdoor.
When he opened it with a quiet click, he sent up a quick prayer of thanks for well-oiled hinges.
He entered the house, muscles coiled, ready to strike, but he stopped every few steps to listen for Gayle or her staff.
During his life, he’d never been in a house that felt less like a home, and that included the hovel of his boyhood.
The space, sterile and silent like a museum, made him a tad nervous.
Rabble forced himself to clear each room, ensuring Skye wasn’t tucked away in some random closet or chained to the stove.
His mind ran rampant with off-the-wall scenarios, and he shook his head to clear the what ifs away.
After searching the entire first floor and finding no sign of Skye, Gayle, or anyone else while Dylan and Declan shouted at each other in the near distance, Rabble clenched his jaw and forced his muscles to obey him.
He focused on taking the stairs one at a time though the driving pounding in his heart screamed for him to ascend the stairs faster.
Despite his need to reach her, he wouldn’t risk putting Skye in more danger because he couldn’t think clearly.
The second floor had four closed doors around a common sitting area, the obnoxious floral pattern on the settee and sofa were enough to make him cringe.
Rabble groaned. Each door offered an opportunity for someone to hide Skye, or themselves.
He took a deep steadying breath and twisted the knob on the first door.
Time to find out exactly what type of messed-up the Wellingtons hid in this ridiculous mausoleum of a house.
The first door opened without a sound, revealing a cream-colored bedroom, the expensive four-post bed perfectly made up, not a wrinkle in sight.
The second room must have been Max’s home office, the furniture all crafted from that same dark wood in the first room.
The smell of cigar smoke hung faintly in the air, and Rabble quickly shut the door.
Please let this be the lucky door .
Rabble reached for the knob, but the handle didn’t budge. Locked. Rabble’s heart picked up. Deep in his bones, he sensed he’d found her.
Again, Rabble sent up a prayer of thanks for the skills he acquired during his days in the service—and the less savory ones he’d gathered before that.
He pulled out the lock-pick set he always carried with him and attacked the doorknob.
No stupid locked door would stand between him and Skye.
The moment the latch snicked, Rabble was back on his feet and through the door.
His eyes took in the entire room all at once, a room designed and decorated for a young girl.
Pale-pink and lacy white frills filled the space, suggesting elegance, picture-perfect expectations, and polite manners.
He didn’t see a trace of the Skye he’d known as a child, the one who loved dirt and flowers and reading under the lilac bush amid the spring grasses.
A long, bright-pink bag hung limply on the back of the closet door. Inside, the shelves were bare, not a stich of clothing to be found. He searched every corner, but the room was unoccupied.
Why would they lock an empty room?
Rabble’s gaze caught on the twin-size bed. Tied to the metal bedpost, a thick swath of fabric made a thick knot, before disappearing out the window. Rabble ran to the ledge and peered out, shock and awe making him sputter at the sight below him.
Clinging to a rope made of sheets and torn bits of white fabric he could only assume belonged to the hideous concoction she wore, was Skye.
She’d made it about halfway down, her eyes clenched tightly against the distance between her and the safety of the ground.
Curse words flew from her lips in hushed whispers, and he doubted she even knew she was speaking.
“Skye,” Rabble called, his voice pitched low to avoid being heard by anyone else who might be in the house. “I’m going to pull you up.”
She shook her head, he tried again. “Skye, it’s me. I’m going to keep you safe, okay? Just hold on and don’t let go.”
This time, she nodded, and her white-knuckled grip on the makeshift rope became impossibly tighter.
He braced himself against the window frame and grasped the rope.
Hand over hand, he hauled her up. Even though Skye was slender, the strain of pulling her body upward wrenched at his muscles, and he breathed deeply, straining to keep his pace smooth and steady as she gradually moved closer to the second-floor opening.
At the top, Rabble grasped her seeking hand and hauled her inside until they lay sprawled on the floor together, Skye slightly atop him and shaking.
Rabble pulled her tightly against his chest, his arms sliding around her in a protective embrace that she nestled into. She jerked back from him and Rabble struggled not to reach for her, to bring her back into his arms.
“No, Rabble, you can’t be here,” Skye’s eyes widened and her voice broke with terror, “they said—they said they’d kill you.”
Rabble’s relief rumbled through his chest, “Honey, I won’t die easy. I’ve got too much to live for.”
Skye relaxed back into his hold and Rabble rubbed circles over her back until her shaking subsided and she sat back on her heels.
“Get this thing off of me.” She flailed her arms, indicating the back of the wedding dress, her voice rising into a panic. “Get it off, please.”
“Okay, okay.” Rabble sat up, trying to soothe her.
He hadn’t been sure what to expect when he found her, but this wasn’t exactly it. She spun around, and he swore at the multitude of tiny buttons that ran down the back.
Fuck it.
Grasping both sides of the dress, muscles protesting as the fabric sundered, and he tore the dress from her shoulders, shredding it until it lay in pieces around her.
Skye scrambled to her feet, shedding the rest of the dress as she went.
She hopped out of it and fled to the opposite side of the room.
Rabble whipped off his t-shirt, passing it to her cautiously and keeping his movements predictable.
He had no idea what she’d been through during her time with Dylan, but being trapped or held against your will affected people in different ways.
Skye looked down at herself as if noticing for the first time that she stood in her bra and panties. “They took my clothes.”
Fisting his t-shirt in her hand, she lifted it to her nose, inhaled deeply, and exhaled slowly before slipping the shirt on over her head. His shirt didn’t cover her completely, but it hid the important bits.
“Skye, did he . . .?”
“No. He’s a vile piece of shit. But no.”
Rabble picked up the awful dress and hurled it out the window, watching as the gaudy material caught the wind and slowed just slightly before tumbling to the ground.
Skye sank to the floor as if her legs would no longer hold her. Going to her, he kneeled down, opening his arms to her if she wanted his touch. She burrowed into his embrace like she couldn’t seem to get close enough.
“Skye?” His voice was grave, emotion choking his throat and burning his eyes.
With little hiccupping cries, her shoulders rose and fell intermittently.
Then the small motions turned into full-fledged, heart-wrenching sobs, and she buried her face against his neck to muffle her cries.
As she fell into him, he absorbed her weight, giving her a safe place to fall apart.
He locked his arms around her in a strong, reassuring embrace.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he murmured into her hair. He found himself whispering nonsensical promises and words to console her as her body shook and shuddered.
Did they have time to sit in her room while she broke down?
Probably not. Was that going to stop him from giving her every moment she needed to process this?
Also, no. Rabble trusted his brothers to handle Dylan and Gayle.
He also trusted them to deal with the police when they showed up.
For the moment, he was exactly where he needed to be.
“You came for me?” she finally gasped out, her heart showing in every broken word.
“Always.” Rabble kissed her hair and rocked her gently. “Always.”