Chapter 129
Chapter 129:
Heavy footsteps thundered down the hall.
The dining room doors shuddered as something hit them from the outside. Once. Twice.
CRACK.
The wood splintered. The door flew off its hinges.
Alistair Thorne walked in.
He wasn’t wearing a suit. He was wearing a black tactical jacket. He wasn’t wearing a mask. His face was bare, and it was twisted into an expression of pure, unadulterated fury. Behind him were four of his men.
“Clear the room,” Alistair ordered. His voice was a low rumble, like an earthquake.
His men swarmed. Two of them grabbed Petunia and Arthur, pinning them to the wall.
Alistair walked straight to Timothy. Timothy tried to back away, tugging up his pants.
“I didn’t p>
Alistair didn’t let him speak. He grabbed Timothy by the throat and lifted him off the ground with one hand.
He slammed him down onto the mahogany table. The wood cracked under the impact, sending plates and silverware crashing to the floor. Timothy groaned, writhing in pain.
Alistair turned to Skye. She was slumped in the chair, bleeding from her hand, fighting to keep her eyes open.
He dropped to his knees in front of her. The rage vanished from his face, replaced by a terrified tenderness.
“Skye,” he whispered. “I’m here. The signal from your watch spiked… I came as fast as I could p>
He saw the blood on her palm. He saw the glass shards she was still gripping.
He gently pried her fingers open. He took the glass away. He wrapped his handkerchief around her hand.
𝖱𝘦a𝖽 𝘵𝘩e 𝗋𝗲𝘢𝘭 s𝘵o𝗿y 𝗈n be𝗹ոo𝗏𝘦ls.co𝗺
“You’re safe,” he said.
He picked her up. He lifted her effortlessly, cradling her against his chest like she was made of porcelain.
Skye rested her head on his shoulder. He smelled of rain and gunpowder.
“Burn it,” Alistair said to his men as he walked out. “Burn the files. Burn the leverage. Leave them nothing p>
He carried her out into the night air.
Skye looked up at him through her hazy vision.
“You came,” she whispered.
“I will always come,” Alistair vowed. He kissed her forehead, his lips trembling slightly. “Always p>
The rain was a cold, torrential curtain that separated the violence inside the manor from the world outside. Alistair stepped onto the gravel driveway, the weight of Skye in his arms feeling both precious and terrifyingly light. He did not look back at the shattered oak doors or the ruins of the room where he had left broken men and a screaming woman. His focus was entirely on the faint, erratic pulse fluttering against his chest.
“Stay with me,” Alistair commanded, though his voice lacked its usual imperious edge; it was fractured by raw fear. “Do not close your eyes, Skye p>