Chapter 130
Chapter 130:
“It’s… cold,” she murmured, her head lolling against the wet tactical fabric of his jacket. Her vision was greying out, the edges of the world dissolving into static.
A convoy of black SUVs slid into the driveway, their engines purring like restrained beasts. The rear door of the lead vehicle swung open before Alistair even reached it. He slid into the leather interior, settling Skye gently across the seat, shielding her head from the doorframe with his hand.
“Dr. Evans is on the line, sir,” the driver announced, passing back a secure comms unit.
Alistair pressed the device to his ear while his other hand reached for the first-aid kit stowed in the center console. “She’s conscious but fading. Ketamine aerosol exposure. There is a laceration on her palm—glass, self-inflicted to maintain alertness p>
He unwrapped the makeshift handkerchief bandage. The sight of the jagged cut made his jaw tighten until his teeth ached. He quickly applied a pressure pad, his movements precise and clinical, masking the tremor in his fingers.
“Get us to St. Jude’s,” Alistair ordered the driver. “And leave the second unit here. No one leaves the manor until I say so p>
“You’re… staying?” Skye whispered, her hand feebly gripping his sleeve.
Alistair looked down at her. The fury that he had suppressed for her sake was beginning to bleed through his expression. He brushed a wet strand of hair from her forehead, his touch agonizingly gentle.
“I have unfinished business inside,” Alistair said softly. “They hurt you, Skye. There is a price for that p>
“Don’t… kill them,” she breathed, her eyes fluttering shut as the adrenaline began to crash. “Prison… is worse p>
“Rest now,” he said, avoiding the promise. “You are safe p>
He stepped out of the car and signaled the driver. As the SUV peeled away, disappearing into the red mist of the taillights and rain, Alistair stood alone in the driveway for a moment. He rolled up the sleeves of his soaked jacket, exposing the hard lines of his forearms. He checked his watch. The police would take at least fifteen minutes to arrive in this weather. In his world, fifteen minutes was an eternity.
He turned back toward the gaping maw of the front entrance. The cold air did nothing to cool the inferno in his chest. He walked back inside, his boots heavy on the marble foyer.
𝘠𝘰𝗎𝗋 n𝖾x𝗍 𝗿еа𝘥 𝗶s 𝗼n 𝖻e.со𝘮
The atmosphere in the house had shifted from chaotic terror to a heavy, suffocating dread. His men had already secured the perimeter. Aunt Petunia was huddled on the velvet sofa, sobbing into her hands, while Uncle Arthur sat in the armchair, staring blankly at the wall, looking like a man whose soul had been evicted.
Timothy Hayes had been dragged up from the floor, groaning as two guards held him upright. His face was already swelling, a map of purple and blue bruises forming where Alistair had introduced him to the mahogany sideboard.
Alistair sat on the edge of the coffee table, directly in front of Arthur. He didn’t shout. He didn’t strike. He simply reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver lighter.
Click. The flame flared up, illuminating the hollow planes of his face.
Clack. Darkness.
Click. Clack.