A few minutes later, we’re approaching the Labelles compound, surrounded by high walls. The wrought iron gate is open, not that it would have stopped me. I would have rammed it with my truck if it had been closed.
Holly makes a sound next to me, and I shoot her a quick glance.
“I know you’re ready to go in guns blazing,” she says, “and trust me, I’ll have my metaphorical pistol drawn with yours, but try not to beat anyone up. You should know better than anyone how litigious the Labelles can be. I’d hate for you to lose Jane because you got arrested for assault charges.”
“Yeah,” I grunt. “Well, I know for a fact the sheriff hates the Labelles as much as I do, so I suspect he might look the other way.”
“Still,” she says, “sometimes less is more.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” I ask, as we barrel through the gate and toward the circular drive at the front of the stone mansion.
“It means sometimes you can get something across better with a few well-placed threats versus brute force.”
I don’t have time to debate her, because I’ve pulled up in front of the house and thrown the engine into park. Opening my door, I jump out, not bothering to turn it off or remove the keys. I stomp up the steps until I’m at the front door and pound on it.
Holly approaches behind me and rests a hand on my shoulder. “Just breathe, Cole.”
Her touch sends a ripple of strength through me, taking the edge off my rage so that I feel more in control. I look over my shoulder and soak in her comforting gaze. She’s beautiful and strong and sarcastic as hell, and she’s so fucking perfect for me it takes my breath away. When this is over, I’ll do everything in my power to make things right between us, because Jane and I need her.
A woman in a maid’s uniform opens the door. I don’t recognize her from the few visits I made here with Millie, not that I’m surprised. The Labelles have always had a high turnover with their staff. The woman is older, and her gray hair is pulled back into a tight bun that tugs her face back. She gives me a condescending look, likely because she can’t imagine why some stranger would dare to show up on the Labelles’ doorstep on Thanksgiving Day.
I hear car engines, and I dart a sidelong glance at Rowan’s truck and Rory’s car as they pull up behind mine, but I don’t waste time waiting for them.
“Where’s my daughter?” I ask as I push past the housekeeper and walk into the entryway, but I already know where she is. It’s been over a decade since I’ve visited this house, but even though it’s huge, I remember where the nightmare room is located.
“Mrs. Labelle!” the housekeeper shouts in a panic. “Intruders!”
“Lady,” Holly sneers, “I’d think twice before calling the sheriff. Sheriff Herb made stamping out the exploitation of kids one of the key points of his re-election campaign, so I’m sure he would be more than happy to press charges for kidnapping and attempted assault against a minor.”
The housekeeper gasps in outrage.
Rowan shouts behind us, “Where’s Jane?”
My heart swells with gratitude for Holly’s brother, who hasn’t been shy about his dislike of me but didn’t hesitate to come here. But my mind skips over the thought, barely pausing, because I’m already running down a long hallway.
I hear shouts ahead, along with a heavy pounding on wood.
“Open this door, you little brat!” It’s Deacon’s voice, and now I’m seeing red.
I’m going to kill that motherfucker.
I turn a corner, barely conscious of the sounds of multiple people running behind me, when I see the bastard shaking the doorknob. When nothing happens, he starts pounding on the wood again. He’s surrounded by a crowd of people—Evelyn, Simone, Calliope, a girl I presume is Apple, and few others I don’t recognize.
“Jane,” Evelyn calls out in a droll tone. “Stop being a petulant brat and come out at once!”
But Deacon shouts over her, “If you don’t open this door, I’m going to beat the shit out of you!”
While Holly’s advice about using threats instead of fists was sound, at this particular moment, I don’t give a shit about what will happen to me. That motherfucker threatened to harm my daughter.
I grab Deacon’s shirt sleeve and jerk him away from the door. As he stumbles backward, his face registers surprise and then fear as I lift my fist and slam it into his face. “Not so tough now, are you? You stay the fuck away from my kid!”
The crowd of Labelles gasps and screams.
Deacon’s side hits the wall opposite the door, and he staggers before I punch him in the stomach. He grunts and doubles over.
“Jane!” I shout, turning toward the door, “Daddy’s—”
I’m cut off when Deacon jumps on my back and wraps an arm around my throat, cutting off my air.
