2. Hunter

TWO

HUNTER

" H appy New Year!" An unfamiliar woman slings her arm around my neck once I push through the ballroom's double doors. The party is in full swing—the celebration slated to go well into the early morning hours. The woman hanging off me smells like a nauseating mix of champagne, gin, and olive brine.

"Yeah, you too," I mutter, pushing her away. She gives me a drunken smile and saunters away when her partner pulls her arm.

Just give it fifteen more minutes, and then you'll be out of here.

A glance at my watch shows I've been gone for more than half an hour, and as I face the wall of people milling around the room and spilling out into the foyer, I want to turn right around and run away with Winter.

My chest grows tight at the thought of the intimacy we just shared. It's not even about the sex, although that was…everything.

It's deeper than that.

She is everything.

I never expected her love. I never expected to feel this way about anyone. But I do. Besides Leo, she's the only person I've been able to share the entirety of my darkness with. And instead of writing me off—writing us off—she opened her arms and her heart to me.

But did you share all of it with her?

I crack my neck from side to side, shaking off the thought.

"You missed the ball drop," Leo murmurs, coming up behind me. He's dressed in a nondescript black tuxedo, intending to blend into the crowd. But at 6'3" and with his dark hair slicked back, he looks like a goddamn Latin movie star. He sticks out in the white-washed ballroom. Giving a side eye as he moves next to me, the corner of his mouth kicks up in a slight smile. He knows what I've been up to.

When I don't respond, he says, "Misha Hroshko wants to meet tomorrow."

"Oh?" I ask, still not looking at him. I scan the room for threats. Specifically, the biggest danger of all—Benjamin Brigham. My father.

"We're going to him," Leo says, talking about Misha. I nod as my palms tingle. This is what we need—to get a formidable adversary on our side. We can nullify my father's power if we can convince Misha Hroshko to join us.

"Excuse me," a young male voice cuts in. We both look to our left and see a pimple-faced teenager standing near us in an ill-fitting uniform.

"Mr.Brigham has requested your presence, sir," he says.

I turn to look at Leo. The subtle tick of his jaw is my only indication of what he's thinking. He doesn't like this. With his mouth pressed into a thin line, Leo nods with a slight tilt of his head.

"Lead the way," I say to the boy.

"Mr.Brigham requested you come alone," the boy says, stammering. His hands shake. When I give him a withering glare, he looks like he's two seconds away from pissing his pants.

"He comes," I say with a flat tone .

"R-Right. Right this way." The kid sprints down the hall, and Leo and I look at each other before following.

When we reach the private room, our usher stops and opens the double doors with a flourish.

We're on the other side of the country club, opposite the main entrance and the restroom where Winter and I stole moments together. There are more than a dozen suites for the most prominent members to use between golf rounds, sipping brandy, and smoking cigars.

The room before me is one of the largest if I remember the layout correctly—second only to the President's private wing. On one end is a desk with an oversized leather chair and two low-back seats for visitors. Across the room is a fireplace and a seating area.

That's where I find Father.

"Hunter," my father says. He's seated with his ankle resting on his knee, slouched. He and Blair sit across from each other, a decanter and two full tumblers on the table between them. Near the lit fireplace, Morris Winthrope stands with his back to the room. He gives me the barest acknowledgment with a glance over his shoulder.

"Father," I say back, just as formally.

"You missed the countdown. I believe Blair was waiting for a kiss." He reaches for his drink, bringing it to his lips. "It would have been a great photo for the press," he adds, looking at me over the rim of the Waterford crystal. In one gulp, he downs almost half the glass.

He stares at me with bloodshot eyes, and his hair doesn't look quite as perfect as usual.

In the face of my silence, he says, "Is there a reason why you need backup?" He tilts his head in Leo's direction.

I don't respond.

He sighs.

"Have it your way," he says.

"I'm glad you called for me, actually," I say. "I wanted to tell you that this—" I wave my hand between Blair and me "is over."

Blair sits straight in her seat, stiff.

Morris finally turns around, his face impassive—as if he already expected this to happen.

My father smiles. He's amused. He's annoyed. But his grin also holds an edge of something else unreadable.

"I'm unsure if you've considered the ramifications of that decision," Father says, bringing the glass back to his lips.

The tremble in his hand as he lowers it again makes everything clear: My father needs me to follow through.

He's not in control. My eyes slide to Morris Winthrope.

He is.

"Hunter, really. This is what you want to choose? Think about it before you throw everything away?—"

"No," I grind out, the single syllable landing hard in the room. "I've considered all of it. And here's what I see: a man losing his grip on power. I see a man who thinks he can manipulate any situation to feed his objective. But the thing that gives you power? Your ability to instill fear." I take slow, measured steps toward him. From where he sits, I tower over him.

I don't know what reaction to expect. In the past, he would backhand me for my insubordination. Beat me to the floor and singe my skin with the end of a lit cigar.

Maybe he'll attack. Maybe he'll ignore me—wave off my aggression.

But he does the one thing I don't expect.

He looks at me, our gazes clashing. And says not a single word.

That's when it clicks. My father only has power over me because I've let him have it. Yes, he can manipulate events and circumstances, but me? He can only run me if I let him. I'm not a kid anymore.

Control. I am in control .

"I'm not afraid of you." The words are low, measured. My voice is just for his ears. It doesn't need to be a bombastic declaration. It simply needs to be said.

He blinks. And remains silent for a long moment.

For the millionth time, I feel loathing poison every cell in my body as my eyes shift from my father to Blair's impassive face.

I despise him.

I detest her.

They set the price for my freedom as part of the fucked-up game they want me to play. The cost is the sale of my soul. But they can't have it—Father can't have it.

Not anymore.

So if I want to get on the other side of this and get to a place where everyone is safe, my father can't hurt any more people, and I can go forward and live my life with Winter and August in peace…I have to get past this part.

I have to sack up and stand up to my father.

Because every last one of them can fuck all the way off.

Even if it means going to war.

Father blinks again. As if coming out of a fog, he stands and tilts his head to the side, considering me. "Afraid? Why would you be afraid of your own father, Hunter? I've always wanted the best for you." His eyes, so much like mine, are frosty, and the skin around his mouth is tense, blanched.

A throat clears across the room. "That's well and good, Hunter, but unfortunately, I cannot accept your decision. The ball has gone too far down the court," Morris says, gesturing to the massive space around us. He leaves his perch next to the fireplace, coming closer and crowding me in a display of dominance.

My father moves to stand shoulder to shoulder with Morris Winthrope.

Benjamin Brigham, for once, seems small. Unimpressive.

A smirk crawls across my face, and it must do something to my father. He straightens his back, his shoulders broadening.

Now he looks more like the imposing man the world knows.

Fake. It's all fake.

"You're distracted," my father says, and I smell his cologne as he moves even closer. The sweet scent of whiskey fans across my face.

I hold my ground.

With a quirked eyebrow, Morris moves to Blair and places a hand on her shoulder. Ice glazes over her green eyes, but she doesn't look at all upset that I just dissolved all wedding plans at our engagement party.

"Now, that's not to say that I haven't had my dalliances in the past. A little strange here and there keeps you young." My father taps my arm with the back of his hand to punctuate his words.

"But you can't let pussy take you under, Hunter. So I'm going to help you clear the distractions. Help you understand the bigger picture."

He claps a hand on my shoulder.

And smiles.

Vibrations of foreboding center in my chest. I'm going to murder him right here, right now. Forget the rest of the plan.

I feel the shift of air as Leo takes a step closer to me.

Father sighs.

"Enough with the theatrics," Morris says. "If that will be all, I'll leave you to make your rounds. The Senator from Virginia would love to speak with you, Benjamin." Morris turns back to Blair, ignoring my father and cutting me out.

Winter. August. Ella.

Clearing out distractions.

What has he done?

What have I done?

Resisting the urge to run, I leave the room with Leo following behind me. As soon as we clear the doors, I say, "We need locations on everyone now. Where are Ella, August, and Winter?" I book it to the club door, aiming for the G-wagon, not stopping to grab my coat.

"I need to get Winter now ."

"Agreed," he says.

Fuck her clothes. I'll have someone get her dog and buy her new clothes.

I need her with me, in my home. Safe.

Leo and I break into the bitter chill of the dead night. It's stopped sleeting, at least.

I pull my phone out to call Winter. When she doesn't answer, I look at the time. She should be home by now. I send her a text and try to ignore the apprehension manifesting behind my breastbone.

On my way to get you. I know you want space, but you'll be safest at Amelia Manor.

A few seconds later, I send another text.

I love you.

We reach the G-wagon. Seconds later, Leo stomps on the gas and we launch out of the portico and down the winding drive. Leo frowns with his phone up to his ear as he navigates the vehicle through the slick turns. He pulls the phone away before tapping the screen and putting the call on hands-free mode through the car's system.

"Rio, what's the location on Jose?" Leo says as soon as the man answers.

We pull out onto the main road. Leo taps the brakes but doesn't stop for the right turn.

Rio has always been more than Winter's driver and protection detail—he's the head of our security team. While we assembled a crew to attend the party tonight, we left Rio behind to monitor everything at Amelia Manor.

"Checking now, boss," Rio says over the line. He sounds alert, serious. And he should be—any fuck-ups security-wise are on his head.

My palms itch as my anger rises.

Leo pulls out of the spot, and we head toward the interstate entrance.

I check my messages to Winter.

The last two say "delivered," not read.

"Leo." Dread sits like a stone in my stomach.

He grips the steering wheel with tight fists—his knuckles blanch.

"Boss, his beacon is stationary. Jose's stopped on some back road. Southbound."

I pull up the GPS location app for Winter's phone and push back the tinge of guilt cropping up. I haven't told her I installed the tech, but I don't consider it a violation. It's my way of keeping her safe. I haven't used it beyond checking the set-up weeks ago.

This is why she wants space. You're running all over her.

I refresh the screen on my phone, pure terror filling all the empty spaces within my body.

Location: Not Found

I should have put a tracker in her. I should have—I'd know where she is right now.

There's commotion over the line as other voices join and doors slam.

"Send me the location you have now," Leo commands.

"Sent," Rio says half a second after Leo's edict leaves his lips. The map pulls up on the screen in the center console. "I have confirmation that Ella and August are back at Amelia Manor with Rex and Jared," Rio adds .

I tap to call Winter, and when she doesn't answer, I call her again.

And again.

And again, and again, and again?—

"Winter's not answering her phone, Rio. I can't find her location. Do you have her location?" The side buttons leave deep indents in my flesh as I grasp the device in a tight fist.

Anxiety is a noose around my neck.

Tighter.

Tighter.

"Working on it," Rio says. His voice is sharp, brittle. Crackling comes over the line, and then his voice is clearer. He put on a headset.

"Max," Rio yells, and Max's voice sounds far away from the microphone.

Rio gives tense orders to Max, who makes an affirmative noise in response.

"Rio! Do you see Winter's location?" I repeat, pressing every word through tingling lips.

"No," he snaps, "I'm trying to figure out what the fuck happened." There's silence over the line for a beat.

"Well, fucking find her!" I roar.

My hand stings. I look down, and it's flat on the dashboard. I must have hit it.

Control.

"Hunter, breathe," Leo says. When I look at him, his eyes fix on the road. But he takes shallow breaths.

He's trying to stay calm so he can remain in control.

I want to collect myself.

But every part of my being screams with the chaos.

"Fuck!" I bellow, hitting the dashboard again. "Get me to Winter now!" I yell at Leo. At Rio and Max.

At the Universe.

Something is wrong, wrong, wrong. They have her. She's gone. They've killed her .

I try to regain my senses—to reach a feeling of calm necessary to fix this situation.

Flashes of my mother's face as unknown men dragged her away from my bloodied body rotate through my mind. My mouth dries with the memory of Isla Cara's sea breeze.

I try to blink the thoughts away; nothing works.

You promised to protect her.

You promised, and you failed.

You failed.

You. Fucking. Failed.

My gut clenches, horror bubbling up like vomit.

Leo makes a sharp U-turn at the next intersection, gunning it in the direction of the country club. "Check Winter's location again and give me the coordinates for?—"

An SUV rams into the back of the G-wagon. In a second, the world rocks, and our vehicle lists onto the passenger-side tires for a millisecond before slamming back onto the pavement. We fishtail, shifting so hard from side to side that my head cracks against the window.

"Shit!" Leo shouts, and I grip the seat belt where it cuts into my chest. Punching the accelerator, Leo revs the engine to get distance between us and our attackers.

"Rio, you still with me? We're being rammed," Leo yells into the speaker.

"I have three cars approaching your location right now. Do you have a description of the vehicle?" As the tension rises, Rio becomes calmer. There's a deadly focus in his tone. Maybe it's the black ops training.

Maybe it's something else. How did he lose Winter?

"Black SUV. Looks like a Suburban or a Tahoe," Leo says.

I look behind us and see two more SUVs swerving around the car gunning for us.

"Those our guys, Rio?" I yell over my shoulder.

This is my father or Blair or Morris or all of them trying to send me a message. Or maybe they're over me and my resistance and decided it's time I become a non-factor.

"Those aren't my guys," Rio says.

We get hit hard on the driver's side; the back end of the SUV skids off the pavement.

"Shit!" Leo curses and tries to regain control of the vehicle.

Fuck this. I pull the gun from beneath the seat as a bullet shatters the back window.

Leo shifts and swerves again, evading the cars following us.

Using the back of my seat as a shield, I pop three rounds into the front of the SUV following us.

A crack forms in their windshield, and the car closest to us veers into its partner.

Crash.

Two cars remain.

"Our guys have your position," Rio says over the speaker.

"Mother fucker ," Leo shouts. His face is all sharp angles; his eyes rage filled.

This is the Leo who hunts—the Leo who maims and kills. I haven't seen this side of him since we left Isla Cara years ago.

He's gonna kill somebody tonight.

And so am I.

Leo cuts another right down a farm-to-market road, and I reach for the dashboard to steady myself against the sharp movement.

The car closest to us tries to make the turn but fails on the slick curve, popping on its driver-side tires before skidding down the opposite lane for several feet on its side. It stops when it careens into a thicket of trees.

The final car makes the turn and accelerates toward us.

We bounce over the ill-maintained road, headlights on bright as we navigate the two-lane path. Out here, we're too exposed. Nothing but barren trees, farmland, and snowbanks surround us.

"We gotta lose 'em," I yell. Everything is so fucking loud—the wind whips into the damaged SUV, slicing at my skin. Or maybe that's broken glass.

"I know," Leo says, voice hard.

The speedometer goes past ninety just as a concrete barrier materializes a half mile ahead. We draw closer to it in one second.

Two.

Three.

"Hold on!" Leo slams on the brakes. The car behind us stops short, cutting its wheel to the right and toppling over, rolling to a stop as it slides into an icy ditch.

The turn signal on the car flashes as the headlights hang from their housings.

For several moments, the only sound is our breathing. Leo clutches the steering wheel, and I sit there, gun still in my hand.

The sharp, sucking sound of Leo's inhalation tears through the cabin before he jerks open the driver's door. He pulls both guns out: one from the side compartment of the driver's seat, the other from his waistband.

He starts over to the crash.

"Rio. Winter?" I feel wild when my voice cracks, and he breathes in and out over the line.

"Nothing, sir." He sounds…incredulous. Angry.

Lost.

Air seizes in my chest as I grip the gun in one hand.

Winter. Gone. Winter is gone.

I rush out the door toward the scene of the wreck.

Leo has pulled the driver out of the car. Blood runs from the guy's head, but he's conscious.

I peer into the crushed vehicle .

The passenger hangs upside down against the seat belt, with his neck at a sharp angle.

"Who sent you?" Leo barks out. His voice is rough but steady.

"Fuck you," the man spits. Leo kicks him in the side, and the driver groans, rolling over. He coughs up blood.

"I'm gonna put a bullet in your brain either way. Might as well tell the truth. A point in your favor when you meet God," Leo says, his voice deceptively calm.

"You already know who sent me," the man says with labored breathing.

I do know. I do fucking know.

A sheen of pain and resolute defiance glazes over the driver's eyes. I've seen that look before in a man who's about to die—in a man who knew his time was up but didn't give a fuck anyway.

"Winter Vaughan. Where is she?" I must look deranged as I speak. With absent awareness, I notice a trickle of moisture rolling down the side of my face. A copper scent fills the air.

"Her?" The man smiles, baring his blood-coated teeth. "You'll never find her again," he says.

I shoot him right between the eyes.

In the shot's reverberation. I am quiet.

Up. Down.

Goes my chest.

And every single part of my mind breaks.

Morris. Blair. Father.

Winter, Winter, Winter.

Gone.

In the darkness, my vision shrinks to a pinpoint—stops. Feeling ceases to register in my brain as my hands numb.

In the distance, Leo yells at me. He's so far. So far away.

"Drop the gun, Hunter."

Winter. Winter. I need to get to Winter.

What do I do? What do I do first ?

"Drop the gun, Hunter," Leo says. He's closer now. Close. Grabbing my wrist. I look down. Bullets riddle the driver's face and chest, transforming his body into a pockmarked monstrosity.

Did I do that?

With Leo's hand on my wrist, I squeeze the trigger again.

Crack. One more shot.

Click. Silence.

My entire clip is empty with the slide of the gun pulled back—the rounds released into the dead driver's body.

"H," Leo says, squeezing my wrist. The gun falls from my hand and onto the rocky asphalt.

" Hunter ," Leo tries again. He moves into my field of vision. He's giving me a look I recognize.

It's the look of him saving me from myself.

"We're going to find her," he says. His voice is clear.

But in his eyes is the thing I don't want to see.

Doubt.

"We're going to find Winter. You've got to get it together so we can save her." His voice hardens.

"Yes," I rasp. My voice doesn't sound like my own.

Winter. Winter. Winter.

Gone.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I rush to remove it. Winter. It could be Winter.

But my muscles rebel as I read the message from an unknown sender.

You were warned.

I lose control; the phone joins the gun on the ground.

Outside of myself, I hear Leo calling for me. I feel him reaching for me, attempting to pull me back into our dented vehicle.

But I resist, every part of me locked tight.

I scream into the blackness of the night sky.