1. Winter

ONE

WINTER

“ H unter, we have so much to talk about,” the woman says.

She’s backlit from where she stands on the landing with the door behind her. The darkness shadows her features, but I can make out enough to tell she’s tall, willowy, with long black hair.

How does she know Hunter?

At once, the people milling around Misha’s compound spur into action, everyone deciding that whatever they need to do is more important than watching the drama unfolding outside the entryway.

“Hunter?” I whisper, staring at the woman. When he doesn’t say anything, I turn to face him. He’s pale—his skin taking on the color of death. A fine sheen of sweat covers his face as he stares slack-jawed at the woman on the landing.

“Hunter?” I repeat.

“I saw you die,” he says under his breath. It’s so low that I can only hear it because I’m standing next to him.

“Hunter? What’s?—”

“They threw sulfuric acid on you. They dumped your body in the Caribbean,” he continues, unblinking, his voice rising in volume with every word.

I shake my head in confusion, and the laceration on my shoulder aches at the movement.

“I know, Hunter. I’m so sorry you had to witness that.”

I snap my head up at the words to stare at the woman. She takes slow, measured steps toward where we stand in the driveway—away from the light spilling from the open front door. When she’s a few paces from us, the spotlights and the full moon cause her features to come into view.

I try not to flinch as I take her in. Her chin is taut as if she’s trying not to cry, but the right side of her face droops as if she had a stroke or as if something severed the muscles beneath her scarred skin. In place of her right eye, she has a prosthetic. It shines silver-white behind the obviously surgically reconstructed lid.

Misha speaks up. “Hunter, perhaps you and your mother?—”

Mother?

Hunter bends over at the waist with his hands on his thighs, breathing deeply and staring at the gravel. He shifts his weight from side to side, a nearly imperceptible movement, and the rocks crunch beneath his boots.

I try to make sense of the scene, piecing together the fragmented parts of this story playing out in front of me…but this is too much. This is too fucking much.

This is his….

Feeling edgy and uneasy, I watch as Hunter spirals. I try to hold on to myself so I don’t follow him down the same mental path.

I reach out a hand to touch his back, to give him some comfort and peace, but he jerks up before my palm makes contact.

“What the actual fuck?” Hunter directs the sharp words at the pakhan as he turns away from the ghost.

Mother. This woman is…his mother. Amelia Brigham.

My heart hurts for him with every contraction.

“Why don’t we all go inside,” Misha says.

“Great idea,” I chime in. Hunter looks over his shoulder at me, and I try to give a wobbly smile despite the sickness swirling in my belly and the dull throbbing streaking from my wound.

“Sunbeam?” he questions, concern creasing his eyebrows.

Misha claps a hand on Hunter’s shoulder and begins to direct him toward the open doors of the mansion as if he were a child. Hunter shakes off his embrace.

“Don’t fucking touch me, Hroshko.” Hunter’s voice is so low that the menace in it is unmistakable. Misha smirks and the sight of it must tip Hunter over the edge.

“Or what, Brigham?” Misha’s eyes reflect ice and venom in return.

I blink and open my eyes to see Hunter pressing the edge of a switchblade against Misha’s jugular.

“Is this how you want us to work together?” Misha’s words are slow, and he raises his hands up as if surrendering.

Taking in the impossible scene, I snap my mouth shut and take a step forward.

“Hunter!” I place my hand on the arm holding the knife, pleading with him to release the mafiya leader from his hold. “What the fuck are you doing, H? Let him go!” I rasp.

Hunter’s jaw ticks with tension. “Don’t fuck with me,” he says with malice.

Hunter holds Misha’s gaze. The words are low enough that they’re just for the pakhan, and I barely suppress my whimper when a bead of blood trails from a small nick in Misha’s skin.

“Hunter, please!” I glance toward Amelia, who I now notice sports several guns strapped to her person. But despite the badassery she displays with her uniform, the way she clutches her hands over her mouth as if holding in a scream gives me pause.

Hunter’s mother—a woman who was gravely injured at some point in the past—is torn up at seeing her son again.

Did she plan this?

Did she know?

How the hell did she survive an acid attack?

I shiver at the thought.

“What are you going to do, Brigham?” Misha’s voice mocks Hunter’s silent aggression.

Hunter opens his mouth to say something, but he freezes at the unmistakable sound of a racked gun chamber.

Luna stands with a pistol pressed to Hunter’s temple.

“Moya lyubov, Hunter here is just having a moment. He’ll step back in a second and put his weapon away.”

I pull on Hunter’s arm again, hoping to force him to pull the knife away from Misha’s neck. Hunter growls when Misha smiles, and I prepare myself to jump on his back and tussle him to the ground if he doesn’t get it together.

“He fuckin’ better,” Luna drawls, her grip steady on her Glock. “Y’all might be family, but I won’t hesitate to put a bullet in his brain.”

The words clang between my ears, but the significance of them doesn’t land until Misha’s humored expression turns…worried. He grimaces.

Wait. What?

“What do you mean by family ?” Hunter drops the knife to his side and turns to face Luna, which puts the barrel of her gun between his eyes. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Luna swears and pulls her weapon back, reholstering it while she bites her lip.

“Y’all had all this time to talk and you didn’t tell him, Misha?”

Misha inhales. “Blyad,” he mutters under his breath.

“We wanted to ease you into this, Hunter. You’ve had such a terrible evening,” Amelia says, and Hunter just stares.

And stares.

And trembles.

Hunter takes several steps back until he’s close enough for me to grab his hand, and I pry the knife from his clenched fingers and secure the blade. He doesn’t acknowledge my movements.

Amelia moves back into my line of vision, and the stress of this situation causes my brain to buzz.

“Hunter, there’s a lot we need to talk about,” his mother chimes in. “Can we talk?”

“Talk about what? ” Hunter stares at Luna as he speaks, ignoring his mom.

Luna taps her foot and runs her hands through her dirty blonde hair. When she flips it, she looks like a fair version of Lara Croft—only short and mixed.

I turn back to Misha. Then I see it.

His hair is several shades lighter than Hunter’s. There are wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes, showing the differences in their ages. But that’s it: His eyes.

Side-by-side, his eyes are identical to Amelia Brigham’s…just like Hunter’s and Ella’s.

“What the actual fuck…” Hunter mutters, taking one step and then another away from the group. Amelia, who stands near Misha dressed in all black and with tactical gear strapped to her body, looks like a female version of the Ukrainian to her left.

What the actual holy hell is happening right now?

“Hunter,” I say, but I don’t complete the sentence. I don’t know what the fuck to say.

This is all going to shit. Fast.

The crush of a new set of tires on the gravel signals Leo’s arrival.

At the sound, Hunter’s gaze returns to Misha, and I watch as he takes in all of him.

I do the same, and with Hunter’s mother standing next to the Ukrainian, it’s easy to see the resemblance.

A muscle in Hunter’s jaw twitches as he grinds his teeth.

Leo exits the passenger side of the blacked-out Suburban almost before the driver has the vehicle in park. He looks ragged—his usually perfect hair falls in messy hanks over his brows and his shirt is untucked from his slacks.

Hunter keeps his eyes fixed on Misha as he says, “Is my sister with you?”

Leo pauses, looking at Hunter, and I notice his eyes are bloodshot. “H, what?—”

“Is. My. Sister. With. You?” he grits out.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Get her out of here. And don’t let her see the bitch over there.”

I whip my head toward Hunter’s mother at the sound of her gasp. Pity washes over me when I see the tears on her cheeks.

I turn back to Leo, who stares slack-jawed at the older woman.

“H, is that your?—”

“Yes,” Hunter snaps. “Get Ella out of here. She doesn’t need to see this.”

“I don’t think…” Leo stops at Hunter’s deadly stare, choosing to take a step back toward the vehicle.

“What the fuck is happening out here!” I would laugh at the perfect timing the Universe gifts us when Ella hops out of the SUV. She takes in the scene before her, her eyebrows slamming down with her severe frown.

“Leo?” she asks, turning toward Hunter’s best friend.

Leo snaps his question-heavy gaze toward Hunter. When he doesn’t answer Ella, she huffs and turns to Hunter.

“Hunter?” Exasperation is clear in her voice and after several silent seconds, she turns to take in the entire group.

Amelia doesn’t move, facing Hunter. Letting him control this moment.

“Um, Mr…?” Ella’s words are cautious as she looks at Misha and the shorter woman to his side. Ella folds her arms over her chest, and she looks so, so lost. The image of her shocked movements in the safe room flashes in my brain.

A deep quaking starts in my chest.

Luna and Misha share a look, and Misha cracks his neck from side to side.

“Fuck it,” he grinds out.

“You better not, Hroshko,” Hunter says.

“Ella, this is your mother,” Misha says, pointing at Amelia.

Ella blinks, scoffing as if Misha made a joke. “What are you talking about?”

Misha rolls his eyes. “Keep up. This woman is your mother, Amelia. Also, I’m your half-brother. It’s a long story that we don’t have time for, so your assistance in getting everyone inside is much appreciated.”

Ella shakes her head, and she turns to Hunter.

“What the hell is he talking about?” she whispers, her voice choked. With agonizing slowness, she turns to face her mother. She takes in the woman in front of her for several long heartbeats and then whirls back to Hunter with sharp movements.

“Is this true, Hunter?” Tears start to crest her lower lids. “Don’t lie to me.”

I watch in slow motion as Ella tries to comprehend the incomprehensible.

“Ella, go inside,” Hunter presses. He’s agitated, and I sense that he’s desperate to keep her separated from this fuckery.

My arm throbs along with my head.

“Our mother is dead,” Ella says. Her words are heavy as she lowers her eyes to stare at the gravel beneath Hunter’s feet.

Hunter doesn’t respond to Ella’s statement.

Squaring her shoulders, she lifts her head, and her face is dry. A prevailing emotion shines from her eyes: Hope.

She turns to Amelia. “You’re…alive.”

Amelia sucks in oxygen as if she’d been holding her breath since she “died.” She takes one step and then another until he’s close to Ella.

She turns her body away from Ella, hiding her scarred side from her daughter’s focus.

“M-mom?” Ella says. Wide-eyed, Ella raises a trembling hand to Amelia’s matching black hair.

But when Amelia’s face cracks and she touches Ella’s cheek, I watch as Ella starts to break.

“Ellie girl,” Amelia whispers. “You don’t know how much I’ve missed you.”

Ella shudders and collapses into her mother’s arms, and Amelia’s whole body shakes as she grasps Ella in a fierce hug.

Returning my gaze to Hunter, I jump into action when I see that he looks moments away from either vomiting all over the ground or passing out.

Or both.

I press my body into his side, smashing my breasts into his upper arm and banding my good arm around his stomach. Still, my injury pulses again in protest.

“Hunter, I’m hurt. Can you help me?” I close my eyes and bring my mouth close to his ear, hoping to drown out all his other thoughts and bring him back to me.

“Hunter.” I kiss his shoulder, tightening my hold. “Please, baby.”

Hunter’s chest expands as he drinks the air, and I turn his face toward mine.

Please. Please, please, please.

I just need tonight to be over. I need things to stop whirling out of control.

“I need to get bandaged up. I probably even need stitches.” I run my hand up his chest as I shift to stand in front of him. I keep my body pressed to his.

I swallow as I focus on the thoughts I’ve kept out of my consciousness for the last few hours.

“We need to check on the baby,” I murmur.

It takes him several moments to focus on my face. When he does, he grimaces.

“Of course, Sunbeam. I’m sorry.” In a flash, he places his hand behind my head, pressing my ear to his chest. His heartbeat is rapid, thudding so hard I feel it racing against my cheek as much as I hear it doing so. “I’m so sorry,” he repeats.

“It’s okay,” I choke out. The pain of my gunshot wound and all the shit that’s happened over the last few hours hits me as if I’d run into a brick wall. The world starts to tilt, so I close my eyes against the dizziness and lean into Hunter.

I so need to sit the fuck down.

And check on the baby…if the baby is even still alive.

A wave of panic washes over me and I clutch at Hunter’s shirt.

Calm down. Calm down, calm down, calm down ?—

“I-I’ll bring you.”

My eyes snap open when Hunter’s mother’s voice startles me out of my spiral. Amelia and Ella stand next to each other, Ella clinging to her mother with her head on her shoulder. Amelia looks happy. So when Hunter grips the back of my shirt and growls, I watch her face fall.

“Not you,” he snaps, shifting us so he can look at her over his shoulder. The movement causes her to come back into my line of sight in enough time to see her head tick back a fraction as if he’d smacked her.

He faces Luna.

“You. Take us to medical help,” he commands in a voice I’ve never heard him use before.

I stare at his profile, taking in all his emotions as his face morphs from shock to fury to resolute coolness.

Hunter is…not himself.

Who is he? What are we dealing with here?

I suck in a breath, and Hunter looks down at me sharply. I give him a smile, but I feel my cheek muscles spasming, my grin warbling.

His frown deepens and I can’t stand the sight, so I look away from him and toward the rest of the crew around us.

Luna pauses for a moment with narrowed eyes. When she purses her lips and then smacks them, I feel a nugget of gratitude when she says to Hunter, “I’ll ignore the fact that you’re bossing me around in my own house.”

Thank God.

She walks up to us and pauses.

“For now,” she adds. She walks past us and into the building.

One.

One-two-one.

One-two-three-two-one.

I will keep it together. I will keep it together, together, to?—

Pulling on my good arm, Hunter startles me out of my anxiety attack, but I feel it there, right there.

Keep it together.

We follow after the short blonde when Misha speaks up behind us.

“I told you that everything you know is a lie.”

Lies. Lies, lies, all lies.

The air thickens and spins around me. My hand flexes where I grip Hunter’s bloody shirt.

A muscle in Hunter’s face spasms before he says, “Obviously. But tell me why I should expect you to tell the truth?”

He doesn’t wait for Misha to answer.