25. Hunter

TWENTY-FIVE

HUNTER

I regret letting Winter go as soon as the boat leaves my line of sight.

But because Winter needed the freedom and I’m unable to deny her anything, I gave her what she wanted and sent her off to explore.

This is an exercise in releasing control.

Sitting on the deck with Misha and Amelia on a video call, I allow myself to fall into a state of hypervigilance as my gaze flits between the tracker app I have on the encoded phone Max prepped and the horizon.

She’ll be back within the hour. Breathe.

“Are we boring you, Brigham?” Misha asks. His tone is both amused and exasperated.

I shift in the seat, looking at him and my mom on the screen.

My mom.

She smiles brightly, and I note that her nose is a little red.

“Have you been spending time in the garden?” I ask her. She looks a little taken aback by the question, but still, she says, “I have.”

“Are you wearing your sunscreen?”

She smiles even wider. “Isn’t that my line?” she asks, and I chuckle.

Any time I went to Isla Cara, Mom would give me a tight hug and tell me to wear my sunscreen every day. It was our thing.

I shrug. “Maybe it’s time to re-apply. You’re getting a little burned,” I tell her.

With a tsk and a good-natured eye roll, she leaves her seat, going out of sight of the camera.

It’s just Misha and me on the line, and the wind is my only companion.

I return my gaze to the shore.

“Plan on living, Hunter.”

I turn toward Misha’s image, giving him a wry look. “Pardon?”

He chuffs, the sound close to amusement for the pakhan. “You have a bit of martyr in you, Brigham, but don’t throw yourself into the shark-infested waters just to absolve yourself of guilt. Plan on living to be an old man with your wife and your kids by your side.”

Misha paints a pretty picture, one I desperately want—and more than anything, I want peace.

Peace for Winter. Peace for August.

Peace for me.

But I’ve been so focused on how I’m living on borrowed time that I haven’t dared to dream of a life where I live it to the fullest.

“I don’t know if you’ve taken a look lately, but tomorrow is especially not promised for any of us,” I say. “You know, seeing as The Legion is hellbent on annihilating me and my family.”

Misha gives a slow, thoughtful nod. “I do see your point, Hunter, and still, who is to say we won’t prevail?”

“Statistics?” I throw out.

Misha laughs and it’s the first time I’ve heard him give a true, deep laugh.

“Don’t be so quick to give up. Life and your luck will always surprise you,” he says.

I flick my eyes over to the smaller screen, expecting to see the dot indicating Winter’s location.

Except it’s not where it’s supposed to be—on the main street in Forte-de-France.

It moves quickly in the wrong direction.

“Gotta run,” I tell Misha, distracted.

But when the alert buzzes on my phone, indicating that Patrick has sent up the distress signal, I run from the table.

I’m not even sure I hung up on Misha.

I bellow for Keegan, the remaining guard from Misha’s team as I race through the house, but since he got the same signal I did, he’s already got the helicopter ready to take off.

I blink and I’m in the pilot’s seat.

“I got a message. Winter is unharmed, but there are two civilian bodies to deal with and Walker is down. Patrick has Winter covered.”

Fuck. Fuck!

Winter may be unharmed physically, but I know the sight of more death is going to impact her.

All she wants is peace.

I nod, lifting the skids on the helicopter so we’re airborne in minutes. I think through where to land. I turn off the helicopter’s transponder and we stay under the radar, hovering only a hundred feet in the air, so that we’re not caught by air traffic control.

Still, I push the Bell 407 to its limits.

“Aim for Les Trois-?lets,” Keegan says, tapping on his tablet. He jolts after a second, pulling out his phone. He stares at it, frowning, for several beats.

“Who is it?” I ask. He turns the phone to show me it’s a call from his partner.

“Well, fucking answer it! Patch it through the system,” I command into the headset microphone.

Keegan connects the phone.

“Patrick,” he says, his voice a snap.

“Not Patrick,” a voice I want to strangle says over the line. “Although you should be ecstatic that it’s me you’re talking to and not someone else.”

“Marcus Law,” I say, and his name is a curse. “If you hurt a hair on my wife’s head, there won’t be a place in Hell that you can hide from me.”

“Yeah, yeah. Save all the alpha bullshit. I’ve got your man and your girl. Meet in La Savane Parc in thirty to get them.”

Marcus hangs up the line. Wait, he’s just…handing them over to us?

My neck muscles tense as I prepare myself for a confrontation.

A trap. A trap. A trap….

The helicopter is silent except for the hum of the rotary wings for several minutes as we approach the bay. When we pass over downtown Forte-de-France, I land the helicopter on a grassy yet flat patch of land on the park’s far side. It looks like several helicopters before me have used it as a landing pad, and there’s a crude path leading toward the line of shops through the trees.

I throw my headset on the seat and jump out of the aircraft, leaving Keegan to handle the shutdown. I blink a few times and then I’m standing among the shoppers and street fare hawkers that line the edge of the park and the beach on the other side of the main road.

I keep my panic firmly locked behind a steel door in my psyche, afraid that if I allow even a sliver of it out, I’ll start raging. But just when I feel myself starting to slip, I catch sight of curly hair piled high on a dark head.

Winter.

I resist sprinting so I don’t bring any more attention to myself, but as soon as I’m up on the group, I nearly collapse in relief. Winter and Patrick sit at a wrought-iron table at a French outdoor cafe. It dimly reminds me of La Maison, one of the places Winter and I went on our first date.

Patrick looks around with a vigilant stare, and because I know where he keeps his gun, I know he palms his pistol beneath his linen shirt.

Winter looks pale, petrified, and as soon as I’m close enough, I pull her to stand, crushing her into my arms.

“Shit, baby, what happened? Where is Law?” I mutter into her ear. I feel feral when I feel her tremble.

“He left,” she says, her voice just as low.

“What do you mean he left?” I say a little louder.

“Brigham, let’s get back to the island,” Patrick says, standing. He casts his sharp eyes around the area. “We’re not safe here.”

That’s all he has to say to get us moving to the Bell and back into the air.

Twenty minutes later, we touch down on the helipad on Winter Island, and the guards hurry out of the aircraft, leaving me and Winter behind.

I sit in silence, squeezing my eyes shut and trying to access the tools Winter’s taught me over the past several months. What was it she said at the beginning of our trip? Opposite action?

So what’s the opposite of wanting to unload a clip in an invisible enemy?

Winter tries to speak, but I shake my head, not wanting to say something that would hurt her. She says she can handle anything I need to release, but that still doesn’t mean I want to unleash all the shit that’s bubbling beneath my skin on her.

The exact opposite, in fact.

“I need to access some Zen for a few minutes before I’m ready to talk, baby,” I grind out, looking out at the ocean.

Winter is quiet for a moment, but then she says in a small voice, “I understand.” She exits the helicopter but pauses with her hand on the door.

“I’m sorry that things happened like this today. I know you’re upset…I’ll be ready to accept my punishment when you’re ready to give it.”

When she says the last sentence, I snap my head toward her. A smile plays on her lips, in direct contradiction to the haunted, tired look in her eyes. She rubs a hand over her stomach absently, and I force myself to fight back the insane panic that starts hammering my consciousness like a battering ram.

“Right,” I tell her, my voice flat. “I’ll find you.”

With a sharp jerk down of her chin, she spins on her bare feet to leave but only makes it a step before turning around to face me again. Her watery eyes plead with me, and I realize that she didn’t tell me that for me.

She told me that for her.

Oh, I see, Sunbeam.

“Stop,” I say through gritted teeth, my tone deep.

Winter freezes.

Speeding through the post-flight checks to secure the helicopter, I exit the cockpit and stand directly in front of her.

“What do you need, Sunbeam? Speak clearly,” I say.

I don’t want to fuck this up.

“I need—” she swallows, and I watch her throat move with the action. “I just saw two people get their brains blown out. And they were trying to kill me. I feel—I feel so outside of my body. I need you to help me find it, H,” she whispers, her words halting.

I put my fingers into the curls at the base of her neck, contemplating her words.

“Are you ready, baby?” I say, pulling her close with slow movements to whisper close to the shell of her ear.

She nods, her actions restricted by the firm grip I have on her neck.

“Good,” I say, then I slap her hard on her right ass cheek. The crack is loud, and I know it smarts from the way she jumps in the air.

But instead of a howl of pain, she groans, a choked sound, and leans into me, her hands flying to my shoulders. I rub soothing circles over the assaulted cheek.

“I won’t punish you, Winter. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

She makes another sound in her throat, but this time, it borders on a lost cry. I bunch her skirt in my fist, raising it inch by inch to reveal her shapely thighs.

“But I will help remind you that you’re alive.”

She shudders at that, releasing my name with a breathy sigh.

“Hold this up. Don’t let it drop,” I order when her skirt clears her ass.

Her hands fly to grasp the fabric in tight fists.

Once my hands are free, I grab her bikini bottoms and shove them down to pool around her ankles.

The muscles in her thighs twitch with a fine tremble as she stands with her legs slightly spread, naked from the waist down.

A year ago, she would have been totally scandalized, terrified at someone seeing us—seeing her in this way.

But now? Now she widens her stance, and the wetness on her trimmed pussy hair glistens, calling for me to get a taste.

“Do you want me to use you? Do you want me to fuck you so hard that you’ll feel me long after I’ve left my cum in your body? It’ll be my reminder that you’re still here.”

She nods, her curls bouncing. “Yes, Hunter. I want that. I need that.”

“Good,” I say. “Now get on your knees.”

She doesn’t stall, she just drops to her knees, her hands going to her thighs. The sight of her staring up at me with her wide eyes and plush lips makes me go from hard to steel in a heartbeat.

“Put my cock in your mouth,” I dictate. She puts her hands on my waistband, knowing not to go too slowly with unbuttoning the pants and pulling my dick out.

She strokes me once, twice, and I feel my balls draw up, and my eyes start to roll back.

“I said, suck my fucking cock, Winter,” I spit out, and she jumps into action, bringing the head of my dick to her lips. She looks at me with an unwavering, trusting gaze and kisses me on the tip. One, two, three—then, she gives me a long, hot, wet lick up my shaft.

I groan deep within my chest, an involuntary action. She wants to feel this, so I put my hand on the back of her head, forcing her to take more of me into her mouth. Her lips stretch wide, servicing my cock with a tight, long suck.

She pulls off me for a breath.

“I promise to keep myself safe, Hunter,” she vows, her voice desperate as she whispers the words along the shaft of my dick.

All I can do is growl at her admission.

“I’m sorry for being reckless. I just wanted to get you something like you got me. I want the world to know you’re taken.”

A gust of wind comes through and the rotor blades spin in a slow wobble behind me. I’m acutely aware that we’re in the middle of the helipad in plain view of the house.

Winter steals my thoughts when she rolls her lips in to suck me down until I bump the back of her throat.

Then she damns me to Hell when she swallows against me.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so good at that,” I bite out. She preens at the praise, and using her hands and mouth, she works to keep breathing while taking me down her throat.

She does so good for several minutes before she overwhelms herself. When she gags, I pull out of her mouth, and a string of spit suspends between us when I take a step back.

Winter. My wife.

I surprise her when I pull her up with more gentleness than she likely expects, and kiss her. It’s hungry, angry, hard, but passionate. I return her energy, trying to tell her, show her, that I’m here. I’m with her.

And she’s here with me too.

Breaking off our kiss, I guide her to the open door of the helicopter. The simpler position would have been to take her from behind, bending her over the bottom of the threshold.

Instead, I say, “Get in,” and she scrambles to enter the helicopter at the rear. I follow behind her, shutting the door.

Her chest rises and falls as she takes in big bellows of air, and I put both of my hands on her cheeks.

“You’re okay,” I say. I mirror slowing my breathing, and she does as I do.

Inhale.

Exhale.

She nods, biting her lip. She releases a sharp sound in her throat, a sob.

“You’re okay, Sunbeam. Feel me.” I put her hand on my chest where my heart thrums against my breastbone.

“I’m okay,” she repeats. Her fingers flex against my flesh. “I’m okay.”

I bring her lips to mine, kissing her with everything within me, channeling the fact that I’m freaked the fuck out too.

“You’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” she chokes.

I put her hand on my hard cock. “Feel me,” I say.

“Fuck me,” she replies. She shifts to the edge of the seat, spreading her legs wide. She looks like a goddess positioned like this. Her stomach is swollen with my baby; her cunt is dripping from arousal that I stoked within her.

“I know I keep saying it, but I am the luckiest man on the entire planet, Winter,” I say, running two fingers up and down her slit.

“How did we get this way?” she says, her words turning into a moan.

“Maybe to make up for all the bad shit we’ve gone through in the past. Maybe it’s just our time to be happy.” I press into her inch by inch, reveling in the hot, wet clench of her around me.

“So let’s be happy, H,” she whispers.

I kiss her in agreement.

My strokes pick up speed until I’m pistoning in and out of her and she scores her nails in the flesh over my biceps.

“Hunter!” she yells, and her thighs tense around me. She comes and comes as I rub her button in the way I know gives her the most pleasure.

“I love you so much,” she says, cresting for the second time, strangling my cock.

“Always. Transcendentally,” I rasp out. She squeezes me once more, and it’s game over. I blow inside her, pressing deep so she gets every drop.

In the quiet aftermath, we stay connected. Our lips remain pressed to the other’s while my softening dick rests inside her.

It’s like neither one of us wants this moment to end.

“I just want shit like this to stop happening, Hunter,” she says, her eyes closed. The soft honesty of her words still lands like a hammer.

“I know, baby. I know,” I say. And no matter what, I’m committed to making that happen.

I left Winter to sleep in our bedroom with the balcony doors open to let in the afternoon breeze. She says the crash of the waves settles something within her, and I hope it will help calm her frayed nerves.

When we got back into the house, she started to hyperventilate, but she said it was “only a small panic attack.” I disagreed and encouraged her to take her emergency anti-anxiety meds, but she declined, worried about the baby. I didn’t want to press and send her into another episode. A call to the doctor at Misha’s compound confirmed that a hefty dose of Benadryl should knock her out and help her calm down without endangering the baby.

I need to ask Winter specifics about what happened at the shop, not necessarily because I distrust Patrick but more because I don’t know him.

But Misha trusts his crew, so I’ll extend them a sliver of acceptance.

Still, Winter is in no condition to rehash the events of the last few hours, so while she takes the option to bring herself down with some antihistamines, I make it my mission to find Patrick and Keegan.

It takes me a minute to cross the house in search of either of them, but when I don’t find the two guards, I follow the trail down to the security house at the base of the hill.

The lights are on, and Keegan’s dark hair is visible through the window.

But when I hear Patrick shouting, I freeze.

“And why the fuck should I trust you?” Patrick roars, his voice loud through the open window.

I’m acutely aware that I don’t have my gun, and I curse myself for being so stupid. Even though we’re on a deserted island, I should be ready for any fucking thing to happen.

I contemplate how I can get to the cache of weapons in the security house when Keegan swings the door open.

“Come in, enjoy the party,” he grouses, opening the door wider. He seems completely unsurprised that I’m here.

I slide into the room but stop short when I see Marcus Law seated at the head of the table, looking like the king of the island.

Patrick looks agitated as he rocks from foot to foot with his arms crossed while Keegan stares hard at the interloper.

“Somebody wanna tell me what the fuck is going on?” I ask.

Marcus’ face is like stone, his gaze never wavering from me.

“Law decided to pay us a visit,” Patrick spits. “Despite coming in like the Angel of Death and then dropping us in the middle of a crowded shopping center, he has more business to discuss, apparently.”

“Listen, I saved your asses. The Legion got the drop on you and sent me to clean up the mess. Don’t underestimate the level of personal risk I’m taking,” Marcus says.

“And for what reason do you care?” Keegan throws back.

That causes something to ghost over his expression.

“I ask myself that question every fucking day,” Marcus replies, his tone flat.

When Marcus Law rises from his chair, dusting off his cargo shorts, I’m prepared for many things.

Except for him to punch me in the face.

Wiping blood from my split lip with the back of my hand, I chuckle at the sight. Then I return the jab, hitting Marcus in the nose.

His head snaps back, and Patrick chuckles, clearly enjoying this ass-beating. I’m unsure who he’s supporting, though.

I land one more punch, and Law gets me in the ribs.

“I’m going to fucking kill you for what you did to my family,” I growl, rolling over to pin him to the ground.

“Not if I kill you first, motherfucker,” Marcus says with just as much heat.

He hits me with a kidney punch, and the pain causes me to lose ground. He flips me over, and in the process, I grab his shirt, prepared to choke him with it.

Instead, the fabric rips, baring his chest.

I freeze.

One heartbeat. Two. Three.

Ominira.

Emblazoned across his chest in bold script is the single name that has haunted my dreams for decades.

“Ominira,” I say, my voice barely above a strangled whisper. My speech must infuriate Marcus because he rears back with a primal yell that signals his intent to smash my skull in.

But if not for Patrick, who grabs his arm, halting his progress, I’d be a bloody mess on the tile floor.

“You need to chill,” Patrick says, releasing a long-suffering sigh.

With one final hard look, Marcus lifts off me, jerking away from us and pacing toward the far wall of the small structure. I rise and take two big steps toward Marcus.

“Who was she to you?” I ask. I try to keep all emotion out of my voice.

Ominira was someone who mattered to Marcus. And I killed her.

Marcus laughs darkly.

“Do you care?” he mutters back. For once, he isn’t smiling, and with his serious countenance, I can see every weathered, tired line on his face and the hardened set of his jaw. The jovial asshole who shadowed Winter whenever I met her at her apartment is all hard edges and vengeance.

“Yes. I care very much,” I reply.

Marcus turns to face me, leaning against the wall with one ankle crossed over the other. He folds his arms and says, “Ominira Adichie was my sister. When she was six years old, she and my mother traveled from Accra to the United States on a visa lottery. My father came to the States earlier and was finally able to bring our mother and one sibling over. Except when they landed in New York, instead of meeting my father, they were taken. I have never found my mother, but she is expected to be dead. My sister, however, was raised on your father’s island.”

I stand there stunned, looking and feeling like an idiot. Ominira and I were not friends, but I saw her often when I visited Isla Cara. She was kind to me.

And I killed her. I could rationalize it and say it was a mercy killing because I know that if I hadn’t done it, someone else would have, and they wouldn’t have given her nearly as much dignity or compassion as her life ended.

But to her brother, none of that matters.

I know that if I were in his shoes and Ella had been the one murdered, I wouldn’t care about the reasons.

I’d just want revenge.

I don’t know what to say, not that there is anything I could say.

“Law, you’re lucky I didn’t shoot you on sight,” Patrick says.

Keegan doesn’t move, instead choosing to continue leaning against the wall.

The guards Misha sent are an interesting bunch, although I haven’t made an effort to know any of them.

The one I’ve spoken to the most is Patrick, which is why I felt confident in sending him along with Winter. Keegan is usually silent—a man of few words. I think we’ve shared maybe thirty words with each other, and the most conversation we’ve had was in the helicopter a few hours ago.

But Patrick…he’s a hot head.

A hot head with secrets, apparently.

“Or is this like some kind of special ops family reunion?” Patrick grinds out, giving Marcus a look that would be lethal in most circumstances.

“Anyone want to fill me in?” I say.

I’m ignored.

“Long time no see, Law.” This comes from Keegan, who finally speaks. I raise my eyebrow at him.

So they all know Marcus?

“Yeah, well, that was the plan, right? I stay deep underground, and you pretend like you don’t know me.”

“Well, what brings you to this part of the world?” Patrick says, folding his hands behind his head. I note the thread of tension that causes his biceps to bunch.

“Probably for the same reason you are,” Marcus replies cooly.

“You’re a long way from the CIA headquarters, though,” Patrick says, rubbing his chin. “And you haven’t answered the question. What are you doing here, Law?”

Marcus sighs. “If I wanted to kill any of you, I would have done it by now, right?” He passes a look around the room, his eyes lingering on each of us for a moment longer than is comfortable.

“Start talking for real,” Keegan says in a measured tone. He pulls out his gun but doesn’t point it toward Marcus. Leaning further against the wall, he crosses his ankles and wrists, casually pointing his firearm toward the ground as he holds it with one hand over the other.

Marcus rasps a hand over his short fade. “How secure is this room, O’Brien?” Marcus asks, talking to Patrick.

Patrick grins, but it’s not a kind look. He presses a button on the wall nearest the exit. With the action, the blinds close over the single wall of windows, and the low hum starts around the room as the noise-canceling technology fires up.

A Max thing.

When he’s sealed the room, Marcus gives Keegan a heavy look, and the man places his gun back into his shoulder holster.

With a deep breath, Marcus begins to speak.

“I believe the Agency has been compromised. I got a signal from one of my people. They’ve cut the program, so I’m out here ghost.”

I try to keep up.

“So you think that Winthrope found you out?” This is from Keegan, who wears a serious expression that’s even more grave than usual.

“It’s likely, but not clear at this point. But I don’t particularly care to sit around and find out.” He blows out a breath, straightening. “Listen, I just came to warn you: There’s some serious shit about to go down on Isla Cara.”

“Isla Cara?” Technically, the property belongs to Ella and me, so if something were going down, we would know about it...right?

“Yep,” Marcus says, emphasizing the word. “Isla Cara is a very important place, if you haven’t figured that out yet.”

I nod, rubbing my thumbnail to my upper lip and thinking.

“Okay,” I draw out. “But we know about the big event coming up. The Hunt,” I reply.

“No,” Marcus snaps, not looking at me. “Yes, The Hunts are still happening, but there’s something even bigger about to happen and I don’t know exactly what it is. What I do know is you all need to either shit or get off the pot.”

Translation: We need to make a move or forget the whole thing. Except stepping back means mass devastation.

“Do you know who The Architect is?” I interject.

Marcus doesn’t physically acknowledge the inquiry, but he does reply, “No. I don’t.”

So much for that.

“When Benjamin was…dispatched several weeks ago, those who were on his side were given a choice: declare allegiance to the current Architect or be executed.”

“And I’m guessing no one took the execution route?” This is from Keegan.

“Nope, but that test of allegiance is essentially a fight to the death. Survival of the fittest is one of their core ideologies, so it makes sense.” Marcus shrugs. “They’ve done this before.”

“So let me get this straight,” Patrick says, “all these old asses are gonna go fight gladiator style? Won’t they all just kill each other with one hard push to the hip?”

I chuckle but keep it under my breath.

“You’d think, right?” Marcus says. “But of course they wouldn’t put themselves on the line. Well, not directly. They’ve stolen people to go in as their proxy.”

Marcus delivers this line so simply that it takes me a moment to understand what he’s saying.

“Wait,” I blurt out. “So the people they’ve trafficked are going to Isla Cara to fight to the death in their place? How many people are being tested?”

It takes Marcus several heartbeats to decide to reply.

“From what I could gather, there are at least a fifty Designers who need to prove their loyalty.”

That means they’re bringing in at least as many bodies to hunt as there are Designers. If not more.

“Listen,” Marcus begins, “I’m on my own here. I’m pretty sure I’m gonna get doxed pretty soon, so I’m trying to extend my time on this planet a little longer, you feel me?” Marcus says this as if it’s no big deal. “So I can’t stay with The Legion for long before I go off the radar for good.”

I nod, understanding.

“Do you know when this is happening?” Patrick asks.

Marcus replies, “It’s the climax of this week’s events—The Hunt on steroids. It’ll be bloodier than ever before.”

“Bloodier than before, but there will be more people than before too.”

My brain spins. This could be our chance. If hundreds of Designers will be there, it’s even more likely the higher ups will be on Isla Cara too. Maybe even The Architect.

We could actually take them out.

We could end this.

A sharp ringing from the landline on the desk causes my heart rate to spike. Patrick answers the call, listening for several seconds. I count my heartbeats.

Ba-dum.

Ba-dum.

Ba-dum.

Patrick looks at me. “It’s Misha,” he says, still holding the phone and my gaze.

All of us are silent for several moments.

With dread and acceptance filling my chest, I say, “What do we need to do?”