Page 168 of Oathbreaker

“Lock this behind me,” I yell to the room over my shoulder as I take determined steps toward the exit.

“Where the fuck are you going?” Veronica is frantic, pressing onto Rio’s wound, and Ella rushes from the back of the room, having found a bassinet in the supplies.

“What? Winter, you can’t go out there!” Ella cries. I look over my shoulder and take a grounding breath.

“I’m going to get my son,” I say. And with that, I close the door, and the locks shut, sounding like a death knell.

THIRTY-THREE

WINTER

Ihonestly don’t have a death wish.

In fact, I plan on not dying for a very long time, hopefully surrounded by loved ones and with a low amount of pain.

But I can’t wait around for someone to come and maybe help us. Help August.

Please, God. Please let him still be alive. Please help me find him and get him to safety.

Standing outside the closed safe room door, I readjust my weapons. August was last in the rose garden, and I pray they haven’t moved from there.

Move, Winter!

I spin around and feel my way toward the exit, trying to remember which door Hunter showed me all those weeks ago leads to the rose garden.

It feels like it’s been forever.

I take a deep breath as I press the panel, opening the door to find myself in the kitchen.

Darkness shrouds the mansion, and the absence of light highlights the death now present throughout the house.

I calculate every step, and my senses heighten with a mixture of fear and determination. I can’t afford any mistakes, not when August’s life hangs in the balance.

A muffled pop rings out from the direction of the foyer, and I jump, clutching my chest and dropping to the ground.

Get to August. Bring him to the safe room. Kill anyone in my way.

I’m in the space between the kitchen sink and the island, and I silently position my body to crouch on the balls of my feet. The gun is heavy in my hand, and I flex my fingers around the grip.

Shoot to kill. Hunter’s instructions clang around my brain, and I take a silent, cleansing breath to ground myself.

“Where the fuck are they?” Rodrigo’s voice again. It’s a low murmur, as if he’s talking to himself. The static feedback of a walkie-talkie activating almost causes me to jump.

“We have the boy,” a voice on the other side confirms. August.

“They want him alive, so don’t fuck him up too much,” Rodrigo says, amusement in his voice. He sounds totally uncaring about his safety.

The other speaker verbally acknowledges Rodrigo’s words. Rodrigo’s footsteps become louder as he draws closer to me.

“I don’t know why they want the retard to live but do as they say. Follow your orders,” he adds.

Blazing fury surges through my veins at the slur. So I jump up from my hiding spot with my gun pointed at Rodrigo’s head.

“Yeah, you’re fucking done,” I spit out. The only reason I’m able to pull the trigger and place a bullet right through his skull before he does the same to me is because he doesn’t have time to draw his weapon.

He collapses to the floor, and blood rushes from the hole in his skull.

My ears ring in the shockwave of the blast. The shot is loud—louder than I was ready for without hearing protection.

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