Page 95 of Oathbreaker

The scrape of chairs and the clink of ceramic hitting the marble countertop force me to move. I stomp my feet a little louder than usual to pretend I’m just coming up to the room.

Does that ever work?

“Good morning!” I say brightly. Both Hunter and August look at me with a lifted eyebrow. August’s gaze is so much like his father’s that I have to blink a few times.

What would our baby look like?

Hunter hands me a coffee mug, and I take it, grateful for something to do with my hands. The color of the coffee is perfect—a blonde color due to the heavy cream added.

“Four sugars are in there for you,” Hunter adds. He remembered how I like my coffee, even though I rarely drink it.

I love this man.

“Goodbye,” August says, loping out of the room.

“Bye, Aug!” I call after him.

Taking a grounding breath, I ask Hunter, “So what is so important that you have to wake me up at the ass-crack of dawn?”

He stands next to me at the island, our shoulders touching. “Have you ever held a gun, Sunbeam?”

I startle, leaning away to get a good look at him.

“No, do I need to?”

“Yes,” he says.

Oh. Okay.

“We’re going to the gun range on the property. You need to learn how to shoot and actually do some damage. The guys often use it throughout the day, so I wanted to bring you when no one is around.”

“Oh-kay,” I drawl. I don’t ask the silly question: Why do I need to learn to shoot? Because the answer is obvious.

People are trying to kill us. It would be better if I knew how to defend myself and protect our family.

I swallow at that. Our family. Is that what we are?

Hunter moves around the kitchen as I analyze my coffee cup. Ideally, I wouldn’t be in a situation where it’s kill or be killed. Hunter would be there to keep me and our family safe. But when have things turned out how they should?

“Get a move, cupcake,” he says, and then he slaps my ass again.

I follow him out of the kitchen, and I smile when he takes my hand. He stops in front of the study.

“See this panel here?” he asks.

I nod.

He presses on the top left corner of the wood frame, and it pops open.

“Go in,” he says, pushing me inside. He follows me, pulling the panel door shut behind him. When I move inside, a light comes on, casting shadows around the narrow passageway.

“So where are we going? Narnia?”

He doesn’t laugh at my quip.

“There are nine entrances to the safe room that follow this corridor between the walls. This passage is soundproof and bullet resistant.” My eyebrows shoot to my hairline.

“Meaning?” I add in a reedy voice.

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