“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.