Page 169 of Oathbreaker

I shake my head in hopes it will stop the tinny reverberation in my ear canal.

Move!

The rose garden is around the corner and down the hall. I leave my spot on the other side of the island while I analyze all the places August could be. I keep close to the walls, leaning into the shadows, when I walk past the entrance of the great hall. But before I hit the path leading directly to the rose garden, I whirl around when a piece of furniture screeches across the floor. Gun raised, I have my finger on the trigger when a pained “Wait” sounds from the floor inside the entrance to the dining room.

Within a shaft of moonlight, I recognize the bloodied face. Jared, Rio’s right hand and one of Hunter’s detail.

I bite my lip. I know what Hunter would tell me to do. He would tell me to keep moving, stay focused, and get my ass back to safety.

“Ms.…Winter….”

Suppressing a frustrated groan, I take four big steps over to him, making sure we’re alone in the room before assessing his injuries.

He’s bleeding. A lot. But I need to know if?—

“The Resistance. I’m on your side,” he rushes to say. Pain laces his words, and when he shifts, I zero in on the wound in his thigh. Getting on my knees, I bend over him after placing my gun on the floor.

Thigh. Lots of blood. Did it hit an artery? I pull the belt off my jeans and start to wrap it above the bullet hole as a tourniquet.

“There’s no time,” Jared urges. He takes the belt from my hands, winding it around his thigh and pulling it impossibly tight with a solid fist.

“The hangar. I don’t think there’s enough time for backup to arrive before they take August.”

“Where would they take him?” I rasp.

“I don’t know. That’s what we’re all trying to figure out.” He bites his lip, choking back a groan.

“I’ll come back for you,” I say. “When I get August, I’ll come back for you.”

Hunter, what the fuck do I do? Where are you?

“Don’t,” Jared bites out. “Get to the hangar and get August. They’ve got all of us down. Help is on the way, but if August leaves this estate, we might never get him back.” A fine sheen of sweat covers his face.

“Go,” he urges. He pulls his gun out and hands it to me. “Your gun is too loud. Use mine with the silencer.”

My hands tremble.

“Go,” he says with even more force.

August. Get to August.

“Shoot ‘em if someone comes to finish the job before I get back.” I slap my gun on his chest, picking up his hand to place it over the firearm before I rush out of the room.

The quickest way to the hangar is straight through the rose garden. The most covered path to the hangar is around the side of the solarium and through the small patch of trees that line the back of the airstrip.

The high-pitched whine of a helicopter starting up chooses for me. I go through the rose garden.

My muscles are unused to running and the heft of the bulletproof vest, especially while healing from my injuries, but I push through, push myself to stay vigilant to threats and get to August before whoever has him takes off.

Step one: get to the pavilion.

I push past the memories of the place—of the embraces Hunter and I shared. Just when I step under the wood and wrought iron awning, a bullet buzzes past my head and embeds into one of the posts.

I drop to the ground, flipping over more on accident than with intention, and fire immediately.

I gasp when I hear a masculine grunt. Looking up, a man dressed in all black stares me down while grasping his right arm.

He’s twelve feet away from me, and with my next breath, I fire my gun again. This time, it goes through his chest based on how his shoulder rears back, and he collapses to the ground.

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