Page 18 of Oathbreaker

I let my soul fly away.

FOUR

HUNTER

If I don’t keep moving, I’ll die. I know this to be true. Because in the quiet, still moments where my heart surprises me with another beat and Winter’s not home, I die little by little.

Winter is gone. Winter is gone. I can’t stop moving because Winter is gone.

“What!” I yell at the closed door to the fishbowl when someone knocks. Leo walks in. He looks tired, and there are dark circles under his eyes. Trailing behind him are two more security personnel. Around us, everyone is on high alert, working without stopping to track down Winter. But the enraging truth is that we’re no closer to finding her than forty-eight hours ago.

“Have you found her?” My agitation rises with every move of the second hand on the clock across the room.

“Are you in pain?” He moves to the side table where I threw my Dilaudid script. My injuries from the car chase include a fractured collarbone, a few cracked ribs, a nasty gash at my hairline that required stitches, and an apparent concussion.

Leo walks back to me with the bottle, and I bat it out of his grip.

He watches the prescription roll across the floor. I want to feel the pain. I don’t want to numb it at all. Because out there somewhere, Winter is suffering so much more.

She’s scared and?—

Stop thinking. Keep moving. Stop thinking. Keep moving.

I flex my trembling hands at my side.

Leo’s phone rings and he listens for a minute before turning to me.

“Do you know a Veronica Palmer?” he asks.

I drop my head back as far as my injuries will allow, staring at the ceiling.

“That’s Winter’s best friend,” I say.

Leo decides to let her in without my input. It’s the only right thing to do, even though my body tenses at the impending confrontation.

Five minutes later, when her shoes squeak over the polished floors, I’m prepared and unprepared for the level of vitriol she spews when she slams the door open. Rio stands to her side, ushering her into the work area, but even he struggles to contain her.

Veronica’s breaths come in short bursts. I presume the impact of her rage and the largeness of her pregnant belly limit her ability to inhale.

“I’m going to kill you!” she says. Blotchy red patches cover her face, and it’s a wonder she can see with her swollen, tear-filled eyes.

She moves faster than I expect. One second, she’s standing at the doorway, seething. The next, she’s in front of me, punching my face and chest with her tiny fists.

The action shoots searing pain across my broken bones.

I welcome the agony.

Rio lifts the woman off me, holding her arms behind her.

“I know you’re upset,” he says, releasing her a fraction.

“UPSET?” Veronica interjects.

“But you have to calm down. Can you calm down?” Rio holds Veronica to his chest and tries running his hands up and down her arms. He talks to her with a soft, calm tone, but Veronica appears immune to his charms because she struggles against his hold.

“Calm down, malen’ka mama.”

We all swing our eyes to the entrance of the fishbowl where the imposing presence of Misha Hroshko freezes out the room. I know limited Ukrainian, but calling her “little mama” is so opposite to the deathly stillness his arrival brings.

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