Page 22 of Oathbreaker

Devastation shines evident on her face.

“Ellie,” I say, walking over to her. “Please take care of August. We will talk about all of this later.”

Her mouth opens and closes, no sound coming out as tears trail down her face.

“Hunter, what…?” She looks around the room, her eyes bouncing from Misha to Veronica and back to me.

Then over to Leo.

She rushes face-first into my chest, and I wrap my arms around her. It’s a reflex. I want to be there for her—to help her process her hurt and confusion.

But I can’t. I can’t hold anything in my brain except getting to Winter.

She sniffs and pulls away from me. Her face is clear of all emotion, even though the rosiness in her cheeks and on her nose give her away.

“I’ll look after August,” she says, the words clipped. Choked.

She whirls out of the room without another word to any of us.

I look at Misha. “Can I add on to the favor?” I ask him.

The side of his nose twitches, and I suppose that’s the closest he’ll come to an amused smile. “Possibly,” he says in that same bored tone.

“I need more manpower. Can I borrow a few of yours?”

An eyebrow raise joins the nose twitch. “Sure.”

I will fix this. I will fix all this. And I’ll never let anything like this happen ever again.

An hour later, Leo and I sit on our plane along with eight of our security detail and eight of Misha’s.

As the jet engines hum, I allow the thoughts to rush in. They jumble in my brain, and I let them run free. The thought that’s at the forefront? I have to live with the reality that I have so, so utterly failed her. And if she never forgives me, that’s okay because I’ll never forgive myself.

FIVE

WINTER

The sun sets and rises twice.

I track the path of the shadows across the wood plank floors—the short tree in front of the porch gives a friendly wave as the snow comes in sideways.

On the first day, he raped me four times. After the first time, he left to take care of the body in the back of the car. He chained me to the exposed pipes in the filthy bathroom. A blizzard started while he was away, and it felt like the heavens and I were having a private moment, releasing torrents of unending grief. The wind whipped against the weathered siding as if the elements wanted to rage alongside me.

That night, he cried on my shoulder. He loves me, he said. He loves me so much, and it’s been torture not having me these last years.

You’re probably hungry, he said, so he hand-fed me cold beans from a can.

On the second day, he cut me. Methodically, he carved a tattoo into my thigh: a crude apple. We’ll be Adam and Eve, he said, starting our civilization in this fucking shack. He saw my c-section scar and drew lines across it. I threw up when he licked my blood.

Three more times, he took my body when he wanted. Then he made me sleep over the covers on the end of the bed. I was a bad girl and needed to be treated like one, he said as he handcuffed my wrist to his ankle.

When the sun crested today, a common refrain became a chant within the ruins of my soul as he unleashed his evil upon my body: No one is coming to save me. I have to save myself. Otherwise, I’ll die at the hands of Adam Collins.

My eyes snap open when Adam gets up suddenly from the end of the bed and bangs the front door open. He’s in clean clothes.

He walks onto the porch, and I hope—not for the first time—that he’ll fall through the splintered boards.

Each day, his paranoia grows. I can see it itching beneath his skin. I know as well as he does that the countdown is on for the end of this.

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