Page 6 of Oathbreaker

My sobs fall on deaf ears. “Please, just let me go.”

He pretends to think about it for a minute.

“Nah,” he says happily. “It’s just you and me, baby.” He runs the back of his hand down my twitching cheek.

“I’ll forgive your sins eventually, princess,” he snaps. His face morphs as quick as a lightning strike.

“W-What?” He presses his body even harder against mine, and I try to force my hands between us to cover myself. To protect myself from him.

I’m cold. I’m so, so cold.

“I’ll forgive you, eventually. But you’re going to have to earn it.”

He shoves me to my knees. His cock is right in front of my face, pressing against the stiff fabric of his tactical pants.

“You remember how I like it. Right, Winter?”

I throw up all over his pants and shoes.

“Fuck!” he roars, and then he kicks me in the side again.

Static dances around the edge of my vision as I collapse on the ground into a puddle of half-digested champagne and canapés.

He kicks me again and again, pulls me up, and then punches me in the eye.

The socket crunches.

“Adam, please stop!” With the plea bursting through my bloodied lips, I flip onto my knees to crawl. Pebbles dig into my flesh. I place my hands in prayer in front of my chest—muscle memory from our days together.

His face morphs from maniacal rage into a soft horror.

“Oh, Winter. Beautiful Winter,” he says. He grabs my face, and I flinch away. His expression hardens.

“Don’t move away from me,” he says with a dead voice. He brings his hand back to my face, and his fingers whisper over the swelling beneath my eye.

“You’ll look ugly for days after this,” he says with a sigh.

Headlights cut into the darkness. The lights are far off. So far off. Too far off.

But still, I gather all my strength and lurch toward the road.

I hear him mutter “shit” when he sees the lights too. He grabs my leg, dragging me back onto the hard asphalt.

“Why couldn’t you just be good, Winter?”

With one last hot breath, I slip into unconsciousness as his fist smashes my face.

TWO

HUNTER

“Happy New Year!” An unfamiliar woman slings her arm around my neck once I push through the ballroom’s double doors. The party is in full swing—the celebration slated to go well into the early morning hours. The woman hanging off me smells like a nauseating mix of champagne, gin, and olive brine.

“Yeah, you too,” I mutter, pushing her away. She gives me a drunken smile and saunters away when her partner pulls her arm.

Just give it fifteen more minutes, and then you’ll be out of here.

A glance at my watch shows I’ve been gone for more than half an hour, and as I face the wall of people milling around the room and spilling out into the foyer, I want to turn right around and run away with Winter.

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