Page 59 of Oathbreaker

“Where are you going, H?” Leo asks.

I have to stop them. How can I?

Max returns to his computer, tapping at the keyboard at a more furious pace than before, if that’s even possible. He doesn’t spare me a glance.

Control. I need to control this situation.

“I’m...” I don’t finish the sentence. I just leave.

They’re in control. They’re in control. They are in fucking control.

I leave the office with no destination in mind, so when my feet take me to the home gym, I’m relieved to have something to do.

The exercise room hasn’t been used in over a month, certainly not since Winter came home.

Winter. Home.

What would happen if she were to hear that I’m still “engaged” to Blair? Would she believe that the man who looks like me on the television isn’t me?

Of course, she’ll understand. I just need to explain it to her.

I’ll explain it to her…and bring her even deeper into this mess.

I walk the perimeter of the gym with my hands on the top of my head, clutching at my hair. None of this would have happened if she’d never gotten with me—if I’d pushed back against Ella and stood my ground when she hired her.

I’m no good for Winter.

And yet, even knowing that, I can’t let her go.

I strip off my button-down shirt and step up to the punching bag. I don’t bother wrapping my wrists in sports tape, instead opting to put all my power behind the right jab.

Control it.

I focus on the sensation of my fist pummeling the leather bag, imagining that I’m pushing through the faces of the people who have hurt me. Hurt the people I love: August. Mom. Winter.

A flash of Adam Collins’ face manifests in my consciousness—him alive and present in his inmate photo. I punch the bag again and again, imagining the feeling of his skull cracking beneath my fists and the pulp of his brain matter squishing under my knuckles.

Control yourself.

When was the last time I felt I could master my emotions while things were going haywire? It was when Maiya had just died, and I fucked the flight attendant while on the way from Türkiye to D.C., right before I met Winter. The flight attendant was so eager to do whatever I wanted, so when I took her, controlling her every move, even controlling whether she breathed, I felt in control. Aggression, dominance, whatever anyone calls it, let me access the thing I needed most: Calm.

Even though I was quite literally jetting into the unknown, I was able to silence the negative voices in my head and feel on solid ground for a moment.

But then I saw the same flight attendant standing over Winter on the flight from North Carolina. Not that I planned it that way. Leo and Misha handled the logistics of our transportation so I could focus on Winter. It’s not like I had the brain space to plan anything like that.

But when I walked up the aisle and saw my past colliding with my present—my future—I felt sick.

Control. Control. Life makes sense when I am in control, especially when I can fall into my dominance.

The women I held power over…I never needed to know their names. I never needed to feel anything for them. They were an outlet—a way to avoid pain, cover up hurt. A way to get high.

A transfer addiction.

I punch the bag harder, harder. In my mind, the smack of flesh hitting leather takes up the rhythm of past fucks.

“God-fucking-damnit!” The sound bursts from my lips and the echo against the glass-paneled walls causes more tension to settle in my muscles.

I never needed more. I never needed to face the shit I was running from head-on. I could just run and run and avoid and avoid.

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