Page 64 of Hunter

“Mr. Volkov?” the officer’s voice cuts through the fog. “Are you there?”

I struggle to inhale, each breath coming in sharp, painful bursts. Finally, I manage to choke out, “Yes. I’m here. Is she—was anyone else hurt?”

“No, sir. It was a hit-and-run. The police are looking for the vehicle now.”

A wave of cold anger crashes through me, icy and consuming. Of course, it’s connected. This is them. The same shadow, the same invisible hand that has been orchestrating every move in my life. The same person who thinks they can destroy everything I’ve built—everything she is to me.

I can’t even feel my heart anymore. It’s just this unbearable pressure, like something heavy is sitting on my chest, forcing the air out of my lungs.

What do I do? What can I do? I can’t protect her. No matter how many men I have watching over her, no matter how many walls I build around her, it’s never enough. It’s never going to be enough.

The pressure intensifies, and suddenly, I can’t hear anything but the rush of my blood, the roaring in my ears. I don’t even hear the scream until it rips its way out of my throat, a guttural sound of pure desperation, of agony. I slam the desk and watch it fall to the floor. I don’t even register the sound; don’t feel the heat of my tears until they’re streaming down my face, burning my skin.

But nothing compares to the ache in my chest. Nothing compares to the realization that this is never going to stop until someone breaks.

Six words repeat over and over in my mind, each one driving a dagger deeper into my heart.

Six words I prayed I would never hear.

TWENTY-SIX

MAXIM

Ten minutes later, I walked into Sophia’s ER room. She’s sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, talking animatedly to an older man in green scrubs. He’s familiar, but his face is mostly hidden behind a mask, and I can’t place him.

I stop in the doorway, hesitant to intrude on their conversation. But the moment I step closer, something shifts in the air. She straightens, her back going stiff. Her head turns just slightly in my direction, but she stops herself from fully turning as if she doesn’t want to be rude to the man in front of her.

I let my gaze linger on her, searching for any signs of injury. There’s only one small bandage on her forehead, and I can’t help but feel a flood of relief wash over me. She’s okay. Nothing worse happened. But the relief is fleeting, gone in a heartbeat, replaced by a gnawing unease.

What’s the cost of my stay?

It’s always the ones you love the most who hurt the worst.

The words from the letter echo in my mind. They didn’t hurt her by accident. They didn’t nearly kill her because they weren’t trying to send a message. This wasn’t about her. It was never about her. It was about me.

It’s always been about me. And I’m the fool for thinking it was anything else.

The break-in at her house—undetected by the cameras—was message number two. The first was when they took her from my home. I thought she was safe with Lucas, but now, I can see the bigger picture. They didn’t question her. Why? Why didn’t they torture her for information? She wasn’t prepared for that kind of pain. She would’ve cracked. She would’ve given them everything—everything. But they didn’t.

And that tells me everything I need to know.

This goes deeper than I thought, and I’m so far behind, so blind, I can’t see the full picture. It’s like watching the shadows of my life stretch out of my reach, just out of my grasp. The rage bubbles up again, hot and sharp. I’m so close to losing control, throwing everything I’ve built into the fire because I need answers. I need to know what they want and who they are.

I walk closer, trying to keep the anger from spilling out. But before I can say anything, she holds up a hand, a clear ‘stop’ gesture, her face soft but firm.

“Before you say anything, Maxim—please understand, I’m fine.” She gestures to the two butterfly bandages on her forehead. “It’s nothing. Just a bump. No stitches. The doctor made it sound worse than it was. Please, don’t worry about me.”

I can feel her eyes on me, her concern shifting as she takes in my appearance. She doesn’t even try to hide the shock in her expression.

“I’m really alright, Maxim.”

The words sting. They should comfort me, but they don’t. I want to believe her, I do, but I can’t stop seeing what happened before—what could have happened. I can’t shake the feeling it’s not over. It’s just the beginning.

“I know.”

The words leave my mouth flat, devoid of emotion, but the truth is, I can feel the weight of them pressing against my chest like a suffocating force. I don’t want her to see how much this is killing me, so I bury it, tucking it away where she can’t reach it. Not now. Not when I need to keep a grip on my sanity.

Her brow furrows as she watches me—really watches me. She always does this, sees past the walls I’ve built. For a fleeting moment, I feel like I’m naked in front of her, exposed, as if she’s peeling me apart with just her eyes. I wish she didn’t have that power over me. Sometimes, it’s a gift; right now, it feels like a curse.

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