34. Hunter
THIRTY-FOUR
HUNTER
M isha has a tank. I almost thought he was joking when he mentioned getting the massive military vehicle on the back of a transport truck and sending it to Amelia Manor with the ground crew.
I didn’t question him about anything else when I saw the armored vehicle roll onto the back of an oversized eighteen-wheeler two minutes after our standoff in Misha’s office.
“Come with me in the helicopter,” Misha yells over the commotion. At least two hundred people rush through the compound, and all of them carry guns. Their orderly movements would stun me if I weren’t so enraged.
So yes. Helicopter good.
Leo and I file into the MD500 and put on the headsets hanging from the ceiling. Before I can close the door, Misha hops into the pilot chair.
“Where are we landing?” I bark out.
“We’re going to the front door,” Misha says, his voice just as short.
“Is that wise?” Leo asks, his jaw tight. I’ve never seen the wild look in his eyes before .
“Oh yes,” Misha replies. Then he presses a button and heavy artillery weapons release from the side of the aircraft.
“Ah,” I say.
Seconds later, we’re in the air, speeding toward Amelia Manor. Misha’s focused face reveals the calculations spinning in his brain. I glance around the cabin. MD500s are military aircraft, and with the weaponry on the outside and the ARs and AKs mounted in the back, it certainly feels like one.
Although Misha pilots the helicopter smoothly, Leo’s leg bounces up and down, mirroring my movements.
“Have you heard anything from inside?” Leo says with rushed words.
“Except for the distress call Rio sent, nothing.” A muscle pulses in Misha’s jaw.
Leo’s hand clenches into a fist.
It’s only been ten minutes, but it feels like forever before we see the illuminated road that stretches toward Amelia Manor. Beyond it, the house is dark.
“Let’s light their asses up, yes?” Misha says with a dark smile.
When I look down and see several people—at least fifty—scrambling near the front gate below and the glint of their semi-automatic weapons pointing toward us in the sky, I hiss, “Yes. Let’s.”
Misha banks hard to the left, and I twist to take the joystick that controls the right side of the helicopter’s retrofitted weapons.
I’m prepared for the too-loud, rapid trill of the minigun as it releases fifty rounds per second, but I’m not prepared for the fucking missile Leo launches toward the front gate.
“Holy shit!” I yell as I grapple for a handhold when Misha banks right. When we circle back around, the people I saw at the gate are gone.
Virtually misted like we’re in a fucking comic book .
“Hold on,” Misha says in a voice that’s entirely too calm for what we’re facing. He picks up speed, zooming us up and forward at an alarming rate over the rose garden. Near-blinding lights illuminate the area from the bottom of the helicopter.
“Anything?” Leo asks.
“No,” the rest of us say as we scan the garden for movement.
Right as Misha aims for the same field where August and I flew toy replicas of the aircraft I’m currently sitting in, Luna’s voice comes through the headset.
“Just got a distress call from the safe room at Amelia Manor. Rio says Ella, Veronica, and her baby are accounted for.”
She pauses. “The dog is there too.”
Leo’s shoulders drop, and his leg stops shaking.
Alarm clangs in my head when I focus on what she says and what she doesn’t say. Misha drops the helicopter into the field and begins the shutdown sequence.
“What about Winter and August?”
The silence continues long enough for me to repeat myself. “What about Winter and August ?”
“They’re not with the group,” Luna says. “But it’s a good thing you put the tracker in both of them. We’ve narrowed their location to your hangar.”
I swing the strap of the nearest loaded AR-15 over my shoulder and rush out of the helicopter in seconds.
“Wait for backup!” Misha yells, but I ignore his words.
Over the vibrating whirr of the slowing rotary blades comes the loud, unmistakable crack of gunfire.
Gunfire that comes from the vicinity of my hangar.
In a break in the noise, an unmistakable, terrified bellow comes from that direction.
August.
I run across the field, trusting Leo and Misha to have my back. The AR-15 is light in my arms, at the ready to gun down anyone standing between my family and me.
I go in the direction of the gunshots, running full-out and increasing my speed.
Agony is thick in my chest as I round the last pathway and jet into the open bay of the hangar.
“Winter! August!”
My eyes swing to a form on the ground that I quickly determine to be Blair’s bloodied body. Her arm twitches, and she faces away from the entryway in a pool of crimson.
Then I look at August, trembling but clutching onto Winter, who sits up on the ground, holding on to August despite the crimson flowing down her arm.
“No!” I roar, sprinting to them both.
“Winter! August, are you hurt?” I say, assessing my son while I move my hands over Winter’s face. August screws his eyes shut, clutching onto Winter tighter and vocalizing with wild shouts.
The action makes Winter groan.
The MD500 still idles across the field. I could get us up in the helicopter and out of here in a few minutes, and I could be at the hospital in fifteen.
“August, I need to look at her,” I say, trying to sound calm.
August releases Winter, blood soaking his light-colored shirt.
“Winter, I’m going to get us all out of here,” I vow, but my voice cracks.
“H, can I just tell you that getting shot fucking hurts ?” Winter grumbles, her face screwed up in obvious agony.
I move to get her into my arms and get us the fuck out of here.
“All you had to do was follow the plan.”
My head snaps up, meeting Blair’s gaze. Hot tears spill from her rage-filled eyes, and the gun trembles in her hand .
August makes a grating, distressed sound, but I don’t spare him a glance.
Because from this position, I watch as a bullet goes through Blair’s right eye socket in a flash.
August shouts, a guttural, then piercing sound, and I stare for a second, dumbfounded and unable to reconcile that my son just saved us.
He just killed someone.
“August.” My voice is a dread-filled rasp, adrenaline and despair commingling and tying my vocal cords.
The sound of pounding feet interrupts the moment, and in a second, Misha is there.
“ Da- d.” August produces the word with effort, choked and low.
He turns to me, his hands trembling with such violence that the gun clacks to the floor.
“I’ve got you. We’re getting away from all this. Go with Misha. I’m right behind you.”
He trembles, still vocalizing his distress and pain and fear, but after a second in my embrace, he lets go and goes with Misha.
“Hunter…” Winter groans, weak. “I think I might pass out.” She blinks once, slow, as if her eyelids are heavy.
Her eyes slam shut again, and I don’t stall. I don’t look at Blair’s body. I swing Winter into my arms, choosing expediency over being gentle. The pain must shock her into alertness because she screams, her teeth gritted.
“We need to move, Sunbeam.”
“I put on the vest.” She pants. “You didn’t teach me about that.” Her voice rocks with each step I take.
I exhale. “Smart girl.” My voice shakes.
“Eh, some people think I’m smart,” she replies. Then she’s out cold again.
I pick up the pace, rushing back to the helicopters. Misha and my son are already there, and August sits wide-eyed in Leo’s seat.
“Where is Leo?” I yell over the sound of the accelerating blades.
“He went inside to the rest of them,” Misha says. I don’t have time to respond before Misha throws a headset at me and we’re up in the air.
We leave Amelia Manor as if nothing happened despite the tank rolling up the driveway and gunning down more people as they spill out of my house. Later, I know Misha will send people to clean up the bodies.
No one will ask questions about the people killed.
But Blair’s death...that one will be harder to cover.
Winter’s eyes flutter open, slowly focusing on my face.
“I promise I’m okay,” she says, her voice hoarse. “It’s just a little cut. The sight of blood makes me….”
She looks at her shoulder, grimacing when she tries to lift it for better assessment in the inconsistent moonlight. She looks back at me. “I’m a little sensitive to the sight of blood.”
Misha banks left in the direction of his compound, and Winter groans when the movement jostles her.
“Hospital,” I bark.
“No,” Misha says in a flat tone.
“What the fuck did you just say to me?” I grip Winter tighter, and she lets out a yip of protest.
“Use your brain, Brigham. Your home was just attacked. Do you think you’ll be safe at a hospital? I have a full hospital at my home, including excellent healthcare providers. She will do a lot better there.”
I stare at the side of Misha’s face, unsure what to do. All I know is I’m three seconds away from hijacking this helicopter.
This whole situation is confusing and angering. I don’t know who knows what, who has what, which side is right or wrong, or if there are sides at all .
“I’m okay, H.” Her voice is soft over the headset, and I look down at her. “We’re okay.” Her lips tremble. “She barely clipped me. And….”
Her hand goes to her stomach, and she bites her lip. “Misha’s right. I don’t know up from down or left from right.”
I flex my fingers and try to keep calm, even though they are coated with blood. Her blood.
“I trust you,” Winter says. She places her bloody hand over mine.
She trusts me. I will make sure she never has a reason not to.
“I saw you, you know. At Isla Cara when I was a kid,” I say, not taking my eyes off Winter’s hand covering mine.
Silence. Then Misha says, “I know.”
I inhale deeply. “You were with them.” It’s a statement, not a question.
“Hunter, I was never with them. One thing you’ll need to learn quickly is that you cannot trust your eyes, and everything you know about your life is wrong.”
I move my gaze to where my son sits. August’s eyes flutter, rapidly twitching from left to right as we pass over trees.
How can I decide what’s best when I don’t know what we’re fighting against?
“Well, everything except maybe her,” he adds. When I turn back to him, he nods to Winter’s still form.
A minute later, we touch down at Misha’s compound and the place is alive with activity.
Without exchanging words, Misha exits the helicopter, and I follow suit. After a brief examination of the helicopter, Misha walks through a short line of people who command his attention. A kind-looking woman with soft features approaches August, handing him a new tablet and talking with him in soft tones .
August looks in my direction, hoping for guidance. I nod and say, “It’s okay, we’re safe here.”
August walks off with the stranger. I pray I’m not wrong about our safety.
Winter’s soft hand lands on my shoulder, and I shift to help her out of the helicopter.
Everything feels surreal. I should move. Instead, I grow roots in this spot.
Misha’s sure steps toward the front stairs are starkly different from how he’s always presented himself. He was formidable as the pakhan.
Shedding that persona and stepping into…whatever this is? It’s fucking terrifying. We’re not on even ground, and it’s fucking with my head.
Misha pauses as if thinking and then turns. His cool gaze settles on me. The movement feels heavy, and the din around us drops to almost nothing. It’s as if everyone is waiting to witness this next interaction.
“You don’t have to accept our help,” Misha says in a clear voice. “You could put your head in the sand and pretend nothing is happening around you.”
Misha’s eyebrow quirks as he moves to stand an arm’s length in front of me.
“But if you decide to stay, you will fight with us.”
He takes one more step closer.
He lowers his voice. “What do you choose, Brigham?”
The night air stills in anticipation. I think about the options, what’s safest for my family, and what it means to have this ability to be useful not just to everyone I care about but to the world.
It’s fucking heavy shit.
Winter presses into me, and I run my finger down the side of her face. When I cup her cheek in my palm, she lifts her chin.
“I trust you, Hunter Brigham. ”
“Hunter.”
It takes me a second to register the familiarity of the voice. I scroll through my memory, trying to match the sound of my name to everyone I’ve encountered.
It doesn’t make sense.
So I turn to face the speaker and every single synapse in my brain breaks.
Completely shatters.
The ghost smiles, but it trembles before it says:
“I’ve been waiting for you.”