Tears sting my eyes. He went to Cora. He is keeping her safe, along with Breaker, and that thought alone makes mynerves settle some. There is no way they’d let anything happen to her.
My stomach twists thinking of her anywhere near Rune or Zane.
I’m not sure what all the mission entails, or how they plan on getting close enough to Rune to get into his lodge, but in the end, it doesn’t matter. I have one job. Get into his room, open the safe, and then kill him.
My heart skips at the thought, but I force myself to remember what I overheard Cora tell the men. The images Reaper showed me, the hand-carved figurines created by the brother they all lost. The sick hunts. Rune and the people who take part, have to go.
And it’s up to me to do it.
The lock on my door slides, snapping my focus to it. My heart hammers, and I bolt to the end of my bed, gripping the bedrail with one sweaty hand, and wait. The door opens, and my stomach lurches when 55 and 57 step into the room.
“Put this on,” 55 says, holding out a large black jacket. I take it, feeling the thick wool between my fingers. It looks like the peacoat Breaker gave Cora to wear, but smaller.
Keeping my eyes on them, I slip it on. I don’t like these men. Especially 57. My gut tells me to keep an eye on him as he drags his gaze over me.
“What are your names?” I ask as I button the coat.
“Doesn’t matter. Let’s go,” 57 says, gesturing to the doorway.
I tilt my ankle, feeling my little knife. I really, really don’t like this one.
As I pass between him and 55, I expect him to grab me and shove me forward, but he doesn’t touch me. With both soldiers at my back, I walk down the hall, then down the stairs, my skinpricking with unease. I don’t like them behind me, especially 57, but he keeps his hands to himself the entire way to the foyer.
Guess Reaper’s threat yesterday did its job.
“Kitchen,” 57 snaps, and I turn toward it robotically.
When I enter the room, I expect to find the men and Fallon waiting with a tray of food, but the room is empty. Instead of a tray, there’s a bowl of mushy oatmeal on the table with a spoon and a glass of water.
“Eat,” 57 says and points to the chair.
I do as instructed, my stomach a jumble of nerves. Every bite goes down with a struggle, but I clear the bowl and down the glass of water, wondering where everyone is.
After I finish the food, they take me outside. In the driveway, a sleek black Bentley is parked beside three large transit vans. 57 points toward the long drive that leads to the carriage house, and I instantly know we’re headed toward the range.
A blast of cold winter air blows my hair in my face, and I swipe it away, cursing myself for not grabbing a hair tie. I glance at the ocean, wishing Cora were here, then scrub that wish away. The last thing I want is Cora anywhere near these men or Fallon.
57 shoves at my shoulder. “Go.”
“Hands off,” I remind him as I tuck my chin into the collar of my black jacket and head down the drive.
“Try to run, and it won’t end well for you,” he says.
Of course, my mind conjures up the image of when the men thought I tried to escape, which makes my cheeks heat.
“No need to worry,” I tell him. “It’s too early to run.”
55 chuckles. “Tell that to Striker.”
I glance over my shoulder and catch his eye. He drops his gaze and furrows his brows, like he forgot he wasn’t supposed to talk to me. It makes me wonder about their lives. If they lived at the same school and had the same upbringing, but then Iremember Fallon saying he’d made a mistake treating my men like his sons.
My men.
Mine, as in no one can touch them, hurt them, demean them.
No one. Including their father, yet I’m powerless to stop him.
Reaper never promised me he’d tell me everything, much less leave the cruel grasp of Fallon’s control, but I hope they all do.
