Even as the words leave my mouth, the tactical reality sinks in. Jax has orchestrated this perfectly, forcing me to choose between securing Aurora’s immediate safety and pursuing Olivia. Aurora needs medical attention. She’s dehydrated, malnourished, and traumatized. The rational choice is clear.
But rationality means nothing when she looks at me with those eyes.
“He’s going to hurt her,” Aurora whispers, her voice cracking. “You don’t understand what he’s capable of.”
“I do understand.” I tighten my grip on her arm as she tries to pull away. “Better than anyone.”
Penn approaches. “Pursuit vehicles are ready. But Hunter—” He glances meaningfully at Aurora’s weakened state, then at my blood-soaked shoulder.
“We need to get her secure first,” I say, making the decision I hate but know is right. “Then we hunt him down. Full tactical response.”
“You promised!” Aurora fights against my grip with renewed strength. “You promised we wouldn’t leave her!”
“And we won’t,” I say firmly. “But I need you safe first.”
The sadistic bastard has won this round. He’s split us apart, taking the one person who could force Aurora to question whether she can trust me to rescue those she loves.
Her resistance suddenly falters. The adrenaline that kept her going finally ebbs, and her knees buckle beneath her. I catch her before she hits the ground, lifting her into my arms despite the searing pain in my shoulder.
Aurora collapses into the vehicle, physical and emotional exhaustion finally overwhelming her. I hold her trembling body against mine as Grayson passes me the tablet, which shows our tracking systems.
I watch Jax’s heat signature disappear from the screen, her sister—my fiancée on paper—vanishing into the darkness with a madman.
17
AURORA
The mountains rise like sentinels outside the window. Indifferent. Unmoved by human suffering. I press my fingertips against the cool glass, leaving smudges that fade within seconds. Just like truth. Just like trust.
Six hours in this place. Six hours of silence. Medical equipment beeps softly in the background—monitoring my vital signs, my physical recovery. The doctor said something about moderate dehydration, malnutrition, and bruised ribs. Words that floated past me without landing.
I haven’t spoken since Hunter carried me from that collapsing warehouse. What is there to say when your entire reality has been obliterated?
My father didn’t kill himself. He was murdered. And Hunter knew.
The man who touched me, who claimed me, who made me feel things I’d never felt—he was there when my father died and said nothing.
“You need to eat something.” Hunter’s voice comes from the doorway. I don’t turn. Don’t acknowledge him.
The mountain view blurs as tears fill my eyes. I blink them back. No more crying. No more weakness.
Somewhere out there, Liv is with Jax. My sister. The thought hollows me out completely. While I sit in this luxurious prison—because that’s what it is, despite the comfortable furniture and state-of-the-art security—Liv remains in the hands of a monster.
I press my forehead against the glass and close my eyes.
A blanket settles around my shoulders. I didn’t hear him approach.
“Aurora.” Hunter’s voice is soft, cautious. “The doctor says you’re severely dehydrated. You need to drink.”
I remain motionless, eyes fixed on the darkening mountains. In my mind, I’m back at the cliff house, standing where my father stood, feeling what he might have felt in his final moments. Did he know? Did he see it coming? Did he think of me?
I sit by the window, the oversized blanket swallowing me like I’m a child again. Outside, darkness creeps across the mountains, shadows climbing higher with every passing minute. I feel Hunter’s presence behind me—hovering, waiting. The silence between us has weight, substance.
My reflection wavers in the glass. Hollow eyes. Tangled hair. A stranger’s face. I barely recognize myself anymore.
Hunter shifts his weight, wincing. From the corner of my eye, I catch him adjusting the hasty bandage on his shoulder. The bullet wound he received during my rescue. I should care. I should feel something. Instead, there’s emptiness where emotion once lived.
Twelve days in a cell with Jax didn’t break me. One video did.
