He could read the terror on my face.
“Princess… we need to go.”
I couldn’t move.
“This way!” Another muffled shout: this time, it was undeniably my father. “Give me back my daughter, you sons of bitches!”
His response was given in gunfire.
Hunter’s gaze shifted from me, to the door, and then to me again. He was hesitating, one boot already on the crunched glass outside, the other on the carpet. I could see him evenly split between a world of freedom, and a world with me… even if only for a few fleeting moments.
He was calling out to me, saying something. I could barely register his syllables. Everything was moving in slow motion, and I was struggling to maintain my grip on the world.
I swallowed slowly. It was the first motion I’d made in what felt like years.
He was even more pained now.
Still saying something. Maybe even shouting.
I tried to speak the words to him, “I’m coming, Hunter.” When I parted my lips, I tried to tell him, “Please just take me away from here.”
But those weren’t the words that came out.
“Just… go…”
The world came to a complete stop.
As blurry and disconnected as everything felt, the next image burned into my mind. It was the striking pain plastered across his face. I met his heartfelt gaze and watched his heart completely shatter.
All this time, he had been afraid he would hurt me. Hunter had feared that taking me into the life would corrupt me. I had whittled at his conviction, convincing him that I was ready for this. I had promised him my complicity, my place at his side, supporting and nurturing him in the fire that he was about to tread.
The truth was now all too apparent. He shouldn’t have feared hurting me. He should have feared being hurt by me.
I had broken my Hunter.
His jaw set, and he lingered for a second that felt like an eternity. If that door burst open before he disappeared from sight…
And just like that, he was gone.
Not a moment too soon, the door to our room broken open, and a strong, familiar arm squeezed around me, pulling me into its embrace as a gas mask was forced over my face.
“Oh, thank God…”
It was my father, backed up by two of his deputy officers. They fanned out around the room as he let loose a barrage of questions:
“Did he hurt you? Sarah? Are you okay? What the fuck did they do to you?”
All I could do was sob, the weight of these last few minutes descending upon me, breaking me down into a husk of my former self. I choked on the words as much as the pepper spray I’d already inhaled. I was robbed of any coherency.
I couldn’t breathe.
“He’s not here,” I heard one of the officers declare. As I turned my strained, tear-soaked gaze, I saw him glancing out the shattered window. “Looks like we found his escape route, though.”
“Do you want us to try to apprehend him on foot?” The other deputy asked, turning towards us.
I could see the irritation in the deputy’s eyes as his stare lowered upon me – to him, I must have just been the wayward daughter, getting into the wrong kinds of trouble.
Every ounce of my body feared my father’s next words, but he surprised me:
“…No. I have what I came for.”
I shuddered in his embrace.
The first deputy again: “Are you sure, sir? He couldn’t have gotten far. We can intercept him if we leave now.”
My father looked down at me again.
“Sarah, I need to know… are you hurt?”
Trembling, I shook my head.
With a heavy, shuddering sigh, he answered: “No, McAddams… we need to get our wounded to a hospital and process the assholes we’ve already handcuffed. Let him go. Let him understand the cost of crossing me…”
“And the others?”
“If they know what’s good for them, they’ll skip town. This is the last day that the Devil’s Dragons prowl Phoenix. I’m going to call on some friends in the other precincts, just to be on the safe side… we’ll drive them out east. We can force them to fend for themselves in the fucking desert.”
He rose up, pulling me to my feet beside him. That’s when I noticed the strain on his face, and how he hissed with his movements. I saw how his free hand clutched at his side, the red stains already soaking his uniform…
Blood?
I felt nauseous. I felt fear. I felt loathing and fury, my stomach churning violently with a cacophony of building, whipping emotions. But most of all… I felt guilty.
What the fuck have I done?
5
Eight Years Later
I clenched and unclenched my hands, lost in thought as I gazed down at them.
In my peripheral vision, a shambling form came near. I turned my attention, smiling as my father approached with a limp in every step.