Page 120 of Hunted

Her aim was perfect.

Only when he dropped and his face lay staring blankly at the camera did I realise who she’d taken out.

Addie had murdered the Commander’s son, Sebastos Varco.

Holy shit.

She paused only long enough to retrieve her weapon, and my heart panged watching her do so, then fled the scene.

Holy fucking shit.

What have you done, Adelaide? What have you done?

I risked a glance at my brothers, both of them equally shellshocked. Dek’s leg shook beneath the desk like he was fighting himself hard not to bolt out of here and go find her. I knew how he felt.

Varco’s face was purple. He stood behind his desk, shaking with rage, managing only short, sharp sentences that effectively sealed our doom.

“Find her. Bring her in. Dead or alive⁠—”

“Sir—” Dek tried. But Varco was past the point of reason.

His son was dead.

And Addie would pay—likely with her life.

“Deadflight Protocol activated.” Varco barely moved, but Mars seemed to understand he was now being spoken to. “Send out the alert, Mars. Now.”

“Yes, Sir,” he grunted, then raced out the door.

“She’s going to die for this. One way or another. If you ever want to see your little bird alive again—if you want the chance to say goodbye—then you’d better hope you find her first.”

Not waiting another heartbeat, I raced out the door, praying I wasn’t too late. I didn’t check to see if the others were following—I knew they would be—nor did I need to check my phone when it alerted, knowing already what it’d say.

We forwent the elevator in favour of the stairwell and three sets of boots pounded up the four flights to our level. I crashed through the hall, halting right outside our apartment door.

Addie left it ajar. Cracked open neatly with the spare key still in situ, like she knew she didn’t even have the time to pull it out or close the door.

With my heart in my throat, I gently pushed it open, dreading I’d find her… dreading I was already too late.

But our home was tidy—seemingly untouched.

We fanned out in silence, each of us rushing to our respective bedrooms in the hopes that she’d be there waiting for us.

But she wasn’t.

Adelaide Sinclair was gone.

She was a ghost. There and gone—vanished like a flicker. Leaving only her memory to haunt us.

“Addie,” I whispered, brushing my hand over the pillow we’d shared only hours ago.

Dek rushed in with fear in his eyes. “My gear’s gone.”

His panic only fuelled my own. “What do you mean? What gear?” I quietly demanded, hoping she’d managed to grab something that could save her.

“My jacket, my helmet, my rifle,” he answered, breathless, and my gut twisted in foolish hope.

“Where would she go?” I asked. “Van! Where would she go?!”