Page 33 of Reverie

“He said that he’s been spying on us but that he’s part of something called The Resistance.”

Hunter hums.

“So you know about The Resistance?” I ask. I try to turn my head to look at him more fully, but Hunter presses into me with a firm hold. My shoulder starts to protest the movement.

The sound he makes is an affirmative.

I raise my eyebrow at that.

“Well, after Rio came in and I decided he wasn’t a threat, I left everyone else in the safe room to find August. Along the way, I came across a few bad guys. I-I shot two people. I think I killed them both.”

I know I killed Rodrigo. And the other guy is probably dead too.

“Jared!” I shout with a gasp.

“Was he a traitor too?”

“No! No, he helped me. He gave me a better gun, but he was in bad shape. Is he…?” I cover my mouth and shift to look at Hunter. The expression he gives me is troubled.

“I don’t know, baby. I wish I did.”

I close my eyes, and tears fall.

Taking a steadying breath, I say, “I found August, and Marcus-fucking-Law was there.”

“Marcus Law? Your neighbor?” He rasps, incredulous.

“Yes, one and the same. He killed Carlos, the bastard, and was standing over August. I thought he was going to kill August, so I was ready to shoot him from my hiding spot, but then he just…walked away.”

“Huh,” Hunter says in a thoughtful tone.

“August?” I question, my voice sharp. Hunter flinches. “You haven’t checked on August? Is he okay?” I force him to release me from his hold.

“He’s…” Hunter begins, and I scoot up the bed to face my overwhelmingly frustrating boyfriend, ready to haul myself around the complex to find our—hisson.

“Wait, Sunbeam. August is safe. I need to make sure you’re okay,” he says.

“He was drugged, H!”

“And you wereshot,” he explodes. His nostrils flare as he inhales sharply, and I rear back into the pillows.

“Yes, but?—”

“But nothing, Winter!” He jumps up from the bed, walking to the other side of the room before stopping with his back to me and his hands on his hips. His head hangs low.

He turns.

“It’s not a competition on whose life I value more—yours or August’s. You both are immeasurably important to me. So I cannot stand the thought of anything happening to either of you.” He breathes in deeply, holding in the air before exhaling in a great bellow.

“Why did you leave the safe room?” His words are low, and he doesn’t look at me as he delivers them.

I blink at the question.

“Why?” I question. “How could I not?”

More silence.

“What you mean to say is, ‘Thank you, Winter.’” His eyes lock on mine, and I lift my chin in defiance.