Page 7 of Reverie

Mother. This woman is…his mother. Amelia Brigham.

My heart hurts for him with every contraction.

“Why don’t we all go inside,” Misha says.

“Great idea,” I chime in. Hunter looks over his shoulder at me, and I try to give a wobbly smile despite the sickness swirling in my belly and the dull throbbing streaking from my wound.

“Sunbeam?” he questions, concern creasing his eyebrows.

Misha claps a hand on Hunter’s shoulder and begins to direct him toward the open doors of the mansion as if he were a child. Hunter shakes off his embrace.

“Don’t fucking touch me, Hroshko.” Hunter’s voice is so low that the menace in it is unmistakable. Misha smirks and the sight of it must tip Hunter over the edge.

“Or what, Brigham?” Misha’s eyes reflect ice and venom in return.

I blink and open my eyes to see Hunter pressing the edge of a switchblade against Misha’s jugular.

“Is this how you want us to work together?” Misha’s words are slow, and he raises his hands up as if surrendering.

Taking in the impossible scene, I snap my mouth shut and take a step forward.

“Hunter!” I place my hand on the arm holding the knife, pleading with him to release the mafiya leader from his hold. “What the fuck are you doing, H? Let him go!” I rasp.

Hunter’s jaw ticks with tension. “Don’t fuck with me,” he says with malice.

Hunter holds Misha’s gaze. The words are low enough that they’re just for the pakhan, and I barely suppress my whimper when a bead of blood trails from a small nick in Misha’s skin.

“Hunter, please!” I glance toward Amelia, who I now notice sports several guns strapped to her person. But despite thebadassery she displays with her uniform, the way she clutches her hands over her mouth as if holding in a scream gives me pause.

Hunter’s mother—a woman who was gravely injured at some point in the past—is torn up at seeing her son again.

Did she plan this?

Did she know?

How the hell did she survive an acid attack?

I shiver at the thought.

“What are you going to do, Brigham?” Misha’s voice mocks Hunter’s silent aggression.

Hunter opens his mouth to say something, but he freezes at the unmistakable sound of a racked gun chamber.

Luna stands with a pistol pressed to Hunter’s temple.

“Moya lyubov, Hunter here is just having a moment. He’ll step back in a second and put his weapon away.”

I pull on Hunter’s arm again, hoping to force him to pull the knife away from Misha’s neck. Hunter growls when Misha smiles, and I prepare myself to jump on his back and tussle him to the ground if he doesn’t get it together.

“He fuckin’ better,” Luna drawls, her grip steady on her Glock. “Y’all might be family, but I won’t hesitate to put a bullet in his brain.”

The words clang between my ears, but the significance of them doesn’t land until Misha’s humored expression turns…worried. He grimaces.

Wait. What?

“What do you mean byfamily?” Hunter drops the knife to his side and turns to face Luna, which puts the barrel of her gun between his eyes. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Luna swears and pulls her weapon back, reholstering it while she bites her lip.