Page 28 of Hunted

“Taylor,” Commander Varco responded brusquely, then promptly spun on his heel. His gaze landed on me with pinpoint accuracy, his glare venomous and yet somehow ineffective. When I remained non-reactive, his brows drew lower—suspicion practically wafting off of him.

Didn’t he know there was nothing that could hurt me worse than I already was?

“Sinclair. Almost time for class, isn’t it?”

Because only the Academy would hold a funeral in the morning and expect things to continue on as per usual after lunch.

“Yes, Sir,” Eth answered for me. “We’re on our way over now.”

The Commander’s phone ringing again prevented any further conversation, and I used his momentary distraction to re-lace my boots, lest he realise my uniform was not up to code and sanction me for it.

“What is it?” he spat at whoever had the misfortune of calling him.

“Let’s go,” Ethan whispered, balancing both mugs in his left hand and hoisting me up with his right.

“I don’t need you to babysit me,” I snarled, stalking down the hallway. “I don’t need you to help me up or cover for me or bring me hot chocolate out of pity.”

Ethan let the venom of my words wash over him like a languid wave. Instead of biting back, his lip twisted into a devious smirk. “That, my dear girl, is where you’re mistaken.”

“What?”

He swirled the mugs beneath my nose, and I inhaled the scent of something decidedly not hot or chocolatey.

“I didn’t bring you the drink version of a warm hug—I brought you the drink version of bad decisions and slutty vices.”

“Is that⁠—”

“Tequila.” He winked, offering me a mug.

“I love you,” I breathed, snatching it out of his hand and downing the sharp, pungent liquid in one effort. The alcohol burned all the way down to my stomach, igniting a series of minute bodily reactions from pins and needles in my fingertips to a buzzing behind my eyeballs. Warmth bloomed outwards from my belly, staving off the winter chill.

“I know.” He grinned, plucking the empty mug from my hands and depositing both on the nearest windowsill. He offered his elbow in a mockingly chivalrous manner, and I looped my arm through, equally unserious.

Together, we exited through the closest doorway, trekked through four inches of fresh snow, and made our way over to the training centre. Unfortunately, we had a date with three hot instructors who gave no fucks about where we’d all collectively spent our morning.

The show must go on.

[ 10 ]

ADDIE

PARAMORE – TURN IT OFF

In hindsight, the tequila was probably a bad idea.

Ten minutes into Beckett’s gruelling warm-up, my stomach was already protesting.

Twenty minutes into sparring, Eth managed to land a particularly solid jab to the soft spot in my lower belly—that little pouch that no amount of training or eating right would get rid of—resulting in full-scale rioting of the upchuck variety. I choked down the nausea and coughed to combat the burn in the back of my throat, copping an elbow to the cheek for my trouble.

“Dude, what the fuck?” I hissed, now certain he’d alcoholically sabotaged me on purpose.

“Oh, don’t make that face. You’d hate me more if I went easy on you.” He dodged my retaliatory knee to his crotch area and pouted. “That’s not nice, Adelaide.”

“Fuck nice. Nice gets you killed.”

“She’s not wrong,” a calm, deep voice rumbled from just outside the borders of the mat—where he’d apparently set up camp.

I didn’t need to look to know it was the sadist himself—he’d been keeping a close eye on us all session. I, on the other hand, had been pointedly ignoring him—or at least trying to—until he spoke. Again. And again. And again.