Page 83 of Broken Discipline
But they were my kids, for fuck’s sake.
“Where’s Ramona?” I asked.
“She’s—”
“Give her the phone.”
Static filled the speaker as the phone shifted between hands. Ramona breathed into the microphone like she was holding back tears.
“Where were you?” she whispered, her words harsh and vulnerable.
My heart broke in two. What could I say?
“Those are my kids, Finn. My kids.”
My world shattered at those words. They were her kids now; we were no longer a unit. She erupted into a wailing sob, the volume cracking through the speaker, and I forced myself to listen as I drove back to the Carter Compound. Inside, she lay in a heap of blankets. I crushed my arms around her, trying to tell her with my touch that it would be okay. I would fix this.
But it was my fault.
I pulled Ramona’s chin, forcing her to look at me, but she curled into herself, refusing to meet my eyes.
“You promised you would be there,” she whispered. “And now they’re gone.”
“I’m going to get them back.”
Finally, she locked eyes with me. Fury bubbled in her amber eyes, like molten gold swirling inside of a vat. She wasn’t going to forgive me for this.
There was no way I could forgive myself.
I ripped myself away from her and met Chip in my office, ordering him to watch over her, staying in the bunker with her if he had to, then I armed myself with everything I had, including my bulletproof armor again.
The minutes rushed by like grains of sand trickling in an hourglass as I drove through Opulent Gates. When Saunders’s Victorian farmhouse came into view, I gritted my teeth.
Underneath that pointed roof, he had the twins.
My fucking blood.
My father had died to protect our bloodline and to give me a chance at a real family. And if I had to, I would die protecting the twins too.
A soldier at the edge of the porch aimed his rifle at me, but before he could pull the trigger, I shot him in the head and he fell. Another soldier shot at me and I dived behind an oak tree, then leaned around the trunk and shot him in the chest. I leaped toward the front porch, and the estate manager opened the door, a small bomb in his hands. I grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him out onto the grass. His eyes widened as the bomb beeped. The explosion crashed through the yard. Scraps of his body thumped onto the lawn.
I crept through the house. Most of the doors were open, but in the back corner, there was a single locked room. I tapped the wood with my knuckles.
“Larkin? Leon?” I whispered. “Are you in there?”
“Daddy?” Larkin squealed.
“Shh!” Leon rasped. “Shh! Stop talking!”
I bowed my head with relief. The kids were in there, and based on the fact that I heard no other movement, they were likely alone and safe, but I wasn’t finished yet. Keeping my back to the wall, I inched down the rest of the hallway, searching for Saunders. Another soldier shot me in the chest right as I shot him in the shoulder. The blow pummeled me against the wall, a numbness bursting through my chest. A second shot today. I glanced down, gauging the damage. Broken ribs. I counted to ten, the pain pulsing through me, then I pushed myself back up, grabbing the ax from the sheath in my back pocket.
When I turned the corner, the shoulder-wounded soldier stammered, but my blade hacked into the side of his head, piercing his skull. He fell to his knees, the crack of his kneecap against the hard floor reverberating through the house. Then he collapsed. Another soldier aimed at me, and I grabbed my gun, shooting him in the neck.
“Saunders,” I yelled. “Stop being a coward. Face me like a man.”
I snaked through the house, but in my mind, I saw Ramona, sobbing into her arms, buried under blankets, completely helpless.
A door creaked, and I shifted, waiting for the sound to continue. I inched forward, drawing closer to the origin of the noise. Finally, I saw Saunders’s black and white hair in messy clumps. He swung around, facing me, sweat dripping down his face, a gun rattling in his hands.
