Page 90 of Promises in the Dark

But before we dove headfirst back into the shitshow, I needed to address the elephant in the room.

“So, what’s your theory on what happened with Viper back there?” I seriously asked, despite the lingering ache between my legs.

Red’s lips parted, her expression troubled. “Viper’s sutures were weakened,” she began, her words almost a whisper. “I don’t know how it happened, or how he could bleed out like a fountain after the TXA.”

Weak stitches? Massive bleeding? It didn’t fucking add up.

“Who patched Viper up?” I demanded to know.

She hesitated for a moment before answering, her eyes flickering away guiltily. “I did,” she admitted, shaking her head, clearly just as baffled. “But I swear to God, Rogue, I was careful with those stitches. There’s no way I messed that up.”

As I took a moment to process everything, my mind felt like a blender on full speed. Something wasn’t adding up, and the more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that there was foul play at hand.

I knew Red—trusted her skills like a religion—but this shit tank to high heaven.

“Could this be a sabotage?” I finally asked, the words leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.

She met my gaze, her eyes reflecting the same concern I felt. “I honestly don’t know,” she answered, letting out an exasperated sigh. “This whole mess is giving me a headache.”

I gritted my teeth. This wasn’t just a glitch; it screamed sabotage louder than a bullhorn at a rock concert. But who thehell would stoop so fucking low? The possibilities were endless, and none of them sat right with me.

Could it be Dr. Dipshit?

Or maybe I was just jumping to conclusions like a horny teenager at prom night. Until we had concrete proof, it was all just speculation. And we couldn’t afford to be sloppy. Because if someone was willing to fuck with Viper, they sure as fuck wouldn’t hesitate to come after us next.

This shit was far from over, and if we didn’t figure out what the hell was going on—and fast—we were all going to get fucked.

And not the good kind.

Chapter 25

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Every goddamn second was a new level of bullshit. By the time I dragged my ass back to my quarters, I was wrecked, wanting nothing more than to collapse on the bed and blackout.

The clock on the wall just sat there, mocking me with its late-night digits, reminding me how royally fucked I was for being up so late.

I stumbled into my room, feeling like a sack of bricks. Stripping off my filthy clothes, I dragged my ass into the shower, hoping the hot water would wash away the stench of the day. As the steam filled the cramped space, I let out a long, heavy sigh, feeling the tension slowly draining from my body, but nowhere near fast enough.

Finally feeling somewhat human again, I stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my waist. Then I heard it—the soft click of my door opening.

I didn’t remember leaving the door unlocked.

My heart rate skyrocketed, and every damn hair on my body stood up like I was about to go into battle. I grabbed the closest thing resembling a weapon—the penknife I still kept in my pants—and silently moved to the side, hiding behind the wall.

Yeah, wasn’t exactly Rambo’s combat knife, but it would do in a pinch.

I held my breath, my muscles tense as a piano wire, waiting for the intruder to make their move. And then I saw them—a shadow creeping across the floor, inching closer and closer to the bathroom.

No time for second guesses, no time for pleasantries.

I moved like a predator, swift and silent, pressing the cold edge of the blade against their throat with enough force to draw blood if needed.

There was a gasp, a soft sound of surprise, and then my hand froze. They froze too, probably wondering why the hell I was about to slice them open like a Christmas turkey.

The scent, the silhouette—it was familiar. Too damn familiar. With a shaky hand, I flicked on the light, and there she was, Red, standing there wide-eyed and startled, her hands up in surrender.

I lowered the knife, my pulse still racing like a damn NASCAR track.

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