Page 11 of Forsaken Oath

His voice hits me in the sternum. I look underneath the table and see the same guy from the burger truck, his blue eyes locked on mine.

I freeze for a second, breathing, “You.”

I nod, my back pressed against the cool metal of the booth, trying to focus on his voice, not the chaos outside. The way he’s so calm—it’s comforting, even in the middle of all this. I glance at him, seeing that same quiet intensity in his eyes that I noticed earlier. His hand is still on my arm, grounding me, and for some reason, that makes me feel a little safer.

The wind howls outside, and I tuck myself closer to him, closing my eyes for a second. We’re pressed together, the tiny space leaving no room between us, and I can feel his steady breathing, the warmth of his body. The storm rages outside, but in here, beneath this table, everything feels strangely still.

5

BEAU

My hand findsher leg before I even think about it—smooth, bare, trembling. She’s frozen, her wide eyes locked on mine, a look of pure panic etched into her expression. It’s the kind of fear that shuts down everything except survival instincts. But she’s not moving, not doing a damn thing except staring at me. Sure, I could’ve been a little gentler in my approach, but to my credit, there’s not a lot of time for subtlety here.

The wind howls like it’s got a personal vendetta against Oak Creek, and Mother Nature is backing it up for destruction tonight.

“Get under here,” I say, my voice low and steady.

She doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, like a deer caught in headlights.

“Fuck it,” I mutter, tugging her hard. Her jean shorts slide easily over the linoleum, and I pull her next to me, settling us against the wall. The space is tight, her body pressed up against mine, but there’s no room for modesty. The table will shield us from any broken glass, but it won’t do shit if the roof caves in. Not that I think it’ll come to that.

She presses her spine against the wall, her head falling back with a thud as she exhales slowly, staring straight ahead.

“You good, Peach?” I pitch my voice over the cacophony as the siren continues to blare. A desperate call for people to hunker down.

She rolls her head to the side. Our faces are only inches apart. “My name isn’t Peach.”

My hand moves without my permission, slipping a lock of her peach-colored hair between my fingers. “What’s your name?”

Her gaze bounces around my face, pausing on my mouth for a moment before meeting my eyes again. “We’re gonna die here, aren’t we?”

I flip her hair between my fingers, marveling at how soft it feels. The way the end waves, not quite a curl. “Nah, we’ll be laughing over a plate of cheese fries in an hour.”

Her eyes widen, and somehow, I trip and fall into an endless pool of golden amber. A color that doesn’t seem real outside of nature documentaries.

I arch a brow, my lips curving into a smirk. “Don’t tell me you don’t like French fries?”

She tsks, her eyes narrowing. “Only psychopaths don’t like French fries.”

“Phew.” I exaggerate my relief, grinning. “We were almost over before we began.”

She shakes her head, her hair dancing across her cheek. “Are you always this . . .forward?”

“Only during tornadoes.”

The side of her mouth tips up into a reluctant smile, and my heart squeezes inside my chest. It feels fucking strange, really. My heartbeat kicks up a notch, the familiar quickening I haven’t felt since I crossed the finish line on a race two years ago.

Goddamn, I haven’t felt that kind of thrill in so long; I half-thought I wasn’t ever going to feel it again. Not after I made my promise.

Fucking wild that sitting on a sticky floor, crammed underneath a table with a woman I just met in the middle of a tornado warning gives me the similar sensation.

It’s not exactly the same, but it’s fucking close.

There’s nothing like those nights spent racing through the streets of whatever nearby town. Waiting for the perfect moment, the dead zone when cops were chasing down red herrings. The higher the stakes, the calmer I felt. It was the ultimate juxtaposition.

But I gave that shit up years ago, and now, the only time I ever get close to feeling even a fraction of that euphoria is when I fuck around at The Alley.

Thunder bellows above us, louder than it was before.

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