Page 48 of The Oath We Give

“And? You’ll always be my baby. Give me a hug before you leave.”

I swoop down, curling my arms around her waist, bending so that she can wrap her arms around my neck. She’s always smelled like vanilla since I was a kid. Now, no matter where I am, vanilla reminds me of home.

“Next time you walk into this house, you better have that girl on your arm, or I’m going to take it personally.”

I press my lips to the side of her head. “Yes, ma’am.”

I hate this. I’ve always hated this.

The feeling in my stomach that leads to silence. How shitty I feel on the inside, knowing I’m lying to my family. Knowing it’s all I fucking do.

My mental health, this engagement, Stephen.

I don’t think any of them actually know me.

Not really, not the real me.

Coming clean sounds easy, but not when everyone has known you to be a specific thing since you were young. Not when telling the truth would make them worry.

With our goodbyes said, Rook and I clear the distance between the kitchen and the front door. The moment our feet hit my front porch, I hear the flicking of a lighter, followed by the smell of cigarette smoke.

“Scale of one to ten. What’s the likelihood of Easton trying to kill me tonight?”

“An eleven.”

* * *

Rook had decided for the group that knocking wasn’t needed. So the three of us follow him through the surprisingly empty halls of Sinclair Manor. We sometimes stumble upon luck in our debauchery.

It’s rumored that every Thursday night, Easton Sinclair gathers with his friends for poker, following close behind in his father’s footsteps by becoming the head of his family’s home.

How they were able to afford the same lifestyle after Stephen went to prison is something I want to know. You don’t have your assets seized and then continue to live in luxury.

The gun on my hip presses into my side, anger that isn’t mine making my fists tighten. It wouldn’t surprise me if Easton had known about the girl held hostage in his childhood home. The entire time, he let her rot beneath his wealth out of fear of his father’s power.

He’d been a coward our entire fucking lives; it wouldn’t have surprised me.

“How do you know where you’re going?” Alistair asks from over my shoulder while I keep an eye out for housekeepers or Lena Sinclair, who still wears her wedding ring and lives on the grounds.

“I’ve been here before,” Rook says loudly, uncaring if anyone hears him. I think he wants to be caught, just to add a little more chaos to our plan. “Fucked Sage inside the pool hall once. Something like that is hard to forget.”

Thatcher scoffs from the back, holding his tongue from saying something snarky, I’m sure.

The hatred that has ebbed and flowed between us and the only son of Stephen Sinclair goes far beyond Rook stealing his girlfriend years ago.

No, our last names have clashed since before our births.

Our rivalry is built into the foundation of Ponderosa Springs. Hatred-filled blood scattered beneath the soil. The Halo was once started as revenge, the binding together of Sinclair men who kidnapped, beat, raped the daughters and sisters of Ponderosa Springs’ founding families.

Caldwell.

Van Doren.

Pierson.

Hawthorne.

The women of our legacy were a stepping-stone to what became the larger vile organization Stephen orchestrated. Where he kidnapped young, innocent girls and made a profit by selling them to God knows who.

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