Page 41 of Oath
I took a sip of the coffee, bracing myself. Then I looked around at the faces I trusted more than most people would understand, and I asked the only question that mattered now.
“Alright, what do we know?”
Chapter
Twelve
BONES
This wasn’t my first time facing torture. Hell, it wasn’t even my first time waking up strung up by the wrists, arms stretched high and shoulders screaming from the weight of my own body. Gravity did most of the damage—slow, relentless, unforgiving. My toes couldalmostreach the floor. Balance took effort. Bracing was nearly impossible.
But at least my legs were free.
Not that it mattered. They weren’t letting me use them. Instead, they kept their distance, letting the water do the work—soaking me through, letting every drop turn my body into a live wire.
Then came the shock sticks.
They didn’t get close. Just jabbed at me from arm’s length like cowards, letting the current rip through the water, through me. Each strike lit up my nerves like a live circuit, my jaw snapping shut hard enough to rattle my teeth. I focused on that—just keeping my tongue clear. A small win. A fragile bit of control.
And sometimes, that’s all you’ve got.
The shocks stopped, but the water didn’t.
It kept pouring steadily soaking into my clothes, my skin, the rope biting into my wrists. Cold and constant. Like a reminder:this is just the beginning.
They weren’t in a hurry.
One of the suits stepped into my line of sight, just far enough back that I couldn’t reach him even if I got stupid and tried to swing. He looked like the others—square jaw, cropped hair, mirrored sunglasses even in this dim, cement-walled hellhole. They all looked the same. Like they’d been printed from a template. Corporate-branded cruelty.
No one said a word.
Not a single question. No threats. No posturing.
Just the occasional click of the shock stick. Just enough to warn me of the next hit.
Not their first rodeo,I thought, dragging in a slow breath through my nose.And not amateurs.That should’ve worried me more than it did.
But I wasn’t dead, which meant they still wanted something. Based on what the so-calledVegasaid, they wanted informationandleverage. Maybe not much. But enough.
The silence pressed in harder than the pain.
If they’d shouted, raged, barked orders, I could’ve played off that. Tuned them out. Picked a weak spot. But this? This sterile, clockwork efficiency? It was harder to fight.
I could feel my mind start to drift—just a little—toward that place where you stop caring. Where the pain becomes background noise and the body starts whisperingjust let go.My jaw clenched, and I forced myself back. No good came from checking out. That’s how you missed details. Patterns. Openings.
And I needed one. Bad.
“Not gonna talk?” I rasped, voice rough as gravel. “Didn’t think this was just a spa day.”
No answer. Not even a flicker of amusement. One of the suits adjusted his cuffs. That was it.
Still nothing.
My ribs ached from the tension. My arms had long since gone numb. The muscles in my legs were starting to tremble with the effort of keeping me upright. I shifted my weight slightly, just enough to ease the pull on one shoulder.
Another jolt hit the water.
My back arched on instinct, a full-body spasm I couldn't control, and I let out a short, involuntary grunt. It wasn’t a scream, but it wasn’t nothing either.
