Page 69 of Oath
He didn’t wait. His hand closed around my wrist—not rough, but firm—and he pulled me through before I could argue.
“This wasn’t the plan,” I said in a low hiss.
“Plans change, sweetheart. Get used to it.” He tugged his tie free then opened a button at his throat. “Now stay close. I’ll get you out of here, but you have to stay with me. I’m not slowing down and I’m not back tracking.”
The door shut behind us with a softthunk.
We were in.
The comms went dead.
Because of course they did.
Chapter
Twenty-One
BONES
I’d learned to rest with my feet off the ground.
Hanging from your wrists long enough, your body figures it out—how to go slack just enough that the fire in your shoulders becomes background noise, not a screaming siren. Let go, float inside your skull, try not to think. That’s what they hadn’t broken. Not yet.
Then the silence cracked.
A distantthump. Something falling upstairs. Then again—louder. A crash, like a statue hitting marble. Raised voices, just barely audible through the vents. Muffled shouting. And—was that an alarm?
I lifted my head, slowly, every muscle complaining. Blood ran down my arms in tired rivers. The concrete around me was still the same: damp, cold, and lit by a single grimy bulb that buzzed like it hated its job. Same tools on the tray. Same dark stains.
But the noise was getting closer. Boots. Scuffling.Gunfire.
Gunfire.
Something flipped in me—hope, or adrenaline, or whatever sad little survival instinct I had left. My breath caught in my throat. I twisted, trying to see past the door. Chains rattled, weak as I was.
Then she appeared.
She came through the shadowed hallway like a hallucination. Like a goddamn painting. Grace—Grace—in a strapless blue dress that clung to her like silk on fire. Hair up. Something glittering at her ears. And heels, the kind that should’ve echoed on a ballroom floor, not this bloodstained concrete.
She shouldn’t have been real. Not here. Not now.
I blinked, once. Twice.
Still there.
She stepped over a body—someone—didn’t look down, didn’t even break stride. The weapon—was that a club?—in her hand didn’t match the dress, but the way she held it sure as hell matched the woman I remembered. Confident. Furious. Ready to raise hell.
She saw me. And smiled.
“Jesus, Bones,” she said, like she’d just found me napping somewhere stupid. The warmth there “You look like hell.”
My throat tried to work. Nothing came out.
She crossed the room, heels clicking now though there was still chaos behind her based on the sounds. What was shedoinghere? The only thing that slowed her down was grabbing a metal folding chair on her way to me. I blinked slowly—there were chairs in here?
My situational awareness was at an all-time low. The clunk of the chair next to me jolted me back to the present. I had to stop drifting. Grace was here.
“Dollface, you shouldn’t be here,” I croaked, or I thought I did. It sounded more like gravel being ground under a boot. Abruptly, between one pained breath and the next, she seemed to have grown a foot and a half.
