Page 100 of Oath
Because I wasn’t Grace right now.
I was Amorette—attorney, cool-headed legal warrior, and exactly the woman Mark Sinclair never wanted to see again. If I had any questions before, I hadnonenow.
His Adam’s apple bobbed. His fingers twitched on the folder in his hand. I watched him try to recover, try to paste on that polite little smirk he probably used on every junior associate he was two seconds away from backstabbing.
It didn’t work.
And Isavoredit.
A polite nod was all I gave him. Just enough to be formal, not enough to be familiar. Because in this courtroom, I didn’t need to shout. I didn’t need to slam doors or throw accusations. All I had to do was sit down, cross one leg over the other, and let him stew in the silence.
He wasn’t the only one watching.
I could feel the weight of Voodoo’s gaze from the back row. I knew Bones, AB, Legend—all of them—were hearing every shift in my breathing, every pause in my steps. I didn’t let myself think about that.
Not right now.
Right now, this was aboutSinclair.
I almost hoped he tried to escape. Almost.
But I wanted to be the one who confronted him, who got the truth, and if that required beating it out of him—a shiver went through me though I maintained and didn’t react—I wanted to be the one who punched him.
Even if the guys could do it harder.
“Mr. Sinclair…” The judge’s voice cut through the roaring silence that had ballooned out from where my gaze held Sinclair’s. His jerk to pivot and face the judge, broke the eye contact.
My pulse rabbited for a moment, the rapid and intenselyhardthud of it, beating in my ears.
“Breathe.” Bones.
One word in his voice and the vise around my chest eased allowing me to take a long, deep inhale. It helped. The judge was talking to Sinclair and the other attorney. I barely registered what the content was, I just kept my gaze fixed on Sinclair.
And heknewit.
Hehadto know, I was still watching him.
That I hadn’t looked away.
That I wasn’t going to.
Whatever thread of composure he’d managed to reel in for the judge’s benefit seemed to fray by the second, and he couldn’t figure out what to do with his hands. He set the folder down, then picked it up again. Smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from the sleeve of his jacket. Shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
And still—my gaze stayed locked.
I didn’t need to speak to make him sweat.
Iwantedhim to wonder how much I knew.
I wanted him asking himself how Am was here. If she was just an attorney who quit—well, we both knew that had been a lie. If I hadn’t been dead certain of it before
The judge kept talking, oblivious to the slow bleed of panic radiating off Sinclair. He responded to a question with a clipped, “Yes, Your Honor,” but his voice wasn’t steady. Not really. Not if you were listening close enough.
I was.
He glanced at me again, quick and sharp, like a man checking for a sniper on the roof.
I tilted my head.
