Page 1 of Oath
Prologue
BONES
There are some calls a man never wants to get. And some calls—well, you know they’re coming. Whether you’re the guy who enlisted or the one left behind, fate doesn’t skip your number forever.
Me? I didn’t have anyone waiting for me. Not for a long time. No one to devastate. No one to disappoint. I liked it that way. Cleaner. Safer. For them, and for me.
Over the years, I’d made a lot of those calls. Delivered bad news. Knocked on too many doors. The Army always sent someone, but if I could, I followed up. Reached out. Spoke to the families, the wives, the kids—the survivors.
My words couldn’t bring anyone back. But sometimes, they could serve as a shield. Let grief punch something. Let guilt land somewhere. When I could, I told stories. Gave them a piece of who that soldier was—who they were to us. It wasn’t much, but it mattered.
Stephanie James and I had spoken four times.
The first time was fifteen hours after the ambush that took the lower half of Alphabet’s right leg and burned forty percent of Doc’s body. Both men had been medevaced out. We followed.
The second call came after the doctors confirmed Doc would live, though his road ahead would be long and brutal. He’d be heading back Stateside. The third call wasn’t mine—it was her returningmymessage after he arrived.
The fourth came when he started school. He was out of the hospital, trying to build something new. We kept tabs on him. I’d never leave one of mine behind. His sister was all he had, so I made sure she knew how to reach us—any time, any reason.
Doc called a few times over the years. Nothing big—intel, help with something small. We handled it, no questions asked. He’d done the same for us, more than once. When he asked for help with those prisoners they freed, we showed up.
And that’s when Grace entered our lives. Doc gave her to us, and for that, we probably owed him more than I can ever repay.
So when he called again, needing help, there was never a question.
“Doc?” Lunchbox said when the line went quiet.
“I’m here,” Doc answered, voice low.
Lunchbox asked, “How bad is it?”
A breath. Then?—
“They killed my sister.”
The words hit like a gut-shot. Four syllables—just four—but they carried a weight that bent the air. Grief. Rage. The kind of pain that leaves you hollow and burning at the same time.
“We’ll be there in twelve hours,” I said. “Don’t move without us.”
Chapter
One
BONES
The weather had turned cold, damp, and miserable. Fitting for a funeral. Grief clung to everything, soaking into skin and bone.
Doc’s “gang” had been kids when he enlisted. Now they were older, harder—but still a mess. His girl was nearly half his age, and the fact that the rest of them were also involved with her made our job... complicated.
“Sorry,” Doc said as he stepped out into the warehouse. The others were still inside. Voodoo, Lunchbox, and I were already suited up. Funeral black. Anonymous. We'd blend in, stay watchful.
This time, we weren’t there to fight.
We were there to protect.
“You don’t have to apologize,” I told him. Didn’t matter what he thought he was apologizing for. “You need us. We came.”
End of story.
