Page 2 of Oath
He ran a hand through his hair and gave me a tired smile. Doc had always been steady under pressure—the kind of medic who fought like hell for every life. Even under fire, he never flinched.
“You’re not happy to be here,” he said. Not a judgment. Just a fact.
“No,” I admitted. No point pretending. “But we’re here. Until it’s done. You focus on you and your girl. We’ve got your back.”
“Your girl?” It was the first time he said it out loud. Maybe he hadn’t fully processed it before. But I’d seen it—the flicker of understanding in his eyes every time he looked at Grace.
“She’s fine.” That was as much as I was going to give him. “She and Alphabet will stay behind while we’re at the service. They’ll pull out before we return.”
I’d been reviewing the security here, and I didn’t like what I saw. Doc’s people were loyal, sure—but they were also tangled up in criminal shit. Not my place to judge.
But Grace was ours.
Mine.
“Bones—” He exhaled sharply. Our eyes met, and beneath the exhaustion was a storm of grief, fury, and fear. “I should be more worried about this. And I will be. Later.”
“Noted.”
“For now... thanks for being here.”
I gave a nod. “Let us worry. You take care of your girl.”
Fifteen minutes later, we were on our way to the chapel. Alphabet had installed cameras the day before. We’d been watching the feed all night and again that morning.
No ambushes. So far.
Inside, we fanned out. One of us stayed within reach of Doc and his girl at all times. If they split, we adjusted. Doc’s crew added a buffer, but grief made poor sentries. They were coated in it—thick and oily.
I wouldn’t count on them to see danger coming.
The room was nearly full. We wouldn’t sit. Voodoo moved to the doors. Lunchbox posted up front for a wide view. Once the service began, I’d rotate Voodoo out for an exterior sweep.
“Minister says we’re starting soon,” Lunchbox said over comms. “Thinks everyone’s here. Want to confirm with Doc?”
I moved toward him, where he stood with his girl. “Doc…”
“Yeah, Bones. Thanks. Stick close to Little Bit if I get pulled away?”
I glanced at her. Pale, drawn, eyes wide. She looked like someone who’d barely survived a war.
“We’ve got her,” I said. “And you. The minister says we’re at capacity. He’s ready to start—unless you need more time.”
Delaying wouldn’t change anything, but I understood the instinct. Every second stretched out the goodbye.
“We’re good,” he said finally, reaching for her hand.
They moved to their seats. The rest followed, one by one.
I gave the room one more sweep, nodded to Lunchbox, then stepped in to relieve Voodoo.
“I’ve got all angles,” Alphabet said in our ears. “We’re covered.”
Yeah. We were.
No one was going to interrupt their mourning.
Dayone after the funeral went smoothly enough. Doc and his people were locked down, and we rotated security at the warehouse where they lived. The existing setup—both perimeter and internal—was decent.
