Page 3 of Oath
We made it better.
Alphabet combed through the surveillance feeds, flagged weak spots, and we got the upgrades in. Cameras now covered the front, back, and interior. Inside their living quarters, the system remained separate—for privacy. Alphabet left that setup alone, working within its limits.
Trip alarms were in place. If someone failed the code twice trying to access the clubhouse, we’d get pinged. That also gave them a way to signal us under duress—fail on purpose, cameras kick in, the alert goes out.
It was solid. Temporary. Once we dealt with the bigger problems, we could remove ourselves as the first failsafe.
My phone buzzed as I reached the apartment we’d taken—three blocks out, top floor of a cleared building.
Voodoo:Doc wants to take his girl to his place tomorrow. He needs a break.
Me:Understood. Just give me a time.
Voodoo:Done.
I was at the door when the next message came through.
Voodoo:You talk to Grace yet?
Me:There now.
Voodoo:Good luck.
I snorted.It wasn’t luck I needed.
The door swung open and a book came flying at my head. I barely caught it and eyed the chaos gremlin on the other end of the room. Wild blue eyes glared at me, her hair pulled up in a high ponytail, sunlight catching the dark strands like a warning flare.
“Good morning to you too, Dollface,” I said, keeping my voice even.
The color on her cheeks deepened—fury now, but it looked a hell of a lot like the flush she got when she came.
“There’s nothing good about it, Boney Boy.”
Well. That answered that. I glanced at the book. Sick Boys. Heavy. “Bad book?”
She grabbed a marble frog and hurled it at me. I caught that too. The edges bit into my palm. Good arm on her.
Setting it down, I crossed the room.
No, I didn’t need luck.
I needed body armor.
“Don’t you dare,” she growled, pressing a hand to my chest.
“Dare what?” I raised an eyebrow, then lifted her by the hips so I could sit and settle her in my lap.
She twisted, straddling me. That worked.
“This.” She waved her hands in agitation. “Sticking me here like I’m in time-out.”
“You don’t like the place?” I glanced around. It was clean, quiet, and decent. Voodoo had stocked it well—a coffee machine, her favorite beans, all the bells and whistles.
She let out a long sigh, tipping her head back. Her neck arched, breasts pressing against her cotton top. I kept my gaze on her jaw.
“It’s not about liking it,” she muttered. “It’s about being sidelined while you guys are out there.”
“We’re running security, not chasing targets,” I said. “If anything, we’re bait.”
