Page 43 of Oath
Time slipped. Minutes? Hours? A day? Could’ve been five. My brain was no longer on the clock. It had flipped to survival mode.
Focus. Focus.
Tracker.
Right thigh. Subdermal. Deep enough to survive some serious shit. I hoped. Maybe the shocks didn’t fry it. Maybe the signal was still clean. Maybe someone was already on their way.
Maybe.
Or maybe it was scrambled with the rest of me. Cooked from the inside out. Like my spine still felt half-lit, flickering like a busted streetlamp.
Don't think like that.Stay sharp.
I started counting. Prime numbers, backwards. Then forwards. Then in French. Anything to keep the brain from unraveling.
And then—Grace.
God,Grace.
I could almost see her: arms crossed, that look on her face like she was this close to calling meBoney Boy. That perfect, wicked sass.
“How is this a better plan than mine?”
Yeah. That tracked. She had a fantastic sense of humor, but even when she gave me shit, she didn’t lose that gleam of worry in her eyes.
Fuck. The delicate fragility of hers masked that very core of steel I’d grown to respect and adore, even when I wanted to spank her ass for risking herself.
She was probably giving the guys hell about what was the plan to get to me. But only when she wasn’t keeping her head down and focused. When we’d had to cut out on the guys, she’dbeen more than just someone for me to protect. She’dtriedand often succeeded in being a partner.
I could see her, hair pulled back to tame the dark curls while her blue eyes burned with her temper, and her lip gloss served as her war paint. She’d be pushing them, even as she worked to support their choices.
But she’d be counting it down, and terrified or not, she’d follow us right into hell.
We so fucking did not deserve her.
I smiled—barely—but it hurt. Everything did.
Still. Worth it.
I clung to the idea of her like a tether. Her voice. That snap in her tone when she was scared but pretending not to be. The way she said my name when she was pissed—and when she wasn’t. The shock and passion burning through her expression when I sank into her and the way she exhaled my name.
From the beginning, I got it. One taste of her would never be enough. She was an addiction before I ever touched her. The memories played out like a reel of actual film, flickering as the frames traveled by just a little too slowly.
Pain raked through my insides, slicing into me.
Tracker. Focus. Grace. Light. Breathe.
Repeat.
My legs were shaking now. Cramping. I shifted, trying to keep blood moving. The rope creaked softly in the dark, but the sound was swallowed up immediately. The sound proofing was impressive. Nothing bounced. Nothing echoed.
Designed to erase a person, to strip them down until all that was left was the silence and potentially the screaming inside your skull.
Fine.
Let them wait.
Let them think they were winning.
