Page 28 of Oath

So what would heprefer?

He’d prefer Iwasthe kill switch—but Ididn’t know it yet.

That gave him the edge. That gave him the time to figure out how to make the most off of both sides.

But the thing about O’Rourke? He was a snake who thought he was clever enough to watch you bleed without getting his boots dirty.

Problem for him? I had thicker boots and skin now.

I also had backup which he should remember. The guys were quiet, didn’t mean they weren’t right there—waiting for my signal.

Then, for the first time since I walked over to the table, O’Rourke glanced over my shoulder.

I didn’t move. But I recognized what it meant.

We weren’t alone anymore.

Showtime.

Chapter

Nine

LUNCHBOX

It started with static.

Soft, low—just a whisper in my ear. Then Alphabet’s voice broke through the haze:

“You’ve got movement. One vehicle, blacked-out. Two klicks west. No lights. No plate. Parking near the service road.”

I didn't respond. Just exhaled slow. O’Rourke was still sitting across from Voodoo like this was some fireside heart-to-heart.

Bones was already moving. I knew that before Alphabet said his name.

“Bones is in motion.”

Damn right he was.

Like a ghost, I’d drifted in through the kitchen and used each external sound from the bartender talking to Voodoo walking to muffle my movements. Voodoo was more than capable of handling O’Rourke on his own. We were just here to back his plays.

Play time was over though, so I shifted my weight, slow and easy. Gliding through the door that separated the kitchen from the bar, I moved silently until I was ready to let them know I was here. The cracked floorboard under my boot groaned just enough to earn O'Rourke's attention again. He blinked like hewas coming out of a daydream. Like maybe he forgot he wasn’t the only one in the game. Or maybe he’d just forgotten what it meant to have a real team.

I kept my voice low, calm. “How many exits you say again?”

His eyes narrowed but not before his faint jerk revealed his surprise. “Why?”

“Because,” I murmured, hand slipping beneath the edge of my jacket, brushing the cool metal of the M84 flashbang tucked under my arm, “we’re about to find out if you’re full of shit.”

“Second vehicle. Same direction. They’re leapfrogging. Military pattern. This is a hit, Lunch.”Alphabet’s voice was tight now. Controlled. Focused.

Voodoo canted his head, enough to catch me in his periphery without ever taking his gaze off O’Rourke.

I leaned just enough to the side to glance toward the shaded windows. They gave us cover from a sniper, but not much else. Just that slow build of pressure in my chest, like the moment before a detonation.

I knew that feeling. It never lied.

“You done?” I said, lifting my chin to Voodoo. When he described O’Rourke as a theatrical asshat, he hadn’t been kidding. I hated the guy but at least I’d never had to get to know him.