Page 13 of Blood Oath Christmas
Graham, the third agent, leans forward in his chair. He’s stockier, with kind eyes that soften when he speaks. “Nobody out there knows your name, and we’re not about to let it slip. What matters is tomorrow. That’s when you’ll tell your side, and it won’t be to reporters—it’ll be to a judge, in closed court. Controlled, quiet. Nothing like what you’re imagining.”
My fingers twist together. “So, what happens? I just… walk in and say what I saw?”
“Pretty much,” Morgan says. “You’ll be escorted in, no cameras, no press. The judge will ask you questions, maybe the prosecutor too. Just keep your answers simple and truthful. That’s all anyone can ask of you.”
Torres shoots me a quick smile. “It won’t be like the TV showLaw & Order, if that’s what you’re thinking. Nobody’s going to shout ‘objection’ every two seconds. Just straight questions, straight answers. You’ll be fine.”
Their reassurance eases some of the tightness in my chest. For the first time in two days, I feel like maybe I can breathe without the walls closing in.
Morgan shuffles the deck of cards in his hands, the sound a steady and oddly calming rhythm. “You want to sit with us a while? Take your mind off things? Couldn’t hurt to learn a new skill.”
I hesitate, glancing at the spread of cards on the table. “I don’t really know how to play.”
“Perfect,” Torres says, leaning back with a grin. “Graham doesn’t either, and he’s been losing all night.”
Graham snorts, tossing a peanut at him. “Ignore him. We’ll teach you. It’s easy, and trust me—it beats staring at the walls.”
Something in his tone—gentle, inviting—loosens a knot inside me. I drag a chair closer and sit, the warmth of the overhead light settling over my shoulders.
Morgan starts dealing cards toward me. “It’s just gin rummy. We’ll walk you through it.”
As the cards slide into my hands, the weight of the world doesn’t feel quite as heavy. For a few minutes, at least, I can pretend this is just an ordinary night.
Later that night, I push myself off the couch and head for the tiny bedroom they stuck me in. Twin bed, scratchy sheets, one dresser. I flop down and stare at the ceiling. The hum of the heating system rattles in the vents. My head aches from the pressure of too many thoughts, too many fears with nowhere to put them.
Eventually, exhaustion wins. I drift, not quite asleep, not quite awake.
Something wakes me.
Not a sound, exactly. More like a shift in the air, the faint prickle of awareness crawling over my skin. My eyes snap open.
The house is quiet. Too quiet.
Then, hushed voices. Male. Urgent. I slip out of bed and pad barefoot to the door, pressing my ear against the wood.
“…movement outside.”
“Could just be a deer.”
“No. Too deliberate.”
My pulse spikes.
The whispering stops, replaced by the muted clink of guns being readied. Or at least what I imagine it would sound like.
Oh, God.
I back away from the door, my heart slamming against my ribs so hard it hurts. My breath comes in quick bursts. The taste of bile burns the back of my throat.
A sharp crack splits the night. Gunfire. I’d know that sound anywhere. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get it out of my head. The night Vadim shot that man echoes in my thoughts day and night, follows me in my dreams, and the sound of that gun reverberates in my mind.
It’s the same sound I just heard.
I choke on a scream and slap a hand over my mouth. The sound is everywhere—shouts, boots thudding, bullets hitting walls. Splinters shower across the floor.
The agents bark orders, their voices overlapping with the chaos outside. I press myself into the corner, knees to chest, as though making myself smaller will make me invisible. My stomach twists with a sickness so sharp I gag, swallowing hard against it.
I think of Frank. Of how I never got to tell him goodbye. I think of my mom, though the ache there is different—emptier. And then, for reasons I can’t explain, I think of my father. The father I hardly knew. The one everyone told me was gone. But in this moment, I want him. I want the impossible—a strong pair of arms pulling me out of this nightmare, a voice saying he’ll make it right. The desperation crashes over me, hot and humiliating.
