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SHADOWS OF THE OAT CHAPTER 176
The Cost of ObedienceControl is an illusion.They let you think you have it. They let you feel powerful. Important. But it’s a trick. A rope you climb, only to find out too late that it’s wrapped around your neck.I should have seen it coming.I thought I was moving up. I thought I was calling the shots. But I wasn’t.I was just another piece on the board, waiting to be sacrificed.And now, the hand that moves me has made its next move.---The job is different this time.Not a target. Not a cleanup.It’s a message.Dante sits across from me, his cigarette burning low between his fingers. The smoke curls lazily through the air as he watches me, amusement flickering in his dark eyes."You’re sending a message," I say, voice flat."That’s right."I glance down at the folder in front of me. It’s already open, the details spelled out in crisp, professional words. A warning disguised as an assignment.I already know what it means.A family. A woman. A kid.Not the targets. Just collateral
SHADOWS OF THE OAT CHAPTER 177
An Unexpected EncounterThe city moves like it always does—fast, relentless, indifferent. People pass by, faces blurred by motion, voices merging into one endless hum of traffic and life. I’ve always liked it that way. The anonymity. The way no one stops to look too closely.Until someone does.I feel it before I see it. The weight of a stare, the pull of recognition. A presence that shouldn’t be there yet is.I turn, scanning the crowded sidewalk.And then I see him.For a second, I don’t believe it.Too many years have passed. Too much has changed. But the eyes are the same—sharp, piercing, too damn familiar.Jesse Monroe.A name I haven’t spoken in years. A ghost I thought I’d buried.His expression shifts the moment our eyes meet—shock, then disbelief, then something else. Something raw."Nathan?" His voice cuts through the noise like a blade.I don’t move.I should walk away. I should disappear into the city like I always do.But my feet don’t listen.Jesse takes a step closer li
SHADOWS OF THE OAT CHAPTER 178
The Illusion of ChoiceI run.Not in the literal sense—no, that would be too easy. I’ve run in ways that don’t leave footprints, ways that can’t be traced on a map. I’ve played the game, followed the rules, and then, when I thought I had them figured out, I tried to rewrite them.But the rules don’t change.And neither does the outcome.I sit in my car, gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turn white. The city sprawls in front of me, endless roads stretching in every direction. But no matter where I go, I know exactly where I’ll end up.Back where I started.A cruel joke. A never-ending cycle.A damn trap.My phone buzzes, and I don’t need to check the screen to know who it is.The Oath doesn’t like when its men start thinking for themselves.I let it ring. The silence that follows is worse.Because I know what’s coming next.A reminder. A correction. A leash snapping back into place.I force a breath through my teeth and start the engine. I don’t have a plan. Not really
SHADOWS OF THE OAT CHAPTER 179
: A WarningThe message comes at midnight.No name. No sender. Just five words.Don’t think we haven’t noticed.My fingers tighten around the phone, the cold glow of the screen cutting through the darkness of my apartment. Outside, the city hums—sirens in the distance, the occasional honk, the restless energy of a place that never sleeps.I don’t move.A warning.Not a threat—yet—but close enough.The Oath doesn’t tolerate hesitation. Doubt. Second thoughts. And I’ve been showing all three, whether I meant to or not.I lock my phone and toss it onto the counter. My gun sits next to it, gleaming under the dim kitchen light. A silent reminder that I’ve made my choices. That every hesitation, every misstep, is another crack in the foundation I built to survive.I should respond. Should say something to reassure them.Instead, I grab a drink.The whiskey burns as it goes down, but it doesn’t dull the weight pressing against my ribs.They’re watching.Of course, they are.I take another si
SHADOWS OF THE OAT CHAPTER 180
The Cycle ContinuesI used to believe there was an end to this.That one day, I’d pull the right string, make the right move, and everything would unravel. That I could walk away, slip into some shadow where they couldn’t reach me.I know better now.The Oath doesn’t end. It doesn’t break. It just shifts—changes hands, changes names. One king falls, another rises. One soldier dies, and another takes his place.And me?I keep playing the same role.I stand in the cold alley, my breath curling into the air like smoke. The city stretches around me—familiar streets, familiar lights, the illusion of normalcy. I could almost pretend I was just another man walking home, another piece of the background noise.But the weight of the gun in my coat says otherwise.The job went clean. No mistakes. No witnesses. A body cooling on the marble floor of a penthouse uptown, the blood already soaking into a rug that probably cost more than my entire childhood. The message was sent. And yet, I still feel
SHADOWS OF THE OAT CHAPTER 181
The MirrorI grip the edges of the sink so hard my knuckles turn white. The cold porcelain bites into my palms, but I don’t let go. I can’t. If I do, I might shatter into a thousand pieces like the mirror in front of me should.My reflection stares back, hollow-eyed and ruthless. A stranger.The bathroom light flickers, casting shadows across my face. The man in the glass mimics my every move, but I don’t recognize him. His jaw is sharper than I remember, his eyes darker, filled with something… unrelenting. The scars on my knuckles are fresh reminders of a battle fought too many times, of fists thrown in anger, of a past that won’t let go.I clench my fists. The past isn’t just behind me. It’s inside me.A knock on the door yanks me from my thoughts.“Nate?” It’s Olivia. Her voice is hesitant, careful. Like she knows she’s stepping onto thin ice. “Are you okay?”I don’t answer right away. I stare at the mirror a moment longer, half-expecting the man in the glass to smirk, to mock me.
SHADOWS OF THE OAT CHAPTER 182
The Echo of JulianI wake up choking on air.Sweat clings to my skin, soaking through my shirt, cold against my back. My chest heaves, lungs fighting for breath that won’t come fast enough. The room is dark, the kind of suffocating darkness that feels like it's pressing in from all sides. My hands tremble as I push myself upright.The dream lingers.No—not a dream. A memory dressed as one.Julian’s voice slithers through my mind, sharp and familiar as ever."You can never escape what you are."I squeeze my eyes shut, but it doesn’t help. His voice is inside me, woven into my bones, stitched into the cracks of my soul. It doesn’t fade. It never does.I shove the sheets off and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. My feet hit the cold floor, grounding me. My breath slows, but my pulse still thrums like war drums beneath my skin. I flex my fingers, clenching, unclenching. The tremor is still there.I don’t want to be this.I don’t want to be him.The clock on the nightstand blinks at
SHADOWS OF THE OAT CHAPTER 183
The Final TestThe name on the screen doesn’t change.Riley.I read it again, slower this time as if that would somehow make sense. As if the letters will rearrange themselves into something else—something easier.They don’t.The briefing is simple. Direct. Brutal.Target: Riley.Status: Eliminated.My stomach knots. The air in the room turns dense, pressing against my ribs. My fingers curl around the edges of the file, gripping too tight.I force myself to breathe.Riley was one of us once. Part of The Oath. A fighter. A strategist. Someone I trusted with my life more times than I can count.She left. Disappeared. Ghosted into thin air like she was never there at all.And now, she’s resurfaced.A threat.A loose end.The weight of the words makes my skin crawl.My first instinct is to deny it—to tell myself there’s been a mistake. But I know better. The Oath doesn’t make mistakes. If her name is here, it means someone higher up decided she was a problem.And problems don’t get warnin
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CHAPTER 220
The Last ThoughtI stare at my reflection, my breath uneven, my eyes hollow. The glass is cracked—thin fractures running like veins across the surface, distorting my face. Fitting.The overhead light flickers, casting brief shadows across the room. It’s cold. Not the kind of cold that bites at your skin, but the kind that settles in your bones, that tells you something is coming. The kind that makes you wonder if it’s always been there, waiting.I press my palms against the sink, fingers curling against the porcelain. The weight in my chest isn’t fear. It isn’t regret. It’s something worse. A question with no answer.Behind me, the door creaks open. A slow, deliberate sound. My hand moves instinctively to my gun, but I already know who it is."That the last time you’re gonna check yourself out, Nathan?" a voice teases, rough with amusement.I smirk, though it feels foreign on my face. "Figured I should see what’s left of me before I walk out that door."Jackson leans against the doorf
CHAPTER 219
The End of the LineThe city is quiet. Too quiet.Not the kind of quiet that comes with peace, but the kind that signals something is about to break. It settles over the skyline, heavy, waiting. The streets are empty, but the ghosts of what I’ve built, of what I’ve destroyed, linger in the alleyways and shadowed corners.I stand at the edge of it all, watching from the rooftop of an old high-rise, the cold wind whipping against my face. Below me, the pieces are moving, each player stepping into position, some thinking they’re the ones holding the strings. They aren’t.They never were.Jackson shifts beside me, his hands buried deep in his pockets. He’s restless. Always is before things go south.“You sure about this?” he asks.I don’t answer right away. Because there’s no easy answer. No right one, either.He sighs, shaking his head. “You always do this. Get in too deep and think you can control every variable. But this—” he gestures to the streets below, to the quiet before the storm
CHAPTER 218
The Final MoveThe city is waiting.It doesn't know it yet, but the tides are shifting. Power doesn’t disappear; it transforms and morphs into something new, something unrecognizable until it’s already taken hold. I’ve seen it happen too many times to count. This time, I’m the one pulling the strings.This time, it ends on my terms.I stand in the shadows of an empty warehouse, the scent of oil and dust thick in the air. The city hums outside, its lights flickering through the gaps in the rusted metal walls. Jackson stands beside me, his body tense, arms crossed. He’s waiting for me to explain, to tell him what comes next.I let the silence stretch before I finally speak.“We’re not burning it down.”Jackson’s head snaps toward me, eyes narrowing. “What?”I meet his stare, my voice steady. “We’re not wiping the board clean. We’re flipping it.”For the first time in a long time, Jackson looks unsure. He shifts his weight, jaw tightening as he processes my words. “You said yourself—this
CHAPTER 217
The Final CrossroadsThe city hums beneath me, restless and alive. From this rooftop, I see everything—the neon glow stretching into the horizon, the winding streets below, the fractured heartbeat of a place that never stops moving. A world of light and shadow, built on secrets, power, and debts that can never truly be repaid.The air is thick with the scent of rain and asphalt, the faintest trace of gasoline lingering in the wind. It’s the smell of something on the verge of combustion, of a city always teetering on the edge of chaos. I tighten my grip on the cigarette between my fingers, watching the ember glow in the dark, a tiny heartbeat against the cold night. I don’t smoke. Not really. I just like the way it feels—holding something that’s burning, something that’s alive for just a little while before it fades into nothing.I should walk away.I should let it all burn.But I don’t.Because no matter how much I tell myself that I don’t care anymore, that none of it matters, the tr
CHAPTER 216
The Last Time He Sees RileyThe air is colder than I expected. Maybe that’s fitting. Maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be.She’s already there when I arrive, standing near the edge of the pier, arms folded tight against the wind. The city sprawls behind her, all light and noise, but out here, it’s just the quiet lapping of the water and the space between us.Riley doesn’t turn when I approach.“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she says, her voice carrying over the water, calm but unreadable.I stop a few feet away. Close enough to feel the weight of her presence. Far enough to know I shouldn’t get any closer.“Neither was I,” I admit.She exhales a slow, steady breath. “You look the same.”“So do you.”A lie.There’s something different in her now. Something more guarded, more distant. Like she’s finally built the walls she should’ve had when we were younger.Like she’s learned.She turns, finally meeting my gaze, and for a moment, it’s just us. No past, no future. Just this one sliver of t
CHAPTER 215
The Fall of KingsThe thing about power is that it never learns.It moves through different hands, dresses itself in new suits, and speaks in fresh voices. But underneath, it’s always the same: greed, arrogance, and the inevitable mistake of thinking you can control what was never meant to be tamed.Ronan believed he could do it differently.I watch from the shadows as he proves himself wrong.---The city is quieter these days. Not because the storm has passed, but because it’s waiting to break.I see it in the way people move, the way deals are whispered instead of spoken. Ronan’s reign is still fresh, but already, the cracks are showing.And he doesn’t even realize it.Or maybe he does. Maybe he’s just too proud to admit it.I’m standing outside a high-rise downtown, watching from across the street. Up there, behind floor-to-ceiling windows, Ronan is playing king. A meeting’s in progress—his men, his allies, his problems.He thinks he has time. He thinks he’s in control.He doesn’t
CHAPTER 214
The Last WarningThe city breathes differently when men like Ronan step into power.It’s a slow shift, subtle. The same streets, the same lights flickering over cracked pavement, the same late-night murmurs of business and betrayal. But there’s a tension now, a new weight pressing down like the first signs of a storm.I know it because I’ve felt it before. I did it before.Which is why I know exactly how this ends.---I picked the place. Neutral ground. A quiet, high-end bar tucked away in the heart of the city, the kind where power plays out in whispered deals and expensive whiskey. A place where men like Ronan feel at home.I sit in a booth at the far end, back to the wall, watching the entrance. He’s late. Not long enough to be disrespectful, just enough to establish control. Classic move.When he finally steps inside, he moves like he owns the place.Not in the way Cormac did, with brute force and intimidation. No, Ronan is more refined. His presence doesn’t demand attention—it i
CHAPTER 213
The New ProtégéThe city doesn’t rest, and neither do the people hungry for its power.Cormac is gone. Locked away, his empire dismantled, his influence reduced to nothing but whispers in the dark. And yet, before the dust has even settled, another one steps forward. It always happens this way.A cycle. A curse.I watch from the rooftop as the meeting below unfolds. A dozen figures sit around a long table in a high-rise suite, their silhouettes blurred by tinted windows. But it’s the one at the head of the table that has my full attention.Young. Too young.Sharp suit, sharper eyes. He moves like he owns the room—because he does. The way they lean in when he speaks, the way they nod, hesitant but obedient. He’s already in control.He reminds me of someone.Me.I exhale slowly, pressing my earpiece. "Evelyn, you getting this?"Her voice crackles through. "Loud and clear. Looks like we found our new kingpin."I don’t respond right away, just watch as he steeples his fingers, listening i
CHAPTER 212
The War That Never EndsThe Oath had fallen, but the world didn’t change. Not really.Power is a living thing—it doesn’t disappear; it mutates. It slithers, molds itself into new hands, new faces, new kings and queens who claim they’ll do better. I watch from the shadows as history repeats itself, over and over, like a bad song stuck on a loop.I blend into the dimly lit alleyway, my coat pulled tight against the cold bite of the city. Rain drips from the rusted gutters, forming puddles at my feet, but I barely notice. Across the street, men shake hands under the glow of a flickering street lamp, sealing deals in the same way their predecessors did—with quiet, well-dressed ruthlessness. Different players, same game.I should walk away.I promised myself I would.But ghosts don’t rest easy, and the ones I carry are especially loud.A gust of wind blows through the alley, ruffling my hair as I step back into the shadows. My ribs still ache from my last fight, and my knuckles are a canva
