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SHADOWS OF THE OAT CHAPTER 1
Darkness clings to me like a heavy blanket. My body aches, my muscles are tight, and there’s a sharp, burning pain in my side. I take a slow breath, trying to steady my head, but even that hurts.The smell of blood is thick in the air.I blink, trying to focus. The motel room around me is a disaster. Broken glass covers the floor, catching the flickering neon light from outside. A chair is overturned. Bullet holes mark the walls.And my hands…They’re covered in blood.Panic grips me. What happened?My heartbeat pounds in my chest. I press my fingers against my temple, trying to remember. But there’s nothing. A black void where the last two days should be.A sharp pain pulls my attention to my side. My shirt is ripped, dark with dried blood. Someone—me?—stitched a wound just above my hip. It’s messy but holding. I touch it, wincing. It’s real. This is real.But I have no idea how I got here.I push myself up, unsteady on my feet. I glance at the cracked mirror above the dresser. The r
SHADOWS OF THE OAT CHAPTER 2
I take a deep breath, and my body moves before I can think. There’s no time to hesitate.The motel room is a wreck—bullet holes in the walls, shattered glass on the floor, and my blood staining the sheets. I have to get out. Now.I scan the room, searching for anything useful. My fingers find something hard under the nightstand—a burner phone. But the back is open, and the battery is missing. Someone disabled it. Maybe as a warning.I reach into my pocket and pull out a small, folded note. My heartbeat pounds as I read the words written in my own handwriting:"Don’t trust your memories."A chill runs down my spine. What does that mean?Below the message, there are coordinates. I don’t recognize them, but they’re my only clue.Before I can process anything, the motel phone rings.The sharp sound cuts through my nerves like a knife.I freeze. My pulse races. No one should know I’m here.Except for the person who left me that note.The phone rings again.I pick it up, forcing myself to s
SHADOWS OF THE OAT CHAPTER 3
Rain pours down hard, slicking the streets and turning the city into a glowing maze of neon reflections. Every light stretches across the wet pavement like a twisted, endless road. I weave through traffic, pushing the stolen motorcycle faster, ignoring the angry honks and flashing headlights.The city is awake, moving, alive. It doesn’t care that I’m being hunted. It doesn’t stop for the man running for his life.I keep my breathing steady, my mind focused. But under the surface, something stirs. Fear? Doubt? Or something worse—guilt?I don’t know if I did what they say I did. That’s the worst part. The unknown. My own memories feel broken, like a puzzle with missing pieces. I don’t know what’s real. I don’t know who I can trust. I only know that stopping means death.I twist the throttle, forcing the bike to go faster. The cold wind lashes against my face, biting into my skin. It hurts, but it keeps me awake. Keeps me sharp. I had to ditch my old clothes, had to get rid of the blood,
SHADOWS OF THE OAT CHAPTER 4
The warehouse stands ahead, its rusted walls blending into the dark edges of the city. The coordinates led me here. Something in my gut tells me I’ve been here before. But my memory? Blank.I stop the bike a block away, rolling it into the shadows. Never walk straight into the unknown. Always have an escape plan.The air smells like oil and decay. The windows are broken. The wood is rotting. A perfect hiding place for someone who doesn’t want to be found. Or someone who doesn’t want to remember.I run my hand along the steel doorframe, feeling for anything strange. My fingers catch on a small groove—a tiny mark left by someone who knew this place well. Someone like me.The lock needs a six-digit code. My hands move before I can think. My fingers press the numbers on their own.Beep. The lock clicks open.Inside, the room is empty except for a few mattresses, a stash of weapons, a rusted sink, and a small desk with an old laptop.The second I step in, my chest tightens. Familiar. Not s
SHADOWS OF THE OAT CHAPTER 5
The sound of the collapsing building still pounds in my ears as I run. My breath is fast and sharp, cutting through the cold night air. The backpack slams against my back with every step, the laptop inside pressing against my spine. The Oath isn’t just trying to scare me—they want me dead.The city around me is a maze of flickering streetlights, old brick walls, and neon lights reflecting in puddles from last night’s rain. I dart through the alleyways, my boots barely making a sound on the wet pavement.Behind me, shadows move together. No rushing. No wasted steps. They know me. They know how I fight.I push harder.The alley ahead gets narrower. The walls close in. I jump over a chain-link fence, my muscles burning as I hit the ground hard on the other side. I twist as I land, pulling out my Glock 19 and firing two shots at the closest shadow. One body drops, but I don’t have time to check.They keep coming.A figure lunges from the side. A punch slams into my ribs. Wrong move. My bo
SHADOWS OF THE OAT CHAPTER 6
The engine hums under my hands as I drive through the city, weaving between cars, pushing the SUV harder than I should. My knuckles grip the wheel tight, blood from the earlier fight drying on my skin.I don’t know where I’m going—just away.The neon lights blur past, their colors reflecting off the windshield. My heart is still racing, adrenaline refusing to fade. My body aches, bruises forming under my clothes, but none of that matters right now.I reach into my pocket, fingers brushing against a crumpled note. I already know what it says, but I pull it out anyway.Elias Graves.The name feels heavy, like a weight pressing down on me.The second I read it, pain explodes in my head. A sharp, blinding ache cuts through my skull. Images flash—fast, chaotic. A man’s voice, rough and urgent. A promise, broken. Gunfire.I jerk the wheel, barely missing a parked car. My breath is ragged.The name means something.The flashes fade, leaving a dull throb in my head and a cold unease in my gut
SHADOWS OF THE OAT CHAPTER 7
The cheap motel room smells like old cigarettes and damp carpet. The kind of place where people disappear, where the walls hold too many secrets. It’s perfect for hiding. And right now, that’s exactly what I need.Outside, a flickering neon sign casts red and blue flashes through the thin curtains, painting the walls like a broken strobe light. I watch the colors shift, almost hypnotized, but not enough to ignore the heavy weight in my chest.I sit on the edge of the bed, head in my hands, fingers pressing against my temples. The headache is sharp, relentless, pounding at the back of my skull. I shut my eyes, trying to focus. Trying to remember.A name keeps echoing in my mind.Elias Graves.It won’t go away. It’s like a splinter under my skin—always there, always itching. I’ve spent hours searching, calling in favors, hacking into databases that should have been impossible to access. Nothing.No records. No background. It’s like he never existed.And yet, I know he’s important.I lea
SHADOWS OF THE OAT CHAPTER 8
The USB drive is small, cold against my fingers. I turn it over, feeling its weight. Not just plastic and metal—something more. Something important. I found it in my jacket, hidden in a secret pocket I don’t even remember using. My mind races. How long has it been there? Did I hide it myself? Or did someone else?My pulse is steady, but my breathing is shallow. I don’t like unknowns. And right now, my whole life is an unknown.I grab the disposable laptop from the motel desk and power it up. It’s slow, the kind of cheap tech I use when I don’t want to be traced. The motel’s Wi-Fi is useless, but I’m not connecting to anything. I slide the USB into the port, my fingers hovering over the keyboard.The files are a mess. Corrupt data. Half-erased fragments. Someone tried to destroy this information, but they didn’t do a clean job.One document is still readable.I lean forward, the glow of the screen the only light in the room.You made the right choice, Nathan. But they will never let yo
Latest Chapter
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
