Page 21 of The Oath Operation
“We need to talk,” he said, pushing past her. “We need to discuss how to contain the news of your marriage. It won’t look good for me if people know I’m marrying a divorcee in a few years.”
Jules blinked at him, taken aback by his audacity. But it was always about him. It was her wedding day, and it had been a long day at that. All he cared about was what he wanted, what looked good for him, not what was best for her.
Before she could respond, Fish emerged from the bathroom, his bare chest still glistening slightly from the wash. The sight of him made Jules' heart race again. Amari's reaction was one of shock and fury.
“What’s he doing here? Like that?”
"I'm her husband, and it is our wedding night."
"But it's not that kind of a marriage."
"No, but my wife is tired. She's had a long day, and you look like you want to fight. That's not going to happen tonight."
Amari puffed up his chest like he was in fact about to fight. Not with his fists; he would never risk his money makers. Amari fought with his words. Before he could argue any further, Fish looked to Jules, his expression calm but serious.
“Jules, what do you want to do?”
Jules felt a surge of gratitude for Fish, but she did owe Amari some compassion. “I don’t want to have this conversation tonight, Amari.”
Fish turned his attention to Amari, his stance firm. “You heard her. It’s time for you to leave.”
Amari’s face flushed with anger. “Jules is my girlfriend. You can’t just tell me to leave.”
Fish didn't back down from Amari, but his gaze returned to her. “I'm listening to what she wants, and she doesn't want to talk.”
The room was filled with tension. Jules felt the heat radiating from Fish, a protective aura that made her feel safe and cocooned. A cold front blew from Amari's side of the room. As his hazel gaze narrowed on Fish, Jules felt a wave of clarity wash over her.
“Amari, please go,” she said softly but firmly.
Amari opened his mouth to argue but stopped at the look on Fish’s face. Jules couldn't see the glare in the other man's eyes, but she felt the heat of it. Without another word, Amari turned and walked out, slamming the door behind him. The sound echoed in the quiet room, leaving a silence that felt almost tangible.
ChapterFifteen
Abattlefield erupted before Fish's eyes. The scene was thick with smoke. The stench of burning debris singed the hairs of his nose. Explosions rocked the ground beneath him, the sharp crack of gunfire piercing the chaos.
His hands fumbled as he tried to press down on the gaping wound in the soldier’s chest. The warmth of the blood seeped through his fingers. It was everywhere—slick and sticky—staining his hands, soaking into his clothes, pooling on the ground. The soldier’s eyes were wide and glassy, his life slipping away with every passing second.
“Stay with me,” Fish commanded, his voice trembling as he fought against the rising panic.
His hands wouldn’t stop shaking, his fingers numb and useless. He wasn’t a medic; he didn’t know how to save a life, only how to disarm a bomb. He'd done that. He'd gotten the civilians out safely, but it was gunfire that had taken one of his men down.
The soldier’s bloodied hand gripped his wrist. His touch was weak, desperate, and then…nothing. The grip slackened, the light in the soldier’s eyes dimming into a haunting void.
A cold dread squeezed his chest, making it hard to breathe. The helplessness surged through him like a blast wave from an explosion, sudden and overpowering, leaving him disoriented and gasping for air. He was failing this soldier, flailing at leadership, like shrapnel extending from a blast. At the same time, he couldn't move. He was trapped in the relentless grip of a nightmare he couldn’t escape.
He was dreaming, he knew it. This wasn't the present. It was his past, but the nightmare had its tentacles stuck in him. That was the way of PTSD.
“Fish, it’s okay. You’re safe. Wake up.”
Fish tried to open his eyes but couldn't. His mind was still trapped in the nightmare. His hand shot out instinctively, gripping at a neck. The moment he felt her skin under his hand, a jolt of clarity pierced through the fog of his terror. His eyes slammed open to see a fresh new hell: fear in Jules' beautiful eyes.
“Fish?” It came out choked.
He released her immediately, horror and shame flooding through him. “Jules, I’m so sorry.” He scrambled away from her, his back hitting the corner of her couch. “I didn’t mean to—I’m so sorry.”
Jules rubbed her neck, her eyes still wide but now filled with understanding rather than fear. “It’s okay, Fish. It was just a dream. You didn’t mean it.”
Fish couldn’t shake the guilt. The thought that he could have hurt her, even unintentionally, tore at him. “I should have told you,” he said, his voice breaking. “About the nightmares.”
