Page 54 of Traitor

Jamie turned it over in his hands. “Leather & Lace.”

I nodded. “Yeah. That’s what led me to Torch. I don’t know what SOD and ‘roll over?’ mean though. Do you?”

His jaw tightened and he clicked the pen on and off in frustration. “SOD is the Sons of Death MC and roll over means someone has decided to turn on the club. Fuck!”

He roared the words and I shrank back, instantly realizing that I’d just trapped myself inside a small closet with a biker who probably killed girls like me for breakfast—wait, that wasn’t how the saying went.

Ate girls like me for breakfast?

That wasn’t much better, although he was pretty handsome for an older man. I don’t know that I would’ve complained much if he wanted to do that. Jamie pinched the bridge of his nose and I gasped.

He gave me an odd look. “Are you okay?”

I nodded shakily. “I—I thought I saw a mouse.”

He laughed lightly and went back to studying the wall. I focused on his profile and it all clicked.

The pen clicking.

The blue eyes.

Fuck, even his profile was a dead ringer.

There wasn’t a doubt in my mind. Jamie knew that Mike wasn’t the rat because a father would never suspect his son. And Mike was most definitely Jamie’s son. The resemblance was uncanny.

It explained why that biker had apologized profusely when Torch told him that I belonged to Mike. I’d only seen a couple of episodes ofSons of Anarchy, but I was pretty sure that you couldn’t go against the gang leader and mess with his family.

Oh god.

Mike was in deep with outlaw bikers, but if he was the son of the leader, wouldn’t that mean that he would’ve done everything in his power to keep Monica safe?

What if I’d made a horrible mistake?

Chapter Seven

July 2015

“Never send in a beer to do the job of a tequila shot,” I said proudly.

The bartender raised her eyebrows and nodded before sliding the shot across the bar to me. “Whatever you say, man.”

I downed it and immediately requested another.

Who gave a fuck how I got to my destination?

I’d tried calling Lauren, but she never answered. Luckily, herabuelawas more understanding. When I’d shown up a few days ago, begging to see Lauren, Gloria had ushered me inside and made me a snack.

When she heard my plight, she naturally decided to invite me over for dinner. Unfortunately, my nerves had gotten the best of me, so I’d been forced to make a pit stop at a nearby bar just to take the edge off. I hadn’t seen my girl in a month. I needed to be my best.

Twenty minutes later, I stumbled outside and winced at the sunlight. “Fuck,” I grumbled as I climbed into my truck. I might’ve overdone it.

I kept my speed ten miles under and leaned way over the steering wheel, as if doing so would help me see the road better. The one person I was looking forward to seeing was Lauren.

Eight weeks.

My dick had promptly stopped working again once she was gone. I’d tried one of the club whores my old man picked out, but my guy wasn’t biting. I’d even gotten drunk, but all that did was make me hurl…on her shoes.

The only way I could get hard was by lying in bed at night, imagining her face. I’d stroke myself, wishing it was her hand on me.

---