Page 10 of Traitor

My brain went haywire, searching for something to say that would make him reconsider killing me. “M-Monica,” I forced through lips that no longer felt like mine. All the blood in my body was currently residing in my stomach.

He dug the barrel of the gun deeper into my skull until it felt like it was going to go right through the bone and into my brain. “Monica? Who the fuck is Monica?”

“Torch’s ol’ lady,” I squeaked. “I need to talk to him.”

A quiet voice from across the room cut through the silence. “Back off, Carnage. It’s Lauren.”

Carnage immediately released my throat before holstering his gun. “Fuck,” he whispered with wide eyes. “I’d appreciate you not mentioning this to Sullivan.”

Sullivan?

Wait...the bikers were afraid of Mike?

He led me over to a table where Torch sat staring down into an empty pint glass. When he looked up at us, my heart stuttered. I’d assumed that he’d already moved on and forgotten my mother, but it was obvious that the man was just as bad, if not worse off, than I was. His long mahogany brown hair was in dire need of a wash; the blueish bags under his eyes in direct contrast to the paleness of his face. He was hanging on by a thread.

I sat down across from him as he waved Carnage off. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t know it was you.” He dropped his head back down and stared listlessly at the table top, as if waiting for his next cue.

I bit the corner of my lip, trying to figure out how to say what needed to be said. “Um, Torch?”

Another man walked over and slid two beers in front of us. Somewhere between the biker walking back to the bar and a long drink to steady my nerves, I decided that honesty was the best policy. “Monica didn’t overdose.”

Torch’s head shot up. “Lauren,” he said softly. “Trust me, I don’t want to believe it either, but facts are facts. I don’t know how she got the H, but I’ll never forgive myself for it.”

I glanced around the room to make sure no one was listening in. “She was arrested for possession and being under the influence the day before—did you know that?”

His hand came up to rest against the side of his face as he shook his head. “No…she texted me to say that she’d decided to spend the day with you and that she’d be home Sunday.”

I clenched my jaw before blowing out a frustrated breath. “Then someone had her phone. She was in jail the entire day. I talked to her and there’s no way that she was high. I know how she gets—” I paused and corrected myself. “How shegotwhen she was high. She said she pissed off the wrong people and overheard something she shouldn’t have. Do you know anything about this?”

He slid the full pint of beer off to the side and leaned in. “What did she overhear? Was it something with the club?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. She never got a chance to tell me before…before…” My eyes welled up and I looked down at my lap.

“I’m sorry about your ma, kid,” a biker with a long graying beard said before patting me on the head. I was still staring at him in surprise when three more perfect strangers walked up and offered their condolences as well.

“I got the next round,” offered one and I nodded before looking back down at the floor. It was what I’d needed without even knowing it.

Acknowledgment.

She hadn’t been perfect in life—far from it actually. Up until now, I hadn’t known how to honor the woman who gave me life. Sharing beers with the men she’d considered family seemed fitting somehow.

Torch waited until the bikers drifted back to their tables before asking, “Lauren, how do you know she wasn’t lying? I wanna believe you, doll. I do. But Monica and me—we had demons. Hell, I fucking relapsed when I heard she was—” His voice cut off and I looked up to see him shaking with silent sobs.

I slipped my hand into his. “Hey, I know how it looks, but she didn’t relapse—”

He stopped me. “But, how do you know?” His eyes pleaded for me to lie. To say that I’d made a mistake.

I couldn’t do it though. “I saw her, Torch. Her—” There she was, in my mind, surrounded by blue sheets. My throat tightened. “Her fingernails were broken off…”

It wasn’t strong evidence and I didn’t expect to convince him of what I knew. His hand squeezed mine to the point that it was painful, while the other wrapped around the pint glass.

The noise made me jump. I thought he’d broken my hand until the beer began running off the sides of the table. He’d shattered the pint glass. Some of the shards were still embedded in his palm.

“Torch!” I managed to free myself from his grip to search for a napkin.

“FUCKING HELL!” He roared and I cowered. The bar went silent again as more than one curious biker looked in our direction.

“Torch?” The gray bearded one questioned.

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