Page 100 of Traitor

"An orphan. Abandoned. Shuffled from foster home to foster home, always searching for a family that didn't exist. I thought I found one in the Crimson Riders because I was young, naive and didn't know any better. Didn't know that grown adult men should never leer at a sixteen year old like she was a piece of juicy meat. I was too blind to recognize the sickness hiding behind every stare, every filthy glance cast my way like I was ripe fruit waiting to be plucked."

"And then my own personal monster came. Robbed me of my choices, my body, my future. But I escaped. And for the first time, I thought I was free."

I let the silence stretch, dragging my gaze across the men in front of me. Bones. Ghost. Tank. Joker.

"I found a man who made me believe he was good. I built a new family. Felt accepted, wanted, safe."

My breath shudders out, but my voice never wavers.

"Poor, little, naive me."

"All it took was a few whispered words from a conniving snake, and suddenly, reality snapped back into place. The truth I had been too blind to see, too hopeful to recognize, crashed over me like a tidal wave." I exhale sharply. "Men are brutal. Men are unforgiving. And the man a woman loves? He is the cruelest of them all."

"Because if he doesn't trust her — if he doesn't love her enough — he can destroy her like no one else ever could. And when he does? The people she once called family will stand there and let it happen."

I let my words settle over them like a curse, my gaze flicking to Tank and Joker. They drop their heads.

"I hope I wasn't too cryptic," I murmur, my tone deceptively light, edged with venom. "I believe my little speech was simple enough to be understood — even by Joker."

A muscle in his jaw twitches, but he says nothing. They all know what's coming.

"But in case you somehow missed the point — you fuckers stood there and watched. Some of you even held me down in that goddamn tattoo chair while Bones ripped my soul apart."

I raise the object in my hand and slowly shake it, watching their eyes widen. Is that delicious fear I see?

"Do any of you know what this is?" I tilt the paddle, letting the light catch the thick hardwood and the sharp, protruding spikes.

No one answers. They don't need to.

"This is a Vampire Spanking Paddle," I say sweetly. "Used by hardcore BDSM practitioners in..." I pause, letting the moment stretch, "blood play."

The tension in the air crackles like a live wire.

I turn the paddle slowly, letting them see every brutal inch of it. "Your asses will be remembering this lesson for days. Weeks even. I will spank it into your goddamn skulls so deep that it will never leave."

I point the paddle at Bones.

"Women are to be protected. Cherished. Respected, you stupid fuckers!

"Especially the women you claim to love. And especially the women you claim as family."

I drag my gaze over the wide-eyed bikers, jaws clenched, bodies tensed, waiting for the hammer to fall. Well, paddle. They know they're truly fucked now. And it's too late to back out.

I turn to the girls —my girls, for today.

"It's time, babes." My voice drops into a dark threat. A command.

"Make them bleed for every moment you felt disrespected. For every time you felt unseen."

The club girls glance at the paddles in their hands, hesitant, uncertain. I grin.

"Twenty hits each. Make sure to alternate the cheeks." I say it cheerfully.

And then I turn. Time for the grand prize.

I start with Tank. By the twelfth hit, he's on his knees, groaning, whispering "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." But I don't stop. He didn't stop that night, either.

Then Joker. He lasts sixteen before he crumbles. By the end, all he can manage is a hoarse, broken whisper — "I'm so fucking sorry, T."

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