Page 134 of Traitor

"The name? Of your Order?" I ask, letting my voice drop back to steel.

He straightens with pride. Something really fucking dark glitters in his eyes.

"We are The Holy Disciples of the Veil," he proclaims. "We—"

He never finishes the sentence.

I thrust the blade that was still in my hand upward, piercing beneath his chin and driving it clean through his brain.

He doesn't even have time to scream.

The light flickers out of his eyes instantly.

I exhale. Let his body drop to the floor. The knife stays lodged in his skull.

I turn to Ghost, who's already watching me, expression unreadable.

"They'll be looking for Ria," I say, my voice flat, deadly. "I don't want Temper dragged into this. Put Tank on Ria watch duty. They get close, they burn."

Ghost nods. Turns to leave.

But something's still nagging me.

"Ghost."

He stops. Looks back at me.

I narrow my eyes. "Are you okay?"

His eyebrows shoot up, like the question itself is absurd.

"Yeah," he says simply.

Then he's gone.

I glance down at the corpse, at the knife still embedded in his skull, at the piss-stained Crocs.

Suspicious as fuck.

The bell over the door at Belladonna Brew irritates the hell out of me. I should already be at my watch post — close enough to Temper to feel her presence, but still too fucking far away. She's working today, and even though she's been letting Tank and Ghost inside her office building, I haven't been granted the same courtesy. My nuts are freezing every time I'm on guard duty, but I don't fucking care.

The devil with an angel's face behind the counter narrows her eyes at me the moment I step in, like she's expecting lasers to shoot from them and vaporize me on the spot. I wouldn't put it past her to actually will that into reality. Temper's best friend, Azaria "Ria" Whitmore. Also known as the tiny menace who hates my guts. I can't blame her.

"Hello, Azaria," I greet her, my tone deliberately bored.

She flicks a glance at my throat — at the inked mark that brands me with my greatest sin — before she plasters on the sweetest, fakest fucking smile I've ever seen.

"Hello,Traitor." Hah. Funny.

"Would you like a coffee?" Her teeth flash in something that could almost be mistaken for kindness.

I lean forward over the counter, lowering my voice to a whisper.

"Sure I would... Evangeline."

She goes rigid, her entire body locking up like a puppet who just got its strings yanked hard. "What did you just call me?" Her voice is like a razor's edge, sharp, deadly.

I tilt my head, watching her. She's good at hiding things, but not good enough.

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