Page 144 of Traitor

"How's your anger?"

I huff. "It was fine before. Now it's growing by the minute!"

I'd slam the door in his stupid face, but the bastard is already bracing himself against the frame, blocking me from doing exactly that. He's learned from his past mistakes, damn him!

"I'm thinking it's high time you released all that pent up fury. In a controlled environment, of course. With no blood." He pauses for a moment. "Or as little blood as possible."

"I'm inviting you to a war, my fiery Temper." His voice is smooth, taunting. "Paintball. I created an entire game zone behind the clubhouse, just for you. It's your chance to shoot me. Again."

I narrow my eyes. "You organized a fucking paintball match?"

"For you." He shrugs.

"Are we teenagers, all of a sudden? I'd rather shoot you with real bullets." My voice is sharp. But I can't deny it sounds good. I can feel excitement building. Fuck.

"I know you would," his voice is low. "But I promised I wouldn't let you spill my blood again. So it's paintball you're getting."

He sighs. "Your anger keeps growing, and you need an outlet. If you keep it up, you're going to burn yourself out before you even get your hands on Jinx. Your mind should be clear when the moment comes. So you can do exactly what you really want, not what your anger tells you." He pauses, lets that sink in. "And also, deep down, you really, really want to shoot me."

I raise an eyebrow. "Not that deep down."

He leans in, his voice dropping low. "Come on, baby. I'll even let you aim for my heart."

I snort. "Pretty sure that's already dead."

His lips twitch, but there's no real humor there. "Only when you're not near."

How does he always know just what to say to make my chest go tight?

I should tell him no and pretend this conversation never happened. But the idea of hunting him down, making him pay in bruises — it's like a siren's song that calls to me. And the asshole knows it! Dr. Monroe will be so disappointed in me. But no blood! That's a step forward, I guess. Progress!

I exhale sharply. "Who's playing?"

He grins, knowing he has me. "Me. Tank. Hellbat. Fang. Domino. And a few of the younger prospects who are ready to prove their worth." He pauses, letting the next part land like a well-aimed shot. "Oh, and I talked to Ria earlier. She said if I could convince you — which she doubted — she'd come just to shoot a paintball directly between Tank's eyes."

That does it.

I laugh — a real, full-bodied laugh.

"That might actually be worth showing up for," I admit, shaking my head. But then something clicks, and I straighten, my eyes narrowing. "Wait — You talked to Ria? I know you asked her to do the barbecue thing, but since when do you and Ria talk?" My voice pitches higher at the end.

Bones shrugs, completely unfazed. "She likes to torment me." Then, almost to himself, he mutters under his breath, "Demon woman."

I fold my arms, curiosity flaring. "How does she torment you?"

His face goes flat, serious. "I'm not talking about it."

The look in his eyes tells me there's no prying that information out of him. No matter. Ria will spill the details later.

He leans back, watching me, amusement glinting in his gaze. "So you're in? Paintball?"

I roll my shoulders, considering it for a second. "I guess I could use some target practice." I let the words hang for a beat, watching the anticipation flicker in his eyes before I add, with a slow, wicked smile, "On one condition."

His smirk deepens. "Name it."

"You don't wear a vest."

He exhales a quiet laugh, dark and knowing. "I wouldn't dream of it, my fiery Temper."

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