Page 166 of Traitor

Because she's here.

Right behind me. Her arms around me. Wearingmyjacket.

And that's fucking with my head more than anything.

She had her own, but it wouldn't have been enough for a ride in this weather. So she had to take mine. The moment I saw her in it — drowning in it, wrapped in something that smelled like me — my soul left my fucking body. Just danced away happily, laughing its ass off.

I still have no idea what she wants to talk about, but the way she looked at me back there? It cracked something open inside me. A sliver of hope wedged itself between my ribs. And fuck, I'm in trouble.

I barely survived walking away the first time. If she asks me again? If she tells me she still wants me gone? I don't think I can do it.

I shoved the need to be near her into a deep, dark hole when I thought I had no other choice. I buried it. Chained it down. Killed it.

But all it took was one look — one fucking look — and it clawed its way back out.

Now, it's riding me again, like some deranged horseman of the apocalypse, ready to raze the world to the ground.

We move together with the road, our bodies in sync, like we always were, as if we never stopped being. For the first time in what feels like forever, the darkness inside me takes a step back.

An hour later, I pull into the same viewpoint I took her to last time.

The silence stretches between us, easy, unforced. I don't rush her. I don't push.

This is her moment.

She'll speak when she's ready.

I lean against my bike, watching her take in the view. The wind plays with her hair, strands whipping around her face. She's beautiful. I want to say it, but I don't.

A few minutes pass before she finally speaks. Her voice is soft, quiet. Like a confession.

"I didn't think this place could become any more beautiful, but somehow it did."

I turn my eyes to her. "The beauty of this place doesn't even begin to compare to yours."

She smiles, shaking her head. "Charming as always." Then, her expression shifts. The teasing is gone. She turns to me, serious, resolute.

"Stop flirting. We'll be talking about serious stuff."

I smirk. "I always take what you say seriously, Temper. I might not always agree, but I take it seriously."

She sighs, dropping her arms, glancing up at the sky like she's searching for an answer in the clouds.

"I don't know where to fucking start. I've been so focused on just getting to the clubhouse, that I didn't make a plan."

"Take all the time you need," I tell her.

She nibbles on her bottom lip, staring into the distance, lost in thought. Then, she takes a deep breath, steadies herself.

When she speaks again, her voice is even. Controlled. Like she's about to narrate someone else's life.

"I'll tell you the story of Ely, Bones. All of it."

My throat tightens. Fuck.

I already know some of the story. The FBI report. The testimony tapes.

But hearing it from her — standing right beside me, breathing it back to life — is going to fucking gut me.

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