Page 183 of Traitor

Bones pulls me close, smugness radiating off him in waves. "There's always next time, baby."

I jab a finger into his chest. "Next time, I'm going to destroy you. Your ass is mine."

He leans in, eyes darkening with playful intensity. "Promises, promises."

Heat floods my cheeks, but I push him away, turning on my heel and heading toward the clubhouse.

"Cocky bastard!" I call over my shoulder.

His laughter trails after me, echoing with heat and something much deeper. "I'm counting on you demanding a rematch, baby!"

Dive bar date

Temper

The second we step into the bar, Bones stops short. His eyes narrow, his lips press into a thin line, and I watch him slowly scanning his surroundings like he's calculating an exit strategy. The place is filthy. The floors are sticky, the wooden bar counter is stained with God knows what, and the air smells like cheap whiskey and regret.

"Why the hell did you want to come here?" he mutters, turning his gaze to me.

I blink, looking around, only now fully registering what a goddamn mess this place is. The dim lighting does nothing to hide the peeling wallpaper, and the jukebox in the corner is playing some sad country song that makes me want to throw something at it.

"I only came here once three years ago." I wrinkle my nose, glancing at a suspicious-looking puddle on the floor. "I thought it might have gotten better, but it's actually worse. Do you want to leave?"

Bones smirks, tilting his head at me. "I don't mind it, baby. I just didn't think you'd like a place like this." His eyes glint with amusement.

I huff, crossing my arms. "We can have a great fucking time here, too! We don't need a fancy place to have fun."

His smirk deepens. "Oh yeah? Prove it."

Challenge accepted.

I drag him to the bar, ordering us a round of drinks. He only gets one beer — responsible biker — but I order a whiskey, determined to make the best of this train wreck of a bar. The first sip burns, but it's the good kind of burn. The kind that settles deep in my blood and makes me feel alive.

Then I spot the dartboard.

I grab his hand, pulling him toward it. "Let's make a bet."

He raises a brow. "You sure you wanna do this, baby?"

"Scared I'll beat you?" I taunt, grinning.

His laughter is dark, low. "I don't lose, Temper."

I roll my eyes and hand him the first dart. "We'll see about that."

An hour later...I'm losing. Badly.

Bones is a goddamn sniper with those darts, hitting bullseye after bullseye while I struggle to even hit the board half the time. I blame the whiskey.

He's enjoying this way too much, grinning at me after every perfect throw, knowing damn well I'm getting more frustrated by the second.

"This is fucking rigged," I grumble, narrowing my eyes at the board.

"It's not rigged, baby. You just suck at darts." He takes a slow sip of his beer, his smugness radiating off him like heat.

"I do not!"

He smirks. "Oh, you definitely suck—"

---