Page 30 of Traitor

"Tell me everything," I murmur.

She chokes on a sob. "Bones, please—"

I click the safety off. Loud. Final.

"I'm done asking."

Her hands tremble in her lap. She looks at the barrel, through it, seeing her end. And that's when she breaks.

"I was a club girl for them! Ok?! I was sent here," she blurts out, her words stumbling over each other.

I don't move the gun.

Sent here.Just like Ely.

"Keep talking," I growl.

Tisha nods quickly, tears streaking down her cheeks.

"They — they wanted information. About your deal with the Romano family. They didn't know how close you were to securing the new weapons trade."

I inhale slowly, keeping my rage buried deep.

"You spied for them."

"No, no, I never told them anything! I swear, Bones—"

She sobs, her body shaking violently now.

"I was supposed to send word back. To — to — to help Ely," she continues, desperate, frantic, trying to explain herself. "But I — I never did. I changed sides! I wanted to be part of the Vultures!"

I press the gun harder against her forehead. She gasps sharply, fresh tears spilling over.

"You're lying. You never changed sides," I say, voice flat.

"No, no! I love this club, Bones! I only told you about Ely because I wanted to protect you!"

I scoff. Laugh, cold and empty.

"You think I'm stupid?"

She sobs harder. "I thought you'd see her for what she was! I thought—"

"You thought you could replace her. Show the Riders you're better than her. Get yourself in deeper, for better intel," I finish for her.

Her lips quiver. "No! No! I just know I would be good for you, Bones. I — I'd let you do anything you want to me. Fuck me in any hole—"

I finally lower the gun. I hate it when they get this desperate and whiny.

Tisha sucks in a relieved breath, shoulders sagging.

She doesn't realize what's about to happen. She's about to find out why they're calling me Bones.

I move fast. My hand clamps around her forearm before she can react, my grip unyielding. With a swift shove, I pin her to the chair, my palm pressing hard against her chest, locking her in place.

Then I yank. Hard.

Her body jolts violently, a sharp, sickening pop echoing through the room as her shoulder dislocates. She gasps — a strangled, breathless sound — but I don't let up. I keep hold of her arm, twisting at the elbow, forcing it in the wrong direction.

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