Page 36 of Traitor

The van lurches to a stop, and the doors are thrown open. Rough hands grab me, yanking me out, like I'm just another piece of cargo.

The cold air bites at my skin, but I barely feel it over the raw pulse of pain coursing through me.

My wrists burn where the zip ties have bitten deep, my arms numb from being pinned behind me for too long. My skin stings, bruises blooming across my body where Jinx's men shoved me, grabbed me, laughed when I fought.

I look up. And my stomach drops. The Crimson Riders' clubhouse looms ahead, dark and familiar, filled with ghosts of the past. I spent years inside these walls, but today? They might as well be my grave.

Jinx steps out of the van behind me, his boots crunching against the gravel like a funeral march. He’s savoring this, the sick bastard. The air shifts and I brace myself.

He grabs me by the hair, yanking my head back, forcing me to meet his eyes. His mouth curls into a slow, dangerous smile.

"Welcome home, sweetheart."

The moment I'm dragged inside, the doors slam shut behind me, sealing my fate.

The clubhouse hasn't changed. The same dim lights, the same stench of sweat and blood and pain.

The same men who let everything happen to me.

Jinx's fingers tighten in my hair as he drags me toward the center of the room.

No one stops him. They just watch. Like I'm entertainment. Like I was never one of them.

I wrench against his grip, but he shoves me forward, sending me crashing to the floor. Pain explodes through my knees, but I grit my teeth, refusing to make a sound. Jinx crouches in front of me, his head tilting.

"You ran from me," he murmurs, almost like he's amused.

I say nothing. He grabs my chin, fingers digging into my jaw, forcing me to look at him.

"You let him touch you," he breathes. His voice is calm. Too calm. That's what makes it worse.

His fingers trail down my cheek, soft at first. Then he slaps me so hard my head snaps to the side. The room spins, my vision blurring. The taste of copper floods my mouth. I blink slowly, struggling to focus. He sighs, like I've disappointed him.

"You should've been mine," he murmurs, fingers sliding down my throat. "But instead, you fucked an enemy."

I flinch, jerking back, but he catches me by the back of the neck, gripping hard.

"You let another man have what was supposed to be only mine."

His voice drops lower. Darker. "So now, you're gonna pay for it."

The first fist slams into my ribs, sending a white-hot burst of pain shooting through my side. I collapse, gasping, curling in on myself.

Boots stomp around me, voices jeering, mocking.

"Shouldn't have run, Ely."

"Jinx, you gonna break her in right this time?"

"Looks like the Iron Vultures already marked her for you."

A sick wave of nausea curls in my gut. I lift my head, chest heaving, lips split, blood dripping down my chin. And that’s when I see him.

Lucas.

Standing at the edge of the room. Not moving. Not helping. Not doing a damn thing. I choke on a breath, forcing words through the agony in my ribs.

"Lucas," I whisper.

---