Page 39 of Traitor

"She worked with the Riders. Lied to all of us. This? This is what happens to traitors."

"You really believe that?"

I exhale slowly, forcing the breath out, forcing the tightness in my chest to disappear. "I wouldn't have fucking said it if I didn't."

Tank lets out a bitter laugh. "Yeah? Then why didn't you kill her yourself when you had the chance?"

The words hit like a punch to the gut, but I don't flinch. I keep my grip on the phone steady, keep my voice cold.

I say nothing. Because I don't want to admit the truth to myself, least of all to Tank.

Instead, I fall back on what I know, what I have to believe, what I have to fucking stick to, or else it all falls apart.

"Come back to the clubhouse. Now."

More silence.

Then, Tank's voice hardens. "She's gonna wake up soon. I'm staying until then."

"No, you're not."

"She almost died, Bones."

I squeeze my eyes shut, gripping the phone so hard I think it might snap in my hand. The image of her, battered and broken, flickers behind my eyes, unwanted, unwelcome.

But it's there.

I can still hear her voice, still see her looking at me with those fucking green eyes, still remember the way she used to press her body against mine like I was the only thing keeping her together. I remember the way she whispered my name like it was the most delicious dessert she’d ever tasted.

Kane.

I let her be the fourth person to know it. Something that I always kept to myself.

I press the heel of my hand against my chest, pushing against the ache there, trying to smother it, trying to bury it beneath some semblance of strength.

"Until she wakes up. Then you come back. She is not our concern anymore," I grind out.

Tank lets out a sharp exhale, frustration thick in his voice. "She was one of us."

"No, she wasn't. She was a Trojan horse. She made her choice and it sure as fuck wasn't us. It was the Riders. She had eight months to tell me the truth!"

"What if she was too scared to tell you? She loved you, she truly did, it was obvious!" Tank snaps. "She's still the Ely that was my friend."

Something cracks inside me.

It's small, barely noticeable, but I feel it.

I force myself to breathe, to swallow back the sharpness in my throat, to push past the memories clawing at the edges of my mind.

"You do what you want," I mutter, my voice hoarse, raw. "But you better be back here soon."

I hang up before he can say anything else.

The silence comes rushing back in, heavier than before, pressing down on me like a weight I can't shake off. I sit here, phone in my hand, staring at nothing, feeling everything.

I should've insisted he leave her.

I should've told him not to call me again about her.

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