Page 47 of Traitor

I stare at them, my throat too raw to speak.

Agent Vasquez shifts slightly, pulling a small notebook from his pocket. "Your injuries match several open cases we have on file." He hesitates, then continues, "Women who were found in similar condition. Same wounds. Same level of violence. Lots of physical similarities. Some of them were dumped in this area, some over the state line."

A chill rolls down my spine. I watched enough Criminal Minds to know what this means.

Agent Miller's expression doesn't change. "The difference is, you're the only one who survived."

I exhale shakily. Jinx. Is he a… a fucking serial killer?

My hands curl into fists at my sides. It wouldn't surprise me if he was.

I could sit here. I could lie. I could say nothing. But what's the point? What loyalty do I have left? To whom? The Crimson Riders? The same men who let Jinx do this to me? The same ones who laughed while I screamed?

Or the Iron Vultures? The ones who threw me away like I was nothing?

I don't hesitate.

"I'll tell you everything I know," I whisper, my voice hoarse but steady.

Agent Vasquez lifts his head, brows raised. "Everything?"

I nod, my pulse thrumming with a strange, dangerous clarity. "The Crimson Riders MC, in particular a member of their club, Jinx, did this to me. They deal in guns, drugs, working girls. They stash their shipments in an abandoned warehouse south of Route 6. They have dirty cops on their payroll. I can give you some names. I've been living with them for years, heard a lot of their not so legal secrets."

I don’t know every little detail, but I know a lot. Some of those stupid fuckers couldn’t stop talking when they drank too much.

Agent Miller watches me carefully. "And the Iron Vultures? We know you worked for them for a while."

I should stop. I should keep my mouth shut.

But I don't. Because fuck them.

"Smuggling." My voice is stronger now. "Arms deals. Connections to the Romano family. The weapons transport routes. I know how some of it works, not much. But maybe enough. I've been hearing things working as a bartender for them. I don't know when they go on runs, but I've heard some names and locations."

Agent Vasquez exhales slowly, exchanging a glance with Miller.

I meet his gaze head-on, ignoring the way my hands shake, ignoring the voice in my head screaming that this is wrong. "You're going to give me protection. In exchange for the info. The Vultures will most likely know it was me."

I am done. I am burning it all down.

Let them come for me. Let them try.

I will never belong to them again. I'm only loyal to myself now.

11. Life

Ely

The papers sit in front of me, crisp and official, waiting for me to sign away the last remnants of who I was.

I stare at the empty line where my name should go. Where Elyna Holloway should be. But she's dead. She died on the side of that road, bleeding out in the dirt, abandoned by the man she would have given her life for. She died in that clubhouse basement, when a tattoo gun carvedTRAITORinto her skin.

This new name, this new identity, is supposed to be freedom. A way to start over, to move forward, to put the past where it belongs. But I know better. Names have weight. They mean something. I refuse to be given one like I'm some lost puppy in need of rescuing. If I'm going to be reborn, it's going to be on my own terms.

The agent sitting across from me shifts slightly, waiting. "You can choose whatever you want," he says, voice neutral. "It just has to be something with no digital footprint tying back to your old life."

I nod, my fingers curling into fists against my lap. No ties. No past. A clean slate.

I should pick something soft. Something forgettable. A name that will help me blend in, disappear into a normal life. Something that won't remind me of where I've been, what I've survived.

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