Page 49 of Traitor

I want quiet.

I want mountains.

I want a place where I can step outside and feel the air in my lungs without the weight of my past pressing down on me.

So I choose a small town tucked into the foothills of the Rockies. A place where people wake up early and go to bed before midnight, where the biggest problem is the occasional bear sighting or a bad snowstorm.

The FBI processes the request immediately.

They don't tell me what happens next. They don't have to. I know the second I sign the final document, they'll move in. The raids will begin. The Crimson Riders will be gutted from the inside out. The Iron Vultures will also be caught in the storm, but I don't give a shit.

I burned it all down.

And now, I'm walking away.

One year since the betrayal

Moving hurts. Not just emotionally, but physically. The damage Jinx did to me, what Bones let happen to me, wasn't something I could sleep off. The scars on my body, the weakness in my muscles, the deep, aching pain in my throat every time I swallowed... it all lingered.

Physical therapy became a part of my life whether I wanted it or not. The doctors told me I was lucky to be able to talk at all. That the knife had missed critical arteries by millimeters. I spent months relearning simple things. How to stretch without wincing, how to lift a carton of milk without my arm shaking, how to swallow without the ghost of Jinx's blade making my breath hitch.

But the real work? That happened in therapy.

At first, I didn't want to go. The thought of spilling my past to some stranger, of picking apart the mess inside my head, felt impossible. But something in me had cracked open, and I couldn't patch myself together on my own.

Therapy made me see the truth I spent years avoiding.

I wasgroomed.

I used to tell myself I chose the Crimson Riders. That I ran to them because I wanted a family, because I was strong, because I was in control of my own decisions. But that wasn't the truth. They saw me when I was vulnerable, an orphan with nothing, and they lured me in. Made me believe I was safe. That they cared. And when I was old enough, they used me.

Bones wasn't my first betrayal. He was just the one that broke me the most.

By the time a year passes, I'm stronger. My body isn't as weak. The nightmares aren't as frequent. I can look in the mirror and recognize myself again. But I'm not lying to myself. I know I'm still healing. I don't know how to let anyone in. I don't know how to trust.

So when I start dating, I keep it casual.

No attachments. No love. No risk.

I let myself feel desire again, but never love. Love is dangerous. Love is Bones pressing me against his bike and swearing I was his. Love is him branding me a traitor and giving me to my worst nightmare.

I refuse to let anyone have that kind of power over me again.

Two years since the betrayal

The office is warm, quiet. Soft golden light filters through the blinds, casting a glow over the bookshelves, the neat stack of notes on Dr. Monroe's desk, the ceramic mug in her hands. I should feel at ease here. This space has become familiar, safe. But today, I feel restless.

I shift on the couch, rubbing my hands over my jeans, trying to get the words out before they choke me like they always do. "I had the nightmare again."

Dr. Monroe nods, leaning forward slightly, like she always does when she knows something big is coming. "Tell me about it."

I exhale slowly. "It's the same every time. I'm in that monster's room. I can't move, can't scream. I feel the knife against my throat, and I know what's coming. And then—" I swallow, my fingers clenching into fists. "Then I call for him."

I don't have to say his name. We both know who I mean.

Dr. Monroe waits, patient as always, until I finally lift my gaze to meet hers. "It's been two fucking years. I don't understand why I still call for him."

She studies me for a moment before speaking. "You tell me."

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