Page 56 of Traitor

"Don't." I snap, my voice raw, guttural. I can't hear it. I can't hear the pity, the regret, the fucking truth.

Because the truth is, this is all on me.

I let my anger blind me. I should have investigated more. I should have waited, should have given her the same she gave me. She was mine, and I let her think she meant nothing.

And now I still don't know the whole story and I sure as fuck don't have Ely anymore.

I dig my fingers into my scalp, my nails scraping against my skin. "Find her."

Ghost exhales slowly, carefully, but I don't want careful. I want fucking results.

"Bones..."

"Find. Her." My voice shakes with fury. With desperation.

Ghost doesn't respond right away, and I know what that means. He doesn't agree. He wants me to leave her alone.

Just like that, the rage shifts, morphing into something more dangerous. Something worse.

I stagger back, sinking into the chair, dragging a hand down my face. I close my eyes, but it doesn't matter. She's there. She's always fucking there.

Her laugh. Her touch. Her goddamn eyes. The way she used to look at me before I destroyed her.

I would do anything to have that look again. To go back. To fix it. But there's no fixing this. Not when I don't even know where the fuck to start.

I exhale, slow, sharp, lethal. I will find her. Even if it takes the rest of my life.

She is mine.

And no matter how far she runs, I will bring her home.

The feds spent way too much fucking time tearing through our clubhouse, and for what? Jack shit. Of course, they found nothing, but the aftermath? A huge disaster. We lost an entire week sweeping every inch of the building for bugs, making sure they hadn't left behind any nasty little surprises. And then came the real pain in the ass: fixing the goddamn wreckage.

Walls? Ripped open. Floors? Fucking destroyed. Every single piece of furniture? Smashed, splintered, or flipped upside down like a tornado hit. Nothing was left untouched, and it cost us.

And that wasn't even the worst of it.

Add another cool ten million to restructure our entire operation with the Romanos. Arcangelo, the famiglia's capo, wasn't feeling generous. Rightfully so. The loss was on us. His people took a hit because we didn't keep our house clean, and he made damn sure we paid for every last fucking cent. Every brother had to fork over a painful chunk of cash.

Ely might not have landed us in prison permanently, but she sure as hell made a dent in our piggy bank. It's going to take months to recover what we lost, maybe even longer.

And I don't even care.

Fuck the money. I'd burn every last dollar, drain the club's accounts, sell my bike, my cut, my cursed soul if it meant I could just have her back.

But she's gone. Vanished.

And I have no idea where to even fucking start. FUCK!

The second Pops walks into the clubhouse, I know I'm about to get my ass handed to me.

"What the fuck did you do, boy? What was the first lesson I taught you?" His voice is sharp, cutting through the noise like a whip.

He doesn't waste a single second, doesn't wait to pull me aside. No, he's ripping into me right in front of everyone. The brothers are gathered around the bar, watching this like prime entertainment, eager to see their Prez get verbally whipped by one of the founders of the club.

Fucking assholes. They knew this was coming.

Pops was like a second father to half these bastards. They've all been on the receiving end of one of his lectures before.

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