Page 8 of Traitor

Lucas frowned, like he was trying to explain something simple to someone stupid. "You think the club's gonna back you over him? They just want Jinx happy. And if that means you stop fighting him, then that's what they expect."

My chest constricted.

All the air left my lungs.

I stared at him, waiting for him to say he was kidding. Waiting for him to take it back.

But he didn't.

He never would.

I was all alone.

It started with the doors.

I used to be able to shut them.

To lock them.

To carve out even the smallest piece of privacy in a world that wasn't really mine.

But then one night, I walked into my room — the one I was given at the clubhouse — and Jinx was already inside.

Sitting in my chair.

Smiling.

"Locked doors don't mean much around here, sweetheart," he said. "You're eighteen, time to become a woman now."

My pulse skipped, then roared to life, my lungs locked up. I stepped back before I even realized I was moving.

His smile widened. "You nervous?"

I couldn't breathe.

My chest clenched. The air vanished from my body.

I was trapped.

I was going to die there.

And I did. I died in that room that night. And no one cared.

Jinx forced himself inside my body every night starting then. And I couldn't say anything.

I couldn't do anything. The leash was already firmly around my neck.

Eight months ago

I spent years planning it.

The perfect moment, when Jinx would finally feel like he sucked the will out of me. Like I was so beat down that I wouldn't ever dream of leaving him.

I stole cash, pocketing bills when no one was looking.

I memorized schedules, learned when Jinx drank enough to pass out, when the brothers were distracted, when I could slip through the cracks.

I stashed a bag in a forgotten storage room with clothes, money, a burner phone I bought from a gas station.

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