Page 87 of Traitor

That's all that's left.

One more day of breaking Bones. One more day to make decisions about the grand finale. One more day to see this through.

And then? Then, I get to see what's left of me when the fire burns out.

The thought should terrify me. Should send me spiraling, should leave me gasping for air. But it doesn't.

For the first time in four goddamn years, I feel something close to peace. A quiet inside me that has never existed before.

And I think maybe, just maybe, I'm finally ready to let go.

Day four

Bones

She enters the cold, damp room like a vision ripped from a fever dream, sharp edges and unrelenting fire, the embodiment of vengeance in silk and steel. Arms crossed, head tilted, eyes burning into me.

I don't speak. This is her show.

"I like seeing you like this," she murmurs, stepping closer, amusement curling at the edges of her lips. "Helpless. At my mercy."

I smirk, or at least, I try.

"Baby, you can do anything to me. My body is yours. My soul is yours. My heart is yours. This merciless part of you seriously turns me on."

Her brow arches, mocking my words.

"I don't believe that for a second."

She stalks toward me, like a predator, the weight of her presence suffocating. My muscles scream, my limbs barely functional, every nerve shredded by days of torment. I don't know if I can take any more. There's only one thing left for her to do to me now and I honestly don't know if I'll survive it.

She turns her back to me, moves toward the metal table. My stomach drops.

A glint of steel.

A fucking knife. Every ounce of hope evaporates.

If she goes for my throat, there's no way she's cutting just deep enough to leave a scar butnotdeep enough to kill me. I'm not that fucking lucky.

She pivots, blade in hand, and walks back toward me.

I brace myself. Grit my teeth. Prepare for whatever comes next.

But instead of slicing, she starts unbinding my legs, then my arms. Relief is fleeting. Suspicion settles in its place.

"Temper..." My voice is hoarse, nothing more than a rough scrape of sound, but before I can get another word out, she yanks the last restraint free and steps back.

And I fall.

Face first.

Hard cement.

A sickening crunch. My nose explodes with pain. Blood gushes down my face, pooling at my lips, coating my tongue with the taste of iron and failure.

I groan. Fuck.

"I have a friend coming to help me take you to my car," she says, tone devoid of emotion, like I'm nothing more than a piece of trash she needs to dispose of. "We'll throw you by the side of the road. And don't even think about doing anything to her if you survive this."

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