Page 88 of Traitor

Her voice drops, dangerous, sharp enough to slice through bone.

"I will kill you slowly if you harm even a single strand of hair on her head. Do you get me?"

I barely lift my head, vision swimming.

She's so fucking beautiful. Even now, standing above me, blood on her hands, vengeance woven into every inch of her being.

"I'd never harm your friends, Temper," I whisper, the only promise I can make.

The door creaks open. A small blonde with a glint of pure chaos in her eyes bounces inside, grinning like she just walked into a goddamn party.

"Oh, hello, asshole!" she chirps, all sunshine and knives.

She looks at Temper, all business. "Let's get him out of here."

Then she scrunches her nose.

"And maybe deep clean this room, Tempe. It smells like biker bitch in here."

I let out a raspy chuckle. Of course Temper would be friends with a complete lunatic.

The car stops somewhere off the road. Remote. Empty. I don't know where we are, don't care. Because I can't take my fucking eyes off her. She looks different. At peace. Serene. Like she's standing at the edge of a storm, finally seeing clear skies.

Maybe she's deciding if she should just end me right here.

God, I hope not. I need a life with this woman. I need a chance to fix what I destroyed.

I loved her before, mourned her like the loss of a limb, but now? Now it's obsession.

She was always incredible, but now? Now she's untouchable. A fallen angel with wings dipped in blood. Power incarnate. Nothing can stop her now. Not even me.

She turns toward me, glances at her friend, then back at me. Then, without a single word, they both get out and drag me from the car like a fucking sack of meat. My head slams against the ground. I can't even groan. I have nothing left.

Temper crouches over me, knife in hand. The blade presses to my throat. I hold my breath. Wait. If I die now, at least the last thing I see is her face.

She studies me, expression unreadable, something flickering in her eyes. Then, she sneers. Like she just tasted something rotten.

"You are fucking pathetic." Her voice is pure venom. "Stop looking at me like that. I'm about to cut your throat."

"It's yours to cut," I whisper. Truth.

Her shoulders tighten. And then she sighs. Retracts the blade.

"I can't actually cut your throat, Kane." She sounds frustrated, almost disgusted.

"I honestly might kill you, and I don't want that on my conscience. I like making you suffer, but I won't become a murderer because of you. You're not worth it."

Her voice wavers. Just slightly. She doesn't look at me as she speaks again. Quieter now.

"This was never about you. It was about healing myself."

"Awww... I was really hoping you were going to kill him," her friend pouts. "I can do it for you, Tempe!"

Temper glares. The psycho woman pouts harder, stomps back to the car.

Temper digs into her pocket, pulls out a phone — my phone. She presses my thumb to the screen, unlocking it, then dials a number. Waits. When the call connects, she speaks only four words:

"Find your boss, doggy."

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