Page 91 of Traitor

"Hello, Temperance."

The voice cuts through my peace like a blade, shattering the stillness. Not Bones. But another annoying fucking Vulture comes to rain on my morning.

I turn my head slowly, my lips pressing into a thin line. Ghost.

"What do you want?" My voice is clipped, already done with whatever conversation he thinks he's about to have. "I don't have time for this. I'm making plans for my weekend."

He shifts, scratching the back of his neck, and my eyebrows shoot up.

Ghost, uncertain?

The man carries himself like he was born to rule the world. And yet, right now, he looks hesitant.

Interesting.

"Well," he starts, slow, cautious. "Bones said something." He exhales sharply, eyes narrowing slightly, like he's trying to read me, trying to anticipate my next move.

"That you'd like to punish the brothers." His voice lowers. "For that night."

The words hang between us, thick, heavy, electric with unspoken things.

I say nothing.

I let the silence stretch, let it settle into his skin, let him wonder where the fuck this is going to go. Let him squirm.

Finally, I lift a single brow. "And?"

He exhales again, shifting his stance. He's uncomfortable. Good.

"And the brothers and I decided that you should do it."

My pulse kicks.

He lifts a hand, shaking his head before I can respond. "Bones didn't force us. He just told us what you wanted. Said it was our choice. And we chose."

His gaze is dead steady. "We want to do it."

My stomach flips, but I keep my face blank.

Oh, this is going to be fun.

I purse my lips, tapping a finger against my chin, pretending to think, but I already know my answer.

A slow smile stretches across my lips, filled with wicked plans.

"On one condition," I murmur, voice syrupy sweet. "Bones gets to be in the crowd to receive his collective punishment right alongside you." I pause, let the words sink in, twist the knife.

"After all," I say, blinking innocently, "what are brothers for?"

Ghost's lips twitch — a quiet laugh escaping, dark and knowing. He shakes his head, muttering under his breath. "At this rate, he's definitely going to die by your hand soon."

Then he nods. "I'll tell him. I doubt he'll argue."

I clap my hands together, the sharp sound splitting the air.

"Well then," I purr, "that's settled. Next week. Friday afternoon, I'll meet you all at the clubhouse."

I lean forward, eyes gleaming, my smile widening as I deliver the final blow.

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