Page 95 of Traitor

Right as we exit, a hand grips my arm.

"Temper."

I sigh, turning to face him. Griffin tenses beside me, eyes narrowing, ready for a fight.

I pat his chest. "Give me a minute, okay?"

He doesn't like it, but after a pause, he nods. "Are you sure?"

I nod back at him, and after another hesitant look at Bones, Griffin steps back.

I fold my arms, tilting my head, watching Bones like he's an insect I could crush under my heel.

"What, Bones?"

His jaw flexes, tight.

"Who is that guy?" His voice is low, almost a growl.

I smirk. "None of your business."

His nostrils flare. "Why are you stalking me?" I ask, my tone dripping with boredom. "You want me to get a restraining order?"

His lips curl, the hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "No piece of paper would keep me away from you, Temper."

I roll my eyes. "Jail would."

He laughs quietly, shaking his head. "Not even that, baby."

His eyes darken. "Now tell me, what are you doing with that guy? He's not your type."

I roll my eyes slowly, like this whole interaction is the most ridiculous thing that’s ever happened to me. "Oh? And what exactly is my type?"

He exhales sharply through his nose, jaw working. I don't let him answer.

"Wait, let me guess. Big, stupid, asshole bikers?" I smirk. "No, thank you. Leave me alone, Bones. I think I made myself perfectly clear a few days ago."

I turn to walk away, but he steps forward, closing the distance. He looks straight into my eyes and brings his hand up, his fingers brushing the side of my neck.

"And I already told you, Temper. I'm not going anywhere. Have your fun with your boy toy, but I'm not giving up."

His look is too intense, too determined. My gaze drops.

And that's when I see it.

My breath catches in my throat, my pulse stutters.

Bold, black ink. Stretching across his neck. Right to left. A brand. A scar.A confession.

TRAITOR.

My fingers twitch. My lips part. My vision narrows to nothing but those fucking letters.

What did he do?

Before I can stop myself, my hand lifts. My fingertips graze the ink, tracing the letters, slow, reverent, horrified. A weakness starts forming inside my heart. I hate it. It makes my eyes mist over.

I feel him holding his breath, his entire body frozen.

---