Page 97 of Traitor

This is a fucking luxury lodge.

I whip my head toward Ria, staring at her like I need confirmation that I'm not hallucinating. She just grins, unbothered, enjoying the moment.

I get my shit together, masking my shock, and step out of the car. The place is impressive — new, sturdy, built to last. As we move toward the back of the building, my gaze sweeps over the area, noting the other structures in various stages of construction. They're setting up something serious here. Interesting.

And then we round the corner.

Andfuck me.

I stop dead in my tracks.

Twenty men. The ranked members of the club.

Completely, utterly, shamelessly naked.

Well, almost. The only thing they're wearing is their leather cuts, draped over broad, bare shoulders. Their bikes are perfectly lined up behind them, standing at attention like soldiers prepared for war.

Each man stands with his hands cupped in front of him, hiding the most precious parts.

Their expressions? Dead serious. Determined. Like they're about to pledge allegiance to something far bigger than themselves.

And right in the middle?

Bones.

Wrapped in bandages, bruises, fresh ink marking his throat like a scar. Looking like a warrior who refuses to lose. Even when he’s already lost.

My smile stretches impossibly wide.

Beside me, Ria loses her goddamn mind. She doubles over, cackling like a full-blown lunatic, clutching her stomach as tears stream down her face.

I tilt my head, taking in the spectacle before me.

This is going to be so fucking beautiful.

20. Vampire

Temper

Istare down the long row of beautiful, brooding bastards in front of me. Assholes. Every single one of them.

They had this coming for a long, long time.

Ria rummages through the duffel bag we brought with us, humming a tune like a happy little psychopath. I take my time, my gaze dragging over the lineup of guilty faces, the weight of the moment pressing into my ribs, thick and heavy. I didn't expect this many of them to show. I assumed Bones, Ghost, Tank, Reaper and Joker would stand here — the ones who should have known better.

But it's not just them.

It’s every high ranked member. Even the ones who barely spoke a word to me.

Reaper is missing, though. Interesting. And so is Inker, the tattoo artist who actually tattooed me. I suppose they remained in Driftwood. Small mercies.

I scan their faces, burning their expressions into my memory. I remember that night with sickening clarity.

The way they avoided my eyes.

The way they stood still. Silent.

Not a single one of them spoke up while I was dragged to that basement like I was nothing.

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