Page 103 of Traitor

Pain pulses in slow, deep waves, my skin raw, shredded, nerves screaming. My cut sticks to my back, slick with sweat, with blood, with the heat of it all.

Temper tosses the paddle onto the ground. Wood smacks against dirt.

"You got stubborn again, huh? Standing until the last one." Her voice is smug, full of challenge.

I breathe out slow, drag my eyes up to hers. A smirk pulls at my lips, sharp, lazy, cocky as ever. What else do I have left? Certainly not pride.

"My ass has always been yours, baby. I wanted you to have full access to it."

Her eyes flash. She considers picking the damn thing back up. I see it in the way her fingers twitch, the way she leans in, just a little.

She doesn't.Thank fuck she doesn't.

Instead, she steps forward, grabs my face in one rough grip, and forces me to look at her.

"Learn your lesson well, Bones. Or I might have to teach it to you again." She grits her teeth.

I breathe through the pain, the heat spreading deep into my marrow.

"'I'll never forget it." And that's a fucking promise.

But the physical pain is nothing. It seems that no matter how much I bleed, how many wounds she carves into me, Temper won't fucking budge. Won't give me even a sliver of hope, a single inch of ground. I feel desperation starting to claw inside of me.

I need a new fucking strategy.

Because at this rate? I'll die long before I ever get to have even one taste of her again.

From somewhere nearby, Tank groans, voice hoarse with agony. "So much pain. So many assholes. There's no therapist in the world who can put me back together after this shit."

He's not fucking wrong.

But I know Temper's not done. Not even close.

She tilts her head, looking at him like he's an insect under her boot. "Take it like the man you are, Tank. And say goodbye to your bike."

The chorus of groans that follows her words is louder than any scream.

Fuck.

She turns slowly and starts walking toward my bat.

This is gonna suck.

I look at my bike, my beautiful, loyal beast, and say a silent fucking prayer. A necessary sacrifice. A hero's death. She will be fondly remembered.

"Girls, grab whatever you need. It's time to do some recycling," Temper announces, her voice practically purring.

"Oh, yes!" Ria claps like it's Christmas morning and she’s just about to unwrap the biggest gift box. "Can I get Tank's bike?" She bats her lashes at Temper, feigning innocence.

"Go for it." Temper grins, eyes flashing with a wicked kind of pleasure.

Ria turns to Tank with predatory glee. "Which one is yours, chrome dome?"

Tank lifts his head, looking at her like a wounded animal. "What did I ever do to you?" he croaks.

Ria narrows her eyes. "You hurt my best friend, Baldy McShine! Now point."

Tank stares at her like she's the devil incarnate, but slowly, painfully, lifts a shaking finger toward his bike. His whole body slumps in defeat.

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