Page 107 of Traitor

I take a slow, deep breath, fingers flexing, mind clearing, heart steadying. I need to take a step back. I need to get my old self back.

But better. Sharper. Stronger.

I'm coming for you, Temper. And this time? I'm not walking into your fire just to burn.

No.

This time, I'm fighting and bringing the fucking storm.

And I'll break down every last one of those high walls you built around yourself, brick by goddamn brick.

Temper

It's been two weeks since the spectacle at the clubhouse. Two weeks since I branded those bastards in ways they won't forget. Bones still sends his stupid fucking thoughtful gifts, but at least he hasn't darkened my doorstep. Yet.

I haven't had time to really think about it. Not with a wailing woman occupying my guest room, mourning the death of her marriage. Layla has been shattered since Joker's betrayal, and I can't blame her. From the outside, they were solid, unshakable. Until he went and fucked it all up.

With her ex-high school best friend.

Joker kept trying to come over, kept pushing, until I finally told him that if he showed up again, I'd shoot him. And I was serious, too. Layla only spiraled worse every time he knocked on the door, so I took matters into my own hands. He made the saddest fucking puppy eyes, mumbled that he understood, and left.

It's been a few days since then. He hasn't come back.

Good.

Layla is slowly crawling back to life. Mama has been over plenty, helping in ways I can't. Layla has decisions to make, things to do, a future to piece back together. And my heart fucking aches for her.

I'm sipping my morning coffee on the back deck, enjoying the peaceful mountain view that stretches before me, cool air biting at my skin. I need this. This week was hell with client emergencies, late nights, one fire after another. I need a break, need to breathe, reset, try to shake this gnawing unease.

Thoughts about Bones keep plaguing my mind. His gifts don't let me forget. He's haunting me, one way or another.

Griffin is gone. Some trip he apparently planned a long time ago. Ria is buried in work, drowning in some last-minute cake order. Layla... Layla still refuses to leave the guest room. At least she's talking again, even if it's only clipped, empty sentences.

I hate the silence. I need a distraction.

So I did something impulsive. I agreed to go on a date with Michael, the town mechanic. He always asks me out when I bring my car in. I always say no. Not interested. Not ready. Not fucking willing to put myself through the mess of dating again.

But this week? This week, when he asked, I said yes.

Maybe it was the exhaustion, the weight of having to deal with my past strolling back into my life. Maybe it was something deeper, uglier, like the need to overwrite Bones with someone else once and for all, to prove to myself that what we had wasn't one of a kind.

Because it can't be. It won't be. I refuse that.

I need to force myself back into the world. Challenge myself. Maybe I'll finally find someone I can connect with on a deeper level.

Because it would be tragic if the only man I ever had that connection with was the one who ripped me apart.

Right now, I feel something shifting inside me.

That peace I felt after taking my vengeance? It's slipping. The satisfaction, the relief, all of that is starting to fade, peeling back layer by layer. And underneath?

Something hollow.

Something wicked.

It scratches at the surface, demanding more, whisperingjustice, justice, justice.Retribution. As if I still haven't taken enough.

But I can't keep drawing blood. That's not moving on.

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