Page 14 of Traitor

Not with the Crimson Riders. Not even with Lucas. There was always something nagging me in the back of my mind with them.

But not here. This feels different.

I'm busy refilling a round of tequila shots when a soft voice cuts through the noise.

"You handle yourself well."

I glance up to see a woman standing on the other side of the bar, her chestnut hair cascading over one shoulder, her amber eyes sharp yet kind.

She's beautiful in a way that isn't just physical. There's something effortless about her, the kind of confidence that comes from knowing exactly who she is.

"You must be Layla," I say, recognizing her from the way Joker's arm rests casually but possessively around her waist. He wouldn't shut up about his amazing Ol' Lady when he was at the bar with Tank, earlier. It was adorable.

She smiles. "And you must be Bones' new obsession. Finally a beautiful woman and not his bike or the Vultures."

I wipe my hands on a bar towel, giving her my full attention. "Why would you say that?"

"Because of the way he looked at you last night."

I freeze.

Layla chuckles. "Relax. The whole club saw it. That man had his eyes on you from the moment you walked in."

Heat creeps up my neck, but I force myself to stay composed. "Well... I'm just here for the job."

Layla tilts her head slightly, amusement flickering in her gaze. "Sure you are."

I have no idea what to say, but before I can even try, she leans forward slightly, her voice dropping just enough so only I can hear.

"I've never seen Bones watch someone the way he was watching you last night. He never approaches a woman himself. Yet, he approached you."

My stomach tightens.

I don't know what to do with that.

For the rest of my shift, I try not to think about him at all.

When last call finally rolls around, my hands ache from shaking cocktails, my back is sore from bending and reaching, but I don't care.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this. Like maybe I could be safe. I could have a life. A real one.

I wipe down the bar, exhaustion settling in, but my mind is racing.

I know what I have to do.

I can't let my past make me afraid.

I can't let fear dictate my future.

So I hang up my bar towel, exhale a slow, steady breath.

And I go looking for him.

My fist hovers over the wooden door for half a second before I knock.

It's late.

I should go home a.k.a. the motel I'm crashing at. Sleep on it. Think.

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