Page 164 of Traitor

I press my lips together. Fear slithers up my spine, whispering to run. This is my chance. Leave. But fuck that. If I walk away now, I'll just go back to my miserable half-trips, my endless avoidance.

"Thanks," I say, forcing my feet to move toward the clubhouse doors. "I'll wait inside."

Joker just nods and moves toward his car.

Bones

I roll into Silverpine the morning after my meeting with Arcangelo, my body on the verge of shutting down after riding all fucking night. The cold cuts through my leather, straight to my bones, but I barely feel it. I don't feel much of anything anymore. Just the weight of exhaustion dragging at me.

My mind's been slipping further into the dark, the emptiness inside me expanding like a black hole. I see it in my brothers' eyes — the unease, the worry — but I shut down every attempt to talk about her. I can't. I can't fucking talk about her with anyone else. Not anymore. She's already consuming every thought, every breath, and I can't escape it. So I keep my head down and do my job. Survive another day. Keep breathing, even when all I want to do is take a bullet to my skull and end it.

For four years, I had a mission. I knew she was out there, somewhere, and I let myself fucking hope. But there's no hope anymore. There never was. I was a goddamn fool to believe in it.

I don't even acknowledge the prospect at the gate when I roll through. Don't glance around when I park my bike. I just need sleep. My body feels like it's made of lead as I push through the door of the clubhouse.

And then I hear it — the sweetest fucking sound in existence.

"Pay up, Tank! You lost!"

My head snaps toward the pool table, and there she is. An amused, victorious grin on her face, her hand outstretched toward Tank.

"Only because you fucking pushed me," Tank grumbles, digging into his wallet.

The world tilts.

Am I hallucinating? Did I finally break? Is my mind finally gone for good? Because this — this can't be real. She can't be here. She isn't. She wouldn't just walk in here on her own. Did Tank drag her here? Threaten her? Force her?

The bike keys slip from my fingers, clattering to the floor. That's when she turns.

Her smile falters. Then it fades completely. And just like that, whatever was left of my fucking heart dies with it. Of course, I'm the one who sucks the joy out of her. I'm the shadow, the stain, the permanent fucking reminder of everything she lost.

She steps forward, slow, hesitant. Her eyes are big, searching. She's so goddamn beautiful. It hurts. I can't move, can't breathe, can't do a single fucking thing but watch her get closer.

She stops a few feet away and I hear her whisper, "I feel nothing."

Everything inside me that was still hanging by the thinnest thread shatters into dust. She feels nothing.

Because that's what I am to her now.

Nothing. I am nothing.

The words knock the air from my lungs, and suddenly, I can't fucking breathe. My chest tightens, my vision blurs, my legs threaten to give out. Everything feels heavy. I stagger back, trying to get some fucking oxygen, but it's like there's a mountain crushing me, pressing all the air from my lungs.

"Bones?" Her voice is different now. Alarmed. "Are you feeling ill? Why did you go white as a sheet?"

I try to swallow but my throat is too dry. I can't get one fucking word out. I can't answer. My pulse is hammering like a war drum.

She feels nothing.

It was better when she hated me. At least then, I existed in her world.

"Oh my God! Tank, help! I think he's having a panic attack! Bring me a paper bag or something!" She sounds scared. Why? I am nothing.

Her voice rises in panic, but it's distant, muffled. Like I'm underwater.

The dots in my vision dance wildly. My body goes numb. This is it. This is where I finally fucking collapse.

Then — hands. Warm, strong. Gripping my face, yanking me down, until my forehead collides with hers. Her scent crashes into me. Her eyes drill into mine.

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