Page 74 of Traitor

"Oh, really?" she says, all sweet and fake innocence. The worst actress I've ever seen. "Sure. I have time Friday night. But there's nowhere in town with decent food."

She pauses, then smiles again. The smile of a predator.

"Just come here," she says. "I'll make dinner. How does that sound?"

I stare at her, coffee warm against my palm, her lie blinking at me in neon fucking lights. She would've been permanently unemployed in Hollywood. How the hell did I ever think she played me before? I'm the biggest fucking dumbass in the universe.

She blinks three times in quick succession. She's definitely planning something.

And still — I walk right the fuck into it.

"I'd love to have dinner with you, Ely." Soft. Willing. No hesitation.

Her grin sharpens, but she doesn't break character. She's playing a role, and she's committing.

"Good," she says smoothly. "I can't wait. We have a lot to talk about. I know I acted angry before, but I had time to think and maybe we can find some middle ground in the future. We had some amazing months together, didn't we?"

Her voice is syrupy sweet, fake as hell. I take another sip of coffee, swallowing down the taste of my own damn downfall. Instead of calling her out, instead of pushing, I walk closer. Her body goes stiff. That smile dies.

She thinks I'm about to touch her. And she looks like she'd rather set herself on fire than let that happen.

The thought cuts me in a way I don't have time to process.

Instead, I hold the empty cup out, my voice low. "I'll see you later, beautiful."

Then I turn and leave.

Two hours later, I'm fucking dying.

Whatever was in that coffee is tearing me apart from the inside.

I barely last through the meeting, barely manage to sign the papers for the cabin before I'm bolting, leaving Tank to wrap things up while I run like a goddamn maniac.

She definitely poisoned me. And I let her.

But if this is what it takes for Ely to forgive me, even a little bit, I'll fucking take it.

Famous last words.

Ely

"Hook, line, and sinker," I murmur to myself, watching Bones walk out of my home, completely unaware of the storm he just stepped into.

He'll wish he never fucking came back.

16. Served

Ely

Friday arrives too fast.

I've barely had time to breathe between setting everything up, making sure every little detail is in place, double-checking my supplies, and running through every step in my head. Good thing Ria was there to help because without her, I don't know if I would've been ready.

Buying the things I needed was one thing. Making the rest? A whole different beast. Hiding everything where it needed to be, ensuring there was no way out for him once he stepped inside? Exhausting. But worth it.

Dr. Monroe, my old therapist, would probably have a goddamn heart attack if she knew what I was about to do. She'd frown, tilt her head, ask me how I feel about all this.

Therapy never managed to dig the anger out of me. Neither did kickboxing. Or shooting. Or running until my lungs burned.

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