Page 93 of Traitor

I choke on a laugh. "Mama, that's your son, too."

We settle around the kitchen table, Layla already raiding my cookie stash like the little thief she's always been. I set out water, juice, and Coke, watching them with something close to nostalgia, something that stings more than I expected.

Mama picks up her drink, eyes sharp with curiosity. "I hear you had a hand in giving him a reality check."

I still, my fingers curling around my glass. "What exactly did you hear?"

She takes a slow sip, too calm, a little amused.

"He wouldn't say much," she muses, setting her drink down. "But the bandages were pretty obvious." She smiles, kind and knowing. "Thank you for leaving him alive and in one piece, though."

Layla snorts and nearly chokes on her juice.

I clear my throat, shifting in my seat. "Umm... I just wanted him to leave town, initially." I scowl. "But of course, he's too stubborn for that."

Mama's hand covers mine, warm, steady, grounding.

"He's always been stubborn," she says softly. "And fearless. I've never seen that boy give up on something he truly wanted. Not once."

She watches me, expression unreadable, before exhaling, leaning back. "I won't tell you what to do. This is your choice. What he did was awful. And whatever price he owes for his stupidity and cruelty, that's for you alone to decide."

She squeezes my fingers, her voice dipping lower, softer.

"But, again, I am thankful you let him live," she murmurs. "Because even though he's an absolute numbskull, he is still my son."

The words settle in my chest, heavy as a boulder.

Then she claps her hands together, bright and mischievous.

"Now — tell us everything you've been up to these last four years!"

Five hours slip away like minutes, and when I finally glance at the clock, panic slams into me instantly.

Shit. I'm late.

I bolt out of my chair, nearly knocking over my glass. "Oh, God, I have to meet some friends tonight! We're going dancing, and I'm so, so fucking late."

Mama stands, completely unbothered, and pulls me into a quick but firm hug, her warmth wrapping around me, laced with affection. "We'll leave you to it, sweetheart," she murmurs, kissing my cheek. "Didn't realize how late it got."

Layla follows, hugging me tightly, squeezing just a little longer than necessary, just enough to make my chest ache. When she pulls back, she pouts.

"When can I see you again?"

I smirk, my mind filled with wicked plans. "Oh, I'll be at the clubhouse on Friday for a little... fun with the brothers."

Layla's eyes go wide.

Mama snorts, shaking her head, amused but unsurprised.

"Really?" Layla's voice is a mixture of delight and anticipation. Her lips curve, matching my devious expression. "I'll see you Friday, then. Judging by the look in your eyes, you're planning something beautiful. I can't wait to see it."

We're barely halfway to the door when a sharp knock echoes through the house.

I pull it open, not bothering to check, because I already know who it is.

And there he stands. Griffin.

Tall. Imposing. His hazel eyes rake over me, drinking me in like I'm an oasis and he's dying of thirst.

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