The Traitor ✓ (Book Six)

Chapter Twenty

  I stand in front of my made bed, trying to bring myself to pack. I know I won't take everything- this situation is only temporary after all and the apartment is furnished, but I'm trying to decide what all to bring.

  And I really should hurry up- I'm expected there in just an hour. I run my fingers over the layer of dust on top of my dresser, apologizing to the housekeeper in my head. On the floor, a week's worth of dirty laundry lays. I won't leave that for her to clean up, I decide.

  So I shove them into my duffel bag, unfolded. I then walk around the tiny house, putting stuff together so it's easier on her. The things I don't take will either stay or get thrown away. It's not like it matters- I have no sentimental things left.

  I was still wearing Emily's necklace when they took the bomb from me. It was a tiny diamond, probably a quarter the size of my nail- surrounded by a real gold cage and chain. I'd broke the clasp so the chain was tied together, and for whatever reason- the first prison thought I could use it as a weapon so they confiscated it. I haven't seen the thing since. It could be on the neck of some Prison guard's wife or daughter, or at a landfill with all other personal items.

  Emily's mom was the first owner.

  It was the most expensive thing either of them ever owned, she told me. If either of them were still alive I'd do everything in my power to return it(which isn't much).

  The ring I bought myself yesterday reminds me of her. It's something she'd like- one that would have made a good wedding ring. I shove it in the side pocket of my bag and move on to the bathroom. Instead of  picking out individual items, I take everything into the bag with my arm.

  I zip it up and give myself a second to look back at the house. I didn't have a chance to make memories in it, instead using my time here to dwell on the past.

  I shut the door for what may be the last time, for a few months. I take my time on the steep path upwards to where my brand new motorcycle sits, too heavy to steal in a neighborhood known for its morality and friendliness.

  Here, you don't need a license to own one, so that simplifies things( though whoever crafted my backstory made one). When I grip onto the handles, my chip activates it. All I have to do now is press the go button.

  Driving it home took some getting used to. I had to teach myself how to stop it from going so fast, and I almost rear ended a few people - but I didn't.

  I've got the address written down on my finger since this thing is lacking a gps, which I keep looking at as I exit the neighborhood.

  Since most people left for work two hours ago, the roads are clear. I could ride on the wrong side if I wanted to, but if I'm gonna kill myself it'll be something more instant - something that doesn't have the risk of permanent bodily harm as the alternative.

  Just five minutes later, I'm looking up at what has to be the biggest apartment building I've ever seen- and since I used to live in the capital that's saying something. Victor had me call the doorman yesterday so he'd recognize my voice and let me in.

  And he does. I only get funny looks from the lobby attendant....who clearly recognizes me. Perfect. Just perfect.

Tensely, I walk past her to the elevator and press the penthouse floor button. I step out into a tiny room(built for security purposes), and scan my finger. Instantly, the door retracts sideways into the wall. There's no sign of Maria here. Most of her boxes are shoved in her room near the balcony, but the rest of the place is spotless. I shrug and peek m head in the other bedroom. It was clearly meant to be for guests, being relatively plain.

  I guess i'm sort of a guest- they didn't plan on me staying here from the beginning. Maria hadn't decided to move out until a few days ago, I'm told.

  I set my bag down at the desk and decide I'll unpack later. Then when I turn around, I nearly have a heart attack.

  She stands in the doorway, watching me.

  "Jesus- how long have you been standing there?" I ask, my heart still beating at an unsafe rate.

  "About four seconds." She shrugs. Without asking(not that I mind) she lets herself in  and sits in the corner chair.

  "So.... Wait do you need me to drive you somewhere?" I ask.

  "Not right now...I was just curious: how are you doing?"

  It depends on the second you ask. My depression comes in waves. I can push through and mask it since I'm used to doing so, but I don't tell her that

  "I'm....fine."

  "You don't need to lie. I was there." She crosses her arms. "We were both there."

  "I know." I say. "But you didn't kill him."

  "Damon." She shakes her head. "I watched the bullet go through him. I saw him bleed out."

  "It's been a while since I've killed anybody." I ignore her last statement and regret it the second the words leave my mouth.

  "So...you lied to the cops?" She asks.

  Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck-

"Yep." I remain calm on the outside.

  "Damon-"

  She's nice but she still doesn't get it.

  "I don't like talking about my past. Can you...talk about anything else?" I interrupt. She tilts her head like she's trying to decide what she thinks about me. I know that look. That is the look Emily gave me after the group kidnapped her.

  "Oh..... okay."