Death Reapers MC: Angels to Ash

xiv.

Riley
"Due to personal reasons, I will be going completely off the fucking rails."
—-

Dallas had texted warning me that this was going to get bad. That was an understatement.

I had been sitting in a small room, with a standard table and chairs, for hours. A tiny window was behind me, filtering in the morning light. It's how I kept track of time. This place was set up exactly like a stereotypical police interrogation room. I had no water, no food, no offer for the bathroom.

Angel was the one who dragged my ass in here at all hours of the morning. Dallas screamed at Trace to make him stop but he just stared at me with cold, vacant eyes. She cried. We had passed a blood covered Rage on the way in, his face swollen and red, body limp, wrists suspended above his head at an awkward angle. I feared he was dead.

The door opened, someone finally coming in.

I looked up, blinking slowly. Trace took a seat across from me. He had dark bags under his eyes, his hair still perfect and slicked back. He was dressed in all black, his leather MC cut on. I almost hated him. But I knew his number one obligation was to the club.

He cleared his throat, eyes not meeting mine.

"Rage told Angel you'd been feeding the Bastards information on us. Is that true?"

I rolled my head to the side, already so fucking over this. "What do you think?"

Trace shook his head, frowning deeply. "I think.. I don't even know who you are anymore."

I let his words bounce around my mind, eyes on the ceiling. He was right, he didn't. I hummed, uncommitted.

"I told you I would be the one to take you out if you turned on the club." His voice rasped low. I recognized the tone. He was fucking hurt. I tried to care. I wished I felt something, a twin connection if you will, that he was in pain. But all I felt was the sting of this chair on my ass for hours, his club coming after me, their blind betrayal.

"Do what you have to." I shrugged, uncaring. I was so numb.

Trace slammed his fists down on the table in front of us. I jumped, involuntarily, flinching.

"Do not fucking push me right now."

I stared at him, unwavering. He returned the gaze. We stayed like that for minutes, maybe hours, just staring at each other.

"What information could I have told them, Trace?" I asked, sitting up straight. He continued to stare, his eyes burning into me. "What is it that you think that I know?" He remained silent. "It's not like I spend my time hanging out with you." I scoffed, like the idea was ludicrous. Trace said nothing.

"Not everything is about you, brother." I spat with venom, instantly furious.

Trace smirked, leaning back in the chair and scratching his face. That tattoo of our dad on the back of his hand mocked me. "Never has been, right?"

It was my turn to smirk. Brother or not, his weight, his opinion, took no consideration in anything I did.

"Never." My face scrunched up with hatred. This might as well have been the last nail in the coffin that was our relationship. I didn't know if it could be salvaged. He thought Brynn, thought me, a traitor. It was written all over his face. But he was just as bad. We were his sisters, his only blood left alive. But he'd always chosen fucking club.

He shook his head, sighing. "You were born into the Reapers. You make yourself tied to a Raging Bastard and expect to not face the consequences?" His head tilted back, incredulously. "Ain't that just like you, asking the world to fucking bow to you and your decisions."