Page 1 of Traithorn

Chapter 1

LITTLE TRAITOR

The Dagger

Razor-sharp thorns prick myveins, slithering their way into every blood vessel as I tug at the handcuffs around my wrists. Pain laces everywhere, the cuffs digging deeper. Harder. More painful with each passing second—one second closer to our ultimate doom.

Fucking bastard!I inwardly curse as I keep fighting the handcuffs biting into my wrists. Blood trickles from the torn skin, making them slick as I twist and wrench. There’s a chuckle ringing out in the cell beside mine. Annoyance filters through me like a vice as I grumble.

“How’s it going?” The cocky voice asks.

“Fucking humor me,” I mutter, trying to get out of the goddamn handcuffs.

“I got out of mine minutes ago.”

“And you didn’t fucking think to tell me?” My voice carries through the walls and into his cell beside me, only a concrete wall separating us.

It’s not enough to prevent me from fucking strangling him the first chance I get.

“Oh my dear, what’s the fun in that?”

I curse him under my breath, skin ripping off as I finally slide out of the handcuffs. They clatter to the ground with a loud shatter, hiding the soft whimper escaping me at the burning sensation.

“I’m out,” I hiss, sweat beading my forehead.

Now, that was intense.

Dragging my hands through my hair, I stare at the small window on the wall. It’s barely the size of a paperback, but it lets in just enough light to paint the cell in silver. Cold and sterile, the kind that’s not cozy in the slightest. My dagger pendant glitters in the moonlight as if it’s alive, and as I inspect it closer, I notice something dark smeared across the tiny, model blade.

Blood. Fuck knows how it got there.

The Dagger.That’s what they call me. A cold, frigid bitch. The only woman in this rotting cage they call prison. Three years sealed in and forgotten. You could almost believe it’s a men-only ward.

Women can be criminals too, so fuck that.

I hear the familiar clinking of metal as the cell door next to mine opens, and out steps a man in an orange suit pushing against his chest and broad shoulders. His physique is a striking blend of rugged strength and control from years spent locked up. The only thing to keep his thoughts off of everything horrible happening was to work out. Broad shoulders taper down to a narrow, well-trained waist, and as he notices me staring, his piercing gaze strips away all the defenses I’ve managed to keep up for years.

I huff out a breath, finally meeting those eyes I’ve only seen through the bars of our cells for the past three years. An incident with two other inmates led them to lock down the place long ago, forbidding us from hanging around each other.

A smirk litters his cracked and bloodied lips, his eye swollen from the right hook the guard gave him, and I can’t help but stare at him. A pair of keys dangles from his tattooed hands, clinking against each other as he lifts them in the air, his brown and lethal eyes meeting mine.

“What if I’d just leave you here? Let aaaall the other inmates wake up and realizeyouhad something to do with this,” hetaunts, eyes glinting in the dim light.

I clutch my fists, broken and battered nails pressing into my dirtied palms. “Let me the fuck out, Vernon,” I grit my teeth.

Tapping the keys against his knee while leaning forward, each tap echoes like a countdown to when everyone will wake up from their deep sleep. His smirk isn’t friendly—it’s the look of someone who knows he holds the power. I don’t doubt he would leave me here if he got the chance.

“You won’t find her without me,” I threaten, knowing goddamn well that he needs my intelligence and sharpness to find our beautiful little prey.

When he runs a hand through his slightly grown-out buzzed hair, nerves settle inside my stomach, sinking to the bottom. He isn’t truly thinking about leaving me here, is he?

“Open the fucking cell, Vernon,” I growl.

“I’ll think about it,” the smirk split his lips, teasingly and taunting, as it had always done during our upbringing.

I clench my jaw, nervously glancing outside the bars of the cells. The other inmates are still miraculously asleep. The pills we slipped into their food at dinner proved to be useful—as did our source on the outside.

Finally, Vernon leans forward to unlock the prison cell, and it slides open with a loud creak that could wake the dead. I grumble, incoherently as I step out, the feeling of being enclosed disappearing. Rising on my tiptoes—I’m not exactly short at 5’11”, but he’s a goddamn giant at 6’4”— I smack the top of his buzzed head.

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