Traitor’s Kiss
1485 Words
The gun didn’t shake.
Lila’s hand was steady. Her eyes were red, but not from crying. From fury.
“You shouldn’t have come here,” she said. “He was supposed to stay mine.”
I stared at the barrel. At her finger on the trigger. My arm throbbed under the bandage. The fever made everything slow.
“Put the gun down,” I said. My voice sounded braver than I felt. “Sinner will kill you.”
“Let him try,” Lila said. She stepped inside and kicked the door shut. Locked it. “He chose you over his brother’s memory. Over me. Do you know how long I waited for him?”
The ring on my finger felt like ice.
“I didn’t choose him,” I said. “He claimed me.”
“That’s worse,” she hissed. “At least if you chose him, I could hate you for being stupid. But he chose you. The president. The Blackwood. And now everyone in this club thinks you’re his queen.”
Footsteps down the hall. Heavy. Sinner’s.
Lila heard them too. Her face twisted. She raised the gun higher.
“Don’t move,” she whispered. “If he walks in and sees you bleeding, he’ll burn the whole club down to find who did it. Let him think it was the cartel. Let me go.”
The lock clicked. The door handle turned.
Sinner’s voice came through the wood. Low. Deadly. “Angel. Open the door.”
Lila pressed the gun to my temple. Cold metal. Final.
“Open it,” she mouthed. “Or I pull the trigger before he gets in.”
My hands shook as I reached for the lock. Fever. Fear. Both.
The door opened before I touched it. Sinner filled the frame. Gun in his hand. Eyes on Lila first. Then on me. On the gun at my head.
His expression didn’t change. But the air did. It got heavy. Like before a storm.
“Lila,” he said. Just her name. No title. No warmth. “Drop the weapon.”
“Make me,” she said. Tears finally fell. “You loved me once. Before he died. Before you became president. Say you still do and I’ll drop it.”
Sinner didn’t blink. “I loved my brother. You were his. That’s all you ever were.”
The words cut deeper than the bullet had. Lila flinched. Her finger tightened on the trigger.
“Don’t,” I said. To her. To Sinner. To the world. “Please.”
Sinner’s eyes flicked to me. Just for a second. “Angel. Look at me. Not the gun. Me.”
I did. Gun-barrel eyes. Steady. Certain.
“You’re not dying today,” he said. Like it was fact. Like he’d already decided. “She is. But not by my hand.”
“What?” Lila’s voice broke.
Sinner stepped into the room. Slow. Deliberate. Gun still raised. “Devil’s Blood law. Betrayal means trial. Trial means the club decides. Not me.”
“You’re the president!” Lila screamed. “You decide!”
“I decide who wears my patch,” he said. Stopped two feet from her. Close enough that I could see the muscle in his jaw tick. “I don’t decide who dies for betraying it. The brothers do.”
The door behind him opened wider. Brothers filled the hall. The VP. Others I didn’t know. All watching. All silent.
Lila’s gun wavered. “You’d let them judge me?”
“I’d let them judge you faster than I would,” Sinner said. “Because if I judged you, you’d already be dead.”
He looked at me. At the blood seeping through the bandage. “Drop the gun, Lila. Last chance.”
She didn’t.
She turned the gun from my head to Sinner’s chest. “Then we both die. If I can’t have you, no one can.”
Time stopped.
I moved.
The knife was still on the floor. I grabbed it. Lunged. Not at Lila. At her wrist. Blade against skin. Not cutting. Just enough pressure to make her drop it.
The gun clattered to the floor.
Sinner caught me before I fell. His arm around my waist. His other hand taking the knife from me.
“Stubborn,” he muttered into my hair. “i***t. Mine.”
The brothers surged forward. Took Lila. She didn’t fight. She just stared at Sinner like he’d shot her himself.
He didn’t watch her go. He watched me.
“Doc,” he called without looking away. “Now.”
The Doc pushed through. Checked my bandage. Shook his head. “She needs rest. Fever’s up. You should’ve taken her to a hospital.”
“I don’t trust hospitals,” Sinner said. Lifted me off the floor like I was nothing. Like the knife scene never happened. Like I hadn’t just saved his life twice.
He carried me to the bed. Laid me down gentle. Pulled the blanket up.
Then he did something I didn’t expect.
He sat on the edge of the bed. Took my good hand. Pressed his forehead to my knuckles. Over the ring.
“You scared me,” he whispered. So low only I heard. “Don’t ever put yourself between me and a bullet again. That’s my job.”
“You’re my job now,” I whispered back. “You said I’m yours.”
His head snapped up. Eyes dark. Intense. “I did. And I meant it. Every word.”
He leaned down. His lips brushed my forehead. Not a kiss. A brand.
“Rest,” he said. “When you wake up, we’re getting married. Real wedding. Club as witnesses. No more ring without vows.”
I tried to argue. The fever pulled me under instead.
Last thing I heard was his voice. Rough. Possessive. Final.
“No one touches my wife. No one. Not the cartel. Not the feds. Not even God. She’s mine.”
I woke to darkness. And the weight of him beside me.
Sinner lay on top of the covers, gun in his hand, eyes open. Watching the door. Watching me.
He hadn’t slept. Hadn’t left.
“How long?” I asked. Voice rough.
“Three days,” he said. Didn’t look at me. “You had an infection. Doc said you almost died.”
Three days. He sat with me for three days.
I pushed up on my elbow. Pain shot through my arm. “Why?”
“Because you’re mine,” he said. Finally looked at me. “And I don’t let what’s mine die alone.”
The ring glinted in the dark.
There was a knock. The VP. “Boss. The brothers voted. Lila’s sentence is exile. No club will take her. She leaves at dawn.”
Sinner nodded once. “Tell her she’s lucky I’m not the one judging.”
The VP left.
Sinner stood. “Come on.”
“Where?” I asked.
“To make it real,” he said. Held out his hand. “Wife.”
I took it. He pulled me up. My legs were weak but his grip was steel.
He led me downstairs. Past silent brothers. Past the bar. To the chapel in the back of the compound. No priest. No flowers. Just his men in a circle. And an altar made of old wood and gunmetal.
The VP held a bible. Another brother held a knife.
Sinner stopped in front of the altar. Pulled me to him.
“Repeat after me,” he said. No question. No request.
“I, Kane Sinner Blackwood, claim you,” he said.
“I, Kane Sinner Blackwood, claim you,” I repeated. My voice shook.
“Under Devil’s Blood. Under my protection. Until death takes one of us.”
“Under Devil’s Blood. Under my protection. Until death takes one of us.”
He took the knife. Cut his palm. Then mine. Pressed them together. Blood mixing. Blood sealing.
“Blood for blood,” the brothers said in unison.
Sinner leaned in. His lips met mine. Not gentle. Not asking. Claiming. Possession. Promise.
The brothers roared. Guns fired into the ceiling.
I was Mrs. Blackwood now. Devil’s Blood queen.
Sinner pulled back. Forehead to mine. “Mine,” he breathed.
The doors behind us burst open.
Not brothers. Not guests.
Feds. FBI vests. Guns drawn.
“Hands up! Kane Blackwood, you’re under arrest for murder, racketeering, and harboring a federal witness!”
Sinner didn’t let go of me.
He just smiled. Cold. Deadly.
“Too late,” he said. “She’s not a witness anymore. She’s my wife. Spousal privilege, gentlemen.”
The lead agent’s face went white.
Sinner’s thumb brushed over the ring on my finger. Blood still drying on our skin.
“Try to take her,” he whispered. Only for me. “I dare you.”
- Writer
