Chapter 19 Traitor
Traitor
Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States or elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death.
Over the next couple of weeks, Theo’s shock over the possibility of saving two hundred prisoners had him making lists of questions to ask Lucas, who rolled his eyes at most of it.
“This is obvious,” he would say. “Does Uncle Theo really need me to spell it out for him?”
“He’s just trying to be careful.”
In the midst of it all, Lucas told me the Hunters had long suspected a traitor among them. “The other colonels and I are interrogating soldiers,” he said as we sparred. “I’m trying to find the rat.”
I laughed, imagining him searching for himself, but then the reality of the situation settled. “They don’t suspect you, do they?”
He blocked my punch. “Not that I know of, but they’ll figure it out eventually.”
I reset, fists in front of my face. “Not if you’re careful, right?”
“As the Defiance wins more ground, they’ll consider higher levels of rank.”
A bolt of fear shot through my chest, and I dropped my hands. “What does that mean?”
“I can’t do this forever. I’m surprised we’ve gotten six months.”
The fear spread down my limbs. “No. You can’t… What do you mean?”
He sank to the floor, inviting me to join him. We sat mirroring each other, knees up, elbows draped.
“This is how it was always supposed to happen, Sophia.”
I studied the blue-green, searching for hints of his emotions. “You think they’ll catch you?”
He opened his palms as if to say, What do you think? “I told you from the beginning I didn’t expect to survive this.”
Something inside my chest squeezed tight. Back then, I hadn’t cared if he died doing this. Now that things had shifted between us, I couldn’t slow the attachment growing inside, and the knowledge that someone else I cared for might be ripped away…
Lucas treaded up steps that grew increasingly more narrow and steep, but I refused to acknowledge the possibility he’d slip. His life mattered to me, and I wouldn’t entertain the idea he might lose it.
“Luke—”
“Soph—”
“You act like you’re a lost cause,” I said.
His head cocked curiously. “Think about it, Sophia. Really think about it. No matter which side wins, I’ll be executed. I’m either a traitor or a war criminal.”
I huffed. “But…”
There was that stupid quirk of his mouth. “But what? What logic are you going to apply to get me out of it?”
“You’re on our side!” My voice grew testy. “They wouldn’t execute you.”
“I never asked for clemency. I didn’t want any kind of immunity. Uncle Theo hinted heavily that I’d never get a pardon.”
How could the Defiance execute him as a war criminal after everything he’d done to help?
“I won’t let them kill you,” I said, setting my jaw.
He stared, mystified. “Is there any woman on this planet more stubborn than you?”
“If you ever find her, I’d love to meet her.”
His perturbed expression spoke volumes. “I have my hands full with one of you.”
“You aren’t my keeper, Lucas. Though you certainly act like it sometimes.”
He scoffed. “I do not.”
“Cover yourself, Sophia,” I mocked in a deep voice. “Wear a hoodie, Sophia. You’re mine, Sophia.”
Unimpressed, he shook his head. “I don’t sound like that.”
“I’m evil, Sophia. I deserve to die, Sophia.”
He pitched his voice high and whiny. “I’m tired, Lucas. It’s hot, Lucas. I don’t believe you, Lucas. I wasn’t ready, Lucas.”
I dropped my jaw and shoved his shoulder. “I hate you.”
“Yeah?” he asked. “Then why do you want me to live?”
Rolling my eyes, I refused to dignify that with an answer. Instead, I left.
As I entered headquarters a few minutes later, I ran into Adam and his huge grin. “Hey, Soph.”
I tried to skirt by him without conversation, heading for the main stairs.
He followed me. “Where ya been?”
“Bike ride.”
“Isn’t it interesting that you go on a bike ride at the exact same time every Thursday, but never any other time of the week?”
I froze halfway up the stairs, but didn’t glance his way. My hand found a decorative column to steady myself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Come on, Soph,” he said, tone chiding. “We both know you’re lying.”
I continued up the stairs. “Why don’t you talk to Theo, then?”
“I did.”
I stopped again at the landing, turning to glare at him.
Usual grin absent, his expression was a cross between concerned friend and suspicious officer. “I’ve been watching you for months, but Harrison was pretty tight-lipped.”
I dismissed him with a wave of my hand. “I just like bike rides.”
“Where’d you get the bike?”
“I stole it.”
He narrowed his eyes. “And where do you go?”
“To the other side of the neighborhood.”
“Are you alone wherever you go?” He trudged up the stairs to meet me at the landing.
“Yes.”
His voice lowered even though no one else was near. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not!” I matched his challenging stare with some degree of difficulty.
His gaze dropped to my pockets. “Show me what weapons you’re carrying.”
The blood drained from my face. “I’m not carrying any.”
He snorted. “Bullshit.”
I shoved past him toward the remaining flight. “What does it matter to you?”
“Because I have a feeling whatever you’re carrying is Hunter issue.”
Butterflies swirled in my stomach as I paused on the second stair. “W-why would you think that?”
“I saw the knuckles.” He grabbed my elbow and marched me up the last steps.
We ducked into an alcove at the top. “You leave here in weird clothes and come back with new bruises. You walk around looking all haunted. You’re distracted and isolating yourself.
And suddenly we are winning this war. Coincidence? ”
“Why are you watching me so closely?”
He rubbed a hand over his face. “What are we giving for information? It better not be what I think it is.”
Insult washed over me even though his assumption was fair. “Maybe he just wants exoneration,” I hissed.
Adam lifted a skeptical brow. “Is that what you’re giving him? Exoneration?”
“This isn’t any of your business,” I said, scowling.
He leaned closer, his hand forming a gentle cup around my shoulder. “The general took advantage of you. After Tekqua, you… you don’t have to do this.”
I shot him an are-you-serious expression. “Who else would?”
A moment passed while we measured each other. Eventually, his shoulders slumped, and he rested his weight on the wall. “Tell me who it is.”
“No.” I mirrored his pose, staring at the opulent stairs and wrought-iron railing across the hall.
“This war might actually end thanks to him. He’s a goddamn savior, whoever he is.”
I turned toward him, scrutinizing his face. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew who he was.”
He paled, his gaze sharpening. “Are you safe, Sophia?”
I thought of Lucas using a hairbrush to teach me knife play, giving me weapons to keep me safe, protecting me from Hunters invading his house, killing men he considered threats. I thought of his smirk, the yearning in my chest when I left him, the taste of his kiss.
I hid my expression by dropping my head. “No. I don’t think I’m safe. Everything is out of my control.”
“Can you get it back?”
Staring at the hardwood floor, I told him the truth. “I don’t want it back.”
A long silence passed. His hand touched mine, fingers gripping. “We used to be friends.”
I lifted my gaze to his, melting into brown eyes that had once carried so much humor. “All my friends die.”
Lips pressed together, he exhaled through his nose. “Well. You’re going to need someone when shit hits the fan. I’m here when you’re ready.”
A couple of days later, I sat on a couch beside Devon while we waited for Isaac to return from a mission. At some point, I sensed his gaze boring into me. “Something’s going on with you.”
I shrugged, eyes glued to the book in my lap. “It isn’t anything I want to talk about.”
“If it’s about Tekqua—”
“It isn’t.” I closed my eyes. “I’m just—I’m tired of this, Dev. I want to be somewhere else.”
He blew out a long breath.
“Isaac’s been busy lately,” I said.
Dev waved his hand toward the covered window. “He’s preparing for some huge rescue mission. They always send him on the most dangerous missions. Meanwhile, I get sent to find canned corn.”
Chuckling, I threw my book onto the table between us. “It’s because he’s so good. And besides, we still need food. Your job is important too.”
“Yeah, his gives me palpitations, though.”
I studied the small grin that graced his lips. “You really love him, don’t you?”
“Yeah, girl.”
His smile made me smile. “Describe it to me.”
Dev met my eyes, a hint of intrigue sparking in his own. “I used to think I was happy until I met Isaac. But then— One conversation, and I knew I’d never be the same. Nothing about me changed, but my threshold for happiness had drastically risen. Isaac’s like a key to a lock I didn’t know I had.”
I thought about that, about my own happiness threshold.
Devon’s features went all mushy. “We fit together.”
And deep down, fear ate at me.
No part of my connection to Lucas Scott was healthy. He was obsessive and unscrupulous. I was desperate and lonely. The damaged combination didn’t lead to happiness.
But maybe I didn’t want happiness.
Maybe he didn’t deserve happiness.
Maybe happiness was a myth told to children to give hope that the cruelty and unfairness of life might end.
I thought of that conversation with Zara.
When you fall in love, you’ll see. Even when it ends badly, it was still love.
I wasn’t naive.
He was the wrong person. I was looking for comfort in the wrong places. All of this would end badly.
But the electricity in my heart burned. The hotter it grew, the more I liked the pain of it.
Psychological cutting.
I let the metaphorical blood drip over my mind, painting my thoughts red. The color of warnings and anger and violence, of passion and sin and love.
That week, I headed to the house on Evanston with the chill of fall curling about my limbs. I hustled up the steps and slipped through the red door, locking it behind me. The familiar incense scent of the house enveloped me—the fragrance of Lucas’s attempts to control his anxiety.
He entered the room and leaned in the archway to the kitchen. After a sip from his cup—probably peppermint tea—he raised a brow. “Still want me to live?”
“Yep.” I shed my modest outer layers, tossing them to the floor.
With a sigh, he set his cup aside. “Fine. Come try to hurt me.”
After only forty-five minutes of scuffling, I managed to get my hands around his throat securely enough that I thought I might win.
Then he flipped me, reversing our positions, and I gave up. “You know all my weaknesses. It isn’t fair.”
“You should know a few of mine by now.”
A scornful snort was my reply as he pushed away from me to stand. “What weaknesses?”
“Um. I have a trick knee.” He pointed to his left knee.
I narrowed my eyes at his normal-appearing knee. “I don’t believe you.”
“Of course you don’t,” he muttered.
He offered me a hand up, then cursed when I karate-chopped his weak knee. He fell to the carpeted floor beside me.
I burst into laughter at the shock on his face. “You weren’t lying?”
“I’m never lying, Sophia. For fuck’s sake!”
Curled into myself, I laughed until I couldn’t breathe. “All this time, I could have gone for your knee?”
He braced a hand against his eyes. “Can we just go over the plan one more time?”
“Sure,” I said, still laughing.
We moved to the kitchen and settled at the table. He reiterated the finalized strategy he’d tailored with Theo for the prisoner transfer, the one they’d edited through me for weeks. Once finished, he took a deep breath. “I’d really like this to go well.”
“Me too.”
His hand covered mine where it lay on the table, and my gaze lingered on the gold band. “If it doesn’t, I don’t want you to watch it.”
I glanced at him, puzzled. “Watch…it?”
“The execution. Please don’t watch it.”
A pulse woke in my temple. Most of the time, his face was a curtain hiding everything inside, but the suppression of his emotions tonight, the pained little notch between his eyebrows—they struck like an icepick into my chest. I’d begun to fantasize about a way for him to defect, to get away from all of this, but where could he go?
Besides, he had some goal in his head, something he was working toward that would repay his sister’s maltreatment.
Lucas called me stubborn, but I wasn’t the only one.
No amount of begging him to stop would change his mind.
“I’ve seen you do it before,” I said.
His mouth tensed, and he didn’t look at me. “Just… Please, Sophia?”
Swallowing, I nodded.
“Promise me.”
“I promise. I won’t watch.”
When it came time to leave, he touched my throat, his thumb brushing my jaw in a random pattern.
My body responded to that small caress as if it were something far more intimate.
Tingles spread down my chest and arms, and I fought the urge to lean closer.
We hadn’t broached the subject of the night he handcuffed me to the bed—the night he’d looked at me like I was all that mattered. Maybe I’d made it all up in my head.
“Next week?” I said.
His finger drew a shape over my pulse. “Next week.”