Traitors

After spending almost a week with Fierce, it's weird to be back in my own home. I told Mom what happened and why I've been suspiciously not around for five days. Travis keeps his eye on me whenever I get up to walk. I have a noticeable limp, but not as bad as it was. I ditched the cane two days ago when the new muscle tissue started to adapt to my movements. Fierce told me I should consider having Hunter show me some stretches I can do to help keep my leg working the way I want it to.

Fierce decided to go back to The Tunnel and smooth things over with Gabe. I don't blame him, I hate being in a fight with a friend. I chose to stay home for a few days before I went back. I'm not ready to see or speak with Gabe yet. He planned to have me perish in that fire and that's something I will never let go. Although, I'm sure he'll want an apology for punching him in the face even though it was dignified. I haven't been able to apologize in a tone that doesn't sound sarcastic yet, so I'll go in a day or two.

Lia messages me throughout the day, finally asking tons of questions and attempting to give updates on what is going on at The Tunnel. Travis stalks by my room periodically, narrowing his eyes at me. I mostly ignore him. I know he has to know by now, but has yet to rat me out to Dad who will definitely take the news the hardest. I keep new bandages and the necessities I need to dress my stitches in my room. It's healed most of the way, but still bleeds from time to time since they got messed up from Fierce's brother's visit.

We didn't talk about it. As soon as he left, I kept my mouth shut out of shock as Fierce asked if I was okay a thousand times. We stayed on the floor for five minutes before he started to make breakfast. Fierce acted different the entire day possibly contemplating changing the locks. Travis and I barely fought growing up so this was new territory for me. There was nothing for me to say to make him feel better so I left a kiss on his temple and let him be.

Travis passes my room for the fourth time in the past fifteen minutes, I finally cave throwing myself out of bed and over to his room. I rest my body against the door frame and fold my arms across my chest. His eyes roll up as he keeps a hard stare on me. I return the look adding a snarl for dramatic effect.

"What do you want, Phoenix?" He puts extra emphasis on my name.

"Why don't you tell me what you want. I'm tired of you walking passed my room like you have a hidden agenda." He rises from his computer chair and grabs my arm, forcing me into his room. He throws me to his bed and shuts the door.

"Why don't you tell me about this." He grips onto my injured thigh. I wince and shove him away from me. "Seems pretty serious for you to limpin' around. What's better is you got Mom to lie for you, too. How low can you get?"

"I got shot, you prick!" I hiss through my teeth. "The doctors had to remove the bullet and they gave me new muscle tissue to help the healing process. But it takes awhile for the tissue to become familiar with movements. That's why I'm limping." His expression becomes soft. "Why the face? Isn't that what you wanted to hear?"

"No," he snarls, "I want you to admit it."

"Admit what?" I fold my arms. "Admit I'm a traitor? You already knew that. So stop pretending like you're clueless. You've known for awhile so why haven't you told Dad yet?"

"I plan to."

"Really?" I hiss. "Then do it. I just hope you can live with yourself after they kill me because they WILL kill me and it will be because you couldn't wait to tell Dad his only daughter is a traitor." I rise from his bed and exit his room to go to mine. He follows and watches intently as to what I'm up to. I start throwing things into an overnight bag.

"What are you doing?" Travis asks looking confused.

"Leaving." I plainly say. "If you're telling Dad, I'd like to get a head start." I throw my bag over my shoulder, brushing past him without a word.

Now doesn't seem like the best time for me to go to The Tunnel, but I don't want to stay at home for one more second. It's getting colder out as December is right around the corner and I'm not ready for it. We still have yet to see the first snow of the season, but I can wait a little while longer. Fall will always be my favourite season and I'm not a fan of the transition from fall into winter. Sure the snow is pretty, but The Tunnel lacks heat so winters are brutal. And from how things are going at home, I'll be stuck in the freezing cold for the winter.

The sun disappeared hours ago and darkness scatters throughout the streets. I hold onto my thigh as it throbs against the stitches. I lean against the wall of the nearest building and rest before I get moving again. I'm five minutes by car from The Tunnel so it'll be at least an hour with the pace I'm going. I push myself off the wall, but am startled when blue and red flashing lights illuminate the area. My eyes widen as I pull out my phone and check the time. 10:23pm. I'm out passed curfew.

The car pulls up next to me and the window rolls down. The officer tells me to freeze and I do as instructed. He gets out of the car and blinds me with his flashlight. He charges up to me causing me to move back against the wall away from him. He towers over me and begins yelling in my face. His words are slurred together and his breath reeks of alcohol. I remain quiet and completely still as he screams obscenities and splatters spit across my face.

Mid sentence, he grabs a hold of me and throws me against the hood of the car. My head hits it hard making my vision go wonky for a few seconds. I squirm in his grip, but he forces me down harder. He latches cold metal onto my one wrist and then the other. He pulls me up by my hair and throws me into the back of the car mumbling incomprehensible words. I slide along the leather interior trying to situate myself upright. The officer tosses my bag onto the passenger's seat before driving off. He swerves along the street and ends up driving up on the curb. He almost hits a streetlight before steering the car back onto the street.

I try to force my wrists apart but the metal wrapped around them is too tight and aches my bones when I move them. He parks crookedly in front of the police department. He violently forces me out of the car and shoves me toward the door. He leads me up to the front desk where another officer looks up at the two of us with a questionable look.

"Found this." He plainly says. The other officer glances at me and then back to him.

"Derek," the one behind the desk starts off annoyed, "what are you doing?"

"You didn't let me finish!" He growls. "I found her wandering the streets with this in her bag." He places a gun on the desk. My eyes widen and my mouth drops open.

"That's not mine!" I shriek with panic washing over me, but the man behind the desk rolls his eyes.

"Take her in the back."

The officer shoves me down the hall and into a lighted room. He orders me to sit as he chains me to the table. My body quivers and falls numb as the pounding of my heart becomes the only thing I can feel. This is not what I expected to get arrested for, and if the scumbag finds out he arrested a traitor, he'll be seen as a hero. Although if they find out that gun doesn't belong to me, who knows what will happen to him. I panic while trying to work out how this is going to happen. Will they make my death quick or will it be long and torturous? I guess it depends if they find out I'm a traitor.

An officer with "T. Davis" embroidered on his shirt walks in placing a phone on the table informing I get one phone call and that's it. Regardless if someone comes to get me, who knows if I'll even be alive when they get here. He folds his arms across his chest motioning me to make a call. I pick up the phone as my shaking fingers hover over the buttons. I dial one of the only numbers I have memorized. I place the phone up to my ear and pray someone answers. After the fourth ring, my hope dies out. As I'm about to hang up, I hear an answer.

"Hello?"

"Oh thank God!" I shriek into the phone.

"Detope?" He sounds slightly confused.

"Logan!" I hear the panic in my voice and I try to calm myself down before I continue. "I need you to come get me."

"What happened?" He sounds worried and defensive. "Where are you?"

"I was arrested." I manage to get out in a normal tone. "The cop who arrested me is drunk and said he found a gun on me." The cop in the room with me raises an eyebrow at me. "I have no idea where he got it, but we both know it's not mine."

"Fuck." He barks into the receiver. "I'm on my way. Think you can hang on til then?" I hear the sound of a door closing.

"I think so." Panic reenters my voice. "Just hurry." His end goes dead.

I place the phone on the table as the cop reaches over and takes it from me before leaving the room. I try to relax, but my body continues to shake out of fury and nervousness. I'm a first time offender so they might have let me go with a warning, but being accused of having a gun in my possession I'm screwed no matter what. The officer who arrested me walks in with another officer with "P. Braxton" on his shirt. He closes the door and stares at me for a few minutes before having a seat across from me. He places a gun on the table in front of me.

"So Officer Michaelson says he found you out after curfew with a gun." He motions to it sitting in the middle of the table. I glare daggers at Michaelson in the corner of the room. "Where exactly did you get the gun?" Officer Braxton asks.

"I've never seen it before." I lean back in my seat. "Why don't you ask Michaelson where he got it."

"Are you mouthing off?" He leans closer to me. "We could have your tongue for that." I look away rolling my eyes.

"I guess she wants to lose her eyes, too." Michaelson comments from the corner.

"Shut up." I growl annoyed with him.

"That's your second warning." Officer Braxton points his bony finger at me. "There won't be a third." He sighs resting his elbows on the table. "So where did you get this gun?" I purse my lips and tilt my head to the side. "Okay then, what were going to do with it? I mean, out after curfew with a firearm could mean you had an agenda."

"You're making all these assumptions," I lean forward, "based on a gun that's not even mine."

"Bullshit." Michaelson chimes in stepping towards the table.

"You would know a lot about that, wouldn't you." I suck in my lip realizing I messed up. Braxton slams his fist on the table startling me.

"I've had enough." He rises from his seat. "Hold her still." Michaelson wraps his arms around as Braxton pulls out a knife.