2. MASON

2

MASON

T he snow had fallen heavy overnight, blanketing the forest in a thick, quiet hush. It was beautiful if you were the kind of person who looked at things that way, all pristine and untouched.

Me?

I just saw it as a pain in the ass. Snow made things harder. Slowed you down. Left tracks where you didn’t want any. Covered up tracks you might want to follow.

It was beautiful in the way a well-maintained weapon was—cold, sharp, and dangerous if you weren’t paying attention.

I moved through the woods, careful to stay downwind and make as little noise as possible. The rifle in my hands was a Remington 700, bolt-action, reliable. I’d customized it over the years—a Leupold scope for better accuracy, a lightweight synthetic stock for balance, and a custom trigger job that made it as smooth as butter. It wasn’t just a gun; it was an extension of me. I knew every quirk, every inch, like it was part of my own body.

My boots sank into the snow with each step, every sound muted by the thick, icy blanket. I guess that was something that counted in my favor. It wasn’t as loud as dried leaves could be.

I scanned the forest, watching for movement, my breath misting in the cold air. I’d been up since before dawn, working my way through the trees, watching the light change from a dim gray to the bright, almost blinding white of a winter morning. It wasn’t winter quite yet, but up here against the mountain, the weather could have fooled me.

Sunlight broke through the branches above, casting shadows that danced and shifted. The forest looked like something out of a postcard—if you could ignore the bite of the cold and the fact that everything out here was trying to survive.

Wish you were here. Not.

My breath was steady, controlled, just like the beat of my heart. The hares were harder to spot in the snow, their coats turning white for the season, but I knew what to look for—the flash of movement, the dark eyes that never quite blended in, the small tracks that showed they’d been out early, just like me.

I spotted one near the base of a tree, sitting still, thinking it was invisible. I took my time, dropping to one knee, the rifle already up and against my shoulder. I lined up the shot, exhaling slowly. I stilled my heart, focusing on nothing other than my target. The world disappeared and it was just me and the hare.

The crosshairs hovered over the hare’s eye, and I squeezed the trigger. The rifle barked, and the hare dropped, dead before it even knew what was happening.

Perfect shot.

Right through the eye, just like I wanted. It saved the most meat and kept the pelt clean so I could tan it and use it for whatever, no wasted effort. I moved over and picked it up, feeling the weight of it in my hands, still warm. This was the part I hated. Knowing that there had been life. Knowing I was the reason it had bled away. This little creature had been innocent and didn’t deserve the bullet in its head.

But I wasn’t hunting for fun or sport. This was about survival, about knowing I could still do what I needed to do when it mattered. Out here, there were no second chances.

I shook off the moment of weakness, not allowing myself to worry about the hare’s life. Out here, it was eat or be eaten. It was kill or be killed—I’d learned that a long time ago when I’d realized that even the men who should have had my back could drive a knife into it.

I strapped the hare to my pack and looked around, scanning the woods another time. If there was another one, I would have taken it out, but one hare was enough for now. I didn’t need that much food. I still had some dried meat to get me by.

Everything was still, quiet, but I never let my guard down. Old habits die hard, and in my line of work, they’d kept me alive. Even out here, far away from the places and people who’d tried to kill me, I still checked my six, still made sure I wasn’t being followed.

It was just safer that way. Rather be paranoid and alive than reckless and dead.

The walk back to the cabin was a slow, deliberate thing. I took different paths every time, doubled back once or twice, making sure I wasn’t leaving a trail. It was a lonely way to live, but I was used to it. Preferred it, even.

People were unpredictable.

Only a few could be trusted.

Being alone was safe, and out here, everything made sense.

I knew something was off the moment I rounded the last bend and saw my cabin. It was just a feeling—something in the way the snow was disturbed near the door, the faint impression of tracks leading off the path.

My mind snapped into old routines.

I shifted the rifle to my other hand, my fingers twitching as I checked my sidearm—a Glock 19, always kept loaded, safety off. Quietly, I moved toward the cabin, sticking close to the trees, keeping my profile low.

My heart was steady, my breathing rhythmic. Adrenaline pulsed through my body, but I knew how to keep a lid on it, how to control myself even though my body was ready for fight or flight.

When push came to shove, it would always be fight. Every. Fucking. Time.

I crept closer to the cabin, staying low to the house so that no one could see me through the small windows if they were looking out.

Carefully, I pushed the door open with the barrel of my rifle, stepping inside with a practiced motion, ready for anything.

Instead of trouble, I found Tanner sitting at my kitchen table, his boots kicked up, a steaming mug of coffee in his hand. He looked up at me, cool and unsurprised, despite the gun pointed at his face.

“Thought I’d stop by,” Tanner said, his voice gruff and casual, like he hadn’t just almost been shot. “Coffee’s shit, by the way.”

I lowered the rifle, feeling the tension bleed out of my shoulders, and snorted. “You know, you could call first. Or knock. Or just not show up unannounced.”

Tanner shrugged, setting the mug down. “Where’s the fun in that? Besides, you weren’t home. Knocking wouldn’t have done shit and since when do you carry your satellite phone with you?”

I shrugged and cocked a grin. “Fuck off.”

Tanner chuckled, knowing that I didn’t mean it literally. He put the cup down and pushed it away. “After all these years up here, I thought you might have gotten coffee down, at least.”

“Eh, you get used to it.” I put my pack down and pulled the hare from it, putting it down on the table.

Tanner glanced at the hare.

He was the one person I didn’t mind having around, even if he had a knack for showing up when I least expected it. Tanner was a lot like me—rough around the edges, a past that haunted him, and a preference for keeping to himself. He used to live up here, too. These days, he was playing happy families in town, but he had redeemable qualities.

I snorted inwardly at my stupid joke.

Tanner was always welcome, even if he’d decided to choose the domestic life. I was happy for him—he deserved to be happy and he’d talked about Rae since the day he’d arrived here. He’d had a past love, and that could eat at a guy.

I’d never had that, and it made it easier for me. No strings attached and I preferred it that way.

My life was way too fucked up to have a woman in it, anyway. I didn’t even allow myself to wonder about what it would have been like.

One thing I appreciated about Tanner was that despite being reformed, he didn’t push me in any direction I didn’t want to go. He knew when to talk and when to shut the fuck up, and sometimes that was all I needed.

I grabbed a beer from the fridge and tossed one to Tanner. He caught it one-handed, popping the top without a word.

“Nice shot,” Tanner said, nodding toward the hare. “Right through the eye. You always were a perfectionist.”

I grunted, leaning against the counter. “Just doing what needs to be done.”

Tanner took a long drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Speaking of doing things… Rae wants you to come to that Secret Santa thing.”

What did I just say about not pushing me in any direction I didn’t want to go? Yeah, scratch that.

I frowned, the idea already annoying me. “Pass.”

“Come on, man. It’s one night. You show up, pretend to enjoy yourself, maybe eat a cookie or two. Or waffles or something. They have this whole menu planned out and everything.”

I snorted. “Waste of resources.”

“Not everyone understands this way of life, Bear,” Tanner said, using my nickname. “It’s going to be fun. Don’t focus on the kind of living you have up here. Besides, Rae’s new friend decorated the place and went all out. You’d be doing her a favor. She’s so excited to show it off to everyone.”

“She can show it off to the rest of the town. There are a lot of people who like the pomp and circumstance and I’m sure they’re all going to be there. You don’t need me.”

“Come on, man. It’s not such a big deal. Besides, you should get out, be around people for a change. You’re losing your charm.”

I barked a laugh. Charm was the last thing in the world I had. I was gruff, often pissed off, and I liked it that way. If others didn’t… well, fuck ’em.

Tanner smirked, taking another sip of his beer. “Come on, man. It won’t kill you to do something social once every fucking decade. Rae’s excited about it, and you know how she gets about these things, living in the moment. Plus, this new girl Camille—she’s really turned the whole thing into something special. It’d mean a lot if you showed your face.”

I stared at him, weighing my options. Tanner wasn’t going to let this go, and he knew damn well that I had a soft spot for Rae. She could hold her own in a way a lot of women couldn’t, and she was Tanner’s everything. I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “Fine. But I’m not staying long, and I’m not talking to anyone.”

Tanner grinned, clinking his beer bottle against mine. “That’s the spirit, Bear. One night won’t be the end of the world.”

I wasn’t so sure about that. But I nodded, knowing it was the closest thing to a compromise I’d get. And as much as I hated to admit it, maybe a part of me was curious about this newcomer in town. It always paid off to know who the people were around here, and if there was someone new, it was my business to know who it was.

Yeah, that was all it was—a matter of survival. I wasn’t curious about the new girl at all.