9. Mason

Mason

June, Eighteen Months Later

“ T his is the last of it.”

Ian nods, the welding helmet covering his face while he torches the VIN numbers off plates we took off what was once a nearly pristine G-Wagon.

I yawn, checking the clock on the wall of the old shack behind the garage. It’s late. Past midnight and we both have to be up early, but that doesn’t matter.

Not on nights like tonight.

No, tonight, we’re stuck in what was once the parts building, cutting up cars. Removing pieces and parts and loading them into the back of a waiting van in the back lot.

Each time, more and more show up and I’m starting to run out of room for this shit and the patience for it.

They always come. They never give a time. I guess their people are probably watching me. They have to be to know my schedule and know who’s working. That’s what worries me. Them snooping around here while she’s here is only going to make shit worse.

I mean, they have to know my future brother-in-law is a fed, but I’m guessing they just don’t give a fuck.

Or they’re just fucking stupid.

I’m going with the latter.

The cars come in off the streets and they’re stored at a warehouse in some undisclosed location before they’re carted here under the cover of night. We cut them into pieces and load the parts into the van that arrives shortly after the cars do. They leave.

I never see what happens after that. Judging by the blood I’ve seen in a few of the cars, I don’t want to, either.

Chop shops are illegal. What I’m doing is illegal, but it’s not like they sent a door-to-door salesman around, trying to get people to sign up to do their bidding.

No. The cartel takes. Whatever they want. When they want. It doesn’t matter if you say no. You’ll do it, or bad shit will happen to the people you care about.

Especially when they’ve got the government in their pocket.

The last time I refused, I received a picture from an anonymous number of my sister at the bar her husband owns in New Orleans. You could tell it was candid. She didn’t even know.

I stopped refusing after that.

“Thank fucking God,” Ian grumbles, finishing the last of the VIN plates. He tosses it in the bucket beside him and pulls the welding helmet off his head.

Ian’s my right-hand man here at the shop. My best friend, if you want to call him that. He’s the motherfucker I call when shit goes down. Does that count? He’s been around for years and I’ve known him since tech school.

We were both rowdy. We hated class and we hated our lives even more. We bonded over our shared fuck the patriarchy attitude and now, here we are, in Dad’s shop, cutting up stolen cars for the cartel.

“I’m fucking beat,” he grumbles, swiping his forearm across his sweaty forehead. It’s hot as fuck in the back garage with no ventilation, but we can’t risk getting caught.

We get caught doing what we’re doing? It doesn’t matter if we were forced into it, we’re going straight to prison. Right next to my stepfather.

Part of me likes that idea. It would give me the chance to handle our unsolved business, but I also need to be here. Mom needs me. My sisters need me. The shop . . . her .

Right now, there are too many priorities standing in the way of me and revenge. Someday, though, I’ll find him and one of us will leave in a body bag.

It won’t be me.

“Let’s get this shit loaded up. I want to go home.”

“You got shit else to do?”

“Yeah,” Ian quips. “Come to work for you, asshole.”

My spine fills with lead and pretty cinnamon-colored hair and soft green eyes flash through my mind. “Got a new person starting tomorrow, by the way.”

I haven’t had the chance to tell him about Hannah because, well . . . I don’t even know what the fuck to do about it.

“What’s his name?”

I steel myself.

“Her name.”

He pauses, a smirk pulling on his face. “You, uh . . . hit your head or something?”

“Or something.”

If only that were the fucking case.

When I saw her standing in my shop, I thought I had.

Hannah fucking Gaines. A girl I never thought I’d see again and consequently, the girl that’s been in the back of my mind for years. Festering. Haunting my fucking nightmares.

She looked good. Better than good. She’s still got that same innocent look and the prettiest fucking green eyes I’ve ever seen. Like mint leaves or Washington pine trees dripping in moss. Those eyes that keep me up at night.

Coming to me to ask for help in looking for Melissa Gaines took balls, I’ll give her that. It’s only because I knew if one of my sisters went missing, no matter what they’d done, I’d want them found, too. Fuck, I’d do everything I could to track them down, even if it meant turning them in.

She acted like I was just some fucking asshole off the street. Like I didn’t mean a damn thing to her. I guess I probably don’t, after the way things ended.

Good.

“Never seen you go to this length to get pussy,” Ian chuckles while we clean up. “You losing your touch?”

I grit my teeth. That’s what got me into this fucking mess, but he doesn’t know that. No one does. I fell for her sweet charm and soft voice and let myself get carried away in her cinnamon-colored hair and those fucking freckles on her nose.

Now . . . I’m paying the price.

“Just tell the driver to get the hell out of here.”

Ian gives me a salute before heading toward the back door. As soon as he’s gone, I work on torching the VIN numbers on the plates we pried off the car one last time, my mind stuck on the girl I thought I’d never speak to again.

Now here I am, agreeing to help her find the woman who aided in ripping apart my family. Her evil twin.

She must think I’m a fucking idiot. I know shit about Hannah that even she doesn’t know. I know underneath that perfect exterior is a darkness not many people can stomach. She’s just better at hiding it.

But, fuck. Something still draws me in. Maybe I’m a masochist.

God knows I feel like it.

Maybe she’ll disappear again, and I won’t have to worry about it. Maybe she won’t even show up.

Somehow, though . . . I know she fucking will.

Like some sick fucking joke, Hannah’s right on time the next morning, bright-eyed and cheery, as if she doesn’t have a care in the world.

It pisses me off. I’m fucking spiraling trying to figure out how to make this shit work while she’s just relieved I agreed to help her find her sister. Part of me wants to punish her for even thinking about going after Melissa fucking Gaines. The other fucked-up part of me wants to punish her for forgetting I existed.

Unfortunately, that’s the part that doesn’t shut the fuck up.

“Good morning,” she beams, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet as if it isn’t too fucking early in the morning. Ian and I didn’t leave the warehouse until after two and by the time I fell into bed, it felt like dawn came five minutes later. Especially when the little redhead in front of me was bouncing around my brain like a damned battering ram.

“Yeah,” I grumble, unlocking the door to the office and striding inside. It closes on her and for a split second, I feel guilty. I have more manners than that. Then, I remember how she moaned my name and suddenly, shutting the door in her face doesn’t seem all that rude anymore. Especially when she pulls it open and steps inside, smiling like it doesn’t bother her at all.

And now I’m pissed off all over again.

Why the fuck did I agree to this?

It’s not my problem that Melissa Gaines is missing. The world would be a better place if she turned up dead somewhere. Hannah Gaines also isn’t my problem, but . . . then again, she wasn’t two years ago, either.

I made her my problem the day I saw that perfect ass and her pretty smile. Now, I’m wishing I’d never met her in the first place.

“So . . .” she starts, looking around at the clutter in the lobby.

I know where everything is and it doesn’t bother anyone. People are only inside to pay their bill before they get in their fixed cars and leave.

Besides, I don’t have time.

That or the thought of changing shit with Dad not here feels like spitting in his face.

“What do you want me to do first?”

She follows behind me, way too fucking close, though I’m not even sure forcing her to work out on the street would be enough distance. I can smell her perfume. The same goddamned perfume that used to make me hard— still makes me hard.

I fucking hate it.

I step behind the counter and she steps up in front of it. I’m grateful for the barrier between us because I need to keep my distance.

“You haven’t told me anything about the job,” she explains when I don’t answer.

After much debate when I should have been sleeping last night, I came up with a plan. It’s a shitty one, one I know I’ll feel guilty about later, but if it gets Hannah out of here, I’m willing to follow through with it.

“Your job is to sit here and answer the phone. That’s all. All quotes get written up and come through me. You can write up the job, including make and model, and put the notes in that basket. You set up appointments when I tell you to. You can even talk to the dust. Just don’t fuck with anything.”

She looks around at the abhorrent stack of papers strewn about the desk.

“Can I clean?”

“I said, don’t fuck with anything.”

Her lips twitch at my words and I almost chuckle when she doesn’t say a word.

“Okay.”

“I’ll pay you weekly. You get here at nine and you leave at five. Same as the guys. There’s no special treatment here.”

I know I’m being harsh when she winces, but the sinister motherfucker in the back of my head chuckles. I’m getting under her skin.

Just like she’s always gotten under mine.

“What about . . . the other?”

Oh, yes. The other part of this arrangement.

“I’ll see what I can do, but I’m not making any promises.” I don’t miss the way her eyes light up, but . . . I can’t let it deter me. She can’t be here.

“What about the garage? I don’t know anything about it, but I can try.”

She’s grasping for straws. Anything to get me on her side to help her sister. Having Hannah in the garage is the last thing I want.

Having her under my roof is bad enough. Having her out there, right under my nose. Watching the guys trip over their dicks all day to talk to her?

Hard no.

I’m not too proud to admit that even if I want her gone, there’s still that urge to shield her from this life and the closer she gets to me . . . the more dangerous it is.

I want her as far away from that as possible. Not to mention myself.

“No. This is temporary. If you have a problem with it, you’re more than welcome to quit now. Save us both the hassle of firing you later.”

She cocks her head, those emerald eyes narrowing to slits. She thinks this is a challenge. A game.

If it is, I’ll make sure I win this time.

“No problem at all.”

The phone starts ringing as if it’s mocking her and I hide my amusement, turning away to head out the side door and into the garage. The guys should be here any moment.

“Have a good day,” I pause, nodding to the phone that’s caked in years of dirt and grease. “And don’t forget to answer that.”