12. Mason

Mason

H annah Gaines is without a doubt, the most annoying woman I’ve ever met.

And I’m fucking obsessed with her.

She’s cheerful when I’m not. Sunny when it’s pouring down rain and her goddamned smile lights up the fucking room.

She’s funny. Smart. Sexy as fuck, especially when she’s concentrating on something or trying to hide the blush on her cheeks.

She’s wormed her way into every facet of the garage. I give her free rein over the lobby. She keeps up with the invoices and the customer calls. People love her.

She’s a fucking godsend, but I’ll be damned if I tell her that.

I have resigned myself to the fact that I must be a masochist. Why else would I keep her around? I know the repercussions of having her here, but even those don’t seem to matter anymore.

The problem?

I can’t stand her.

I also can’t convince myself to get rid of her.

I should have said no when I had the chance. Now, it’s too late.

She’s become an itch I can’t scratch . . . a nuisance fucking with my head. Every time she laughs. Every time she smiles. When I catch a hint of that damned perfume.

She’s burrowed her way back into my head.

I fucking hate it.

She hasn’t spoken to me, save for the few occasions when she needs a quote for a customer or to set up an appointment.

As if she’s avoiding me as much as I’m avoiding her.

Part of me is pleased she’s not speaking to me. Makes it easier to ignore her long enough to get something done. To not think about the inevitable when this shit comes crashing down on top of me.

The other half is pissed that Puke won’t stop staring at her ass and Ian has taken it upon himself to act as her personal bodyguard.

Fucker better watch himself.

There’s a whole twisted, fucked-up past between Hannah and me and though only I know the truth about what happened between us, I can’t deny there’s still that urge to try and keep her for myself. Lock her away and stake my fucking claim.

Fortunately for him, I’m not an idiot. I can’t have Hannah and her being here puts us all in danger, no matter how pretty the freckles on her nose are in the evening sun. I’ve built a life for myself here. One that doesn’t have her in it.

But fuck, if the idea isn’t entertaining.

But . . . I’m still not above knocking his teeth in.

She’s probably noticed I’ve been avoiding her, but I don’t care. I’m in no mood to talk about her sister. I did call a few of my . . . connections. None of them had any idea where Melissa Gaines disappeared to, so it’s back to square one.

I keep telling myself I’ll give her the bad news any day now, cut her free and tell her to never come back here, but . . . I just don’t.

She finds out I can’t find Melissa Gaines, she’s gone and while life was so much simpler without her in it, there was that voice in the back of my mind.

I try to tell myself Hannah isn’t my problem, but we all know it’s a damned lie.

I made her my problem the moment I set eyes on her.

Now she’s my fucking addiction and it’ll take a fucking exorcism to forcibly remove her from me.

Accidentally—or so I tell myself—the monitor on my desk allows me to keep an eye on the shop while I’m in my office supposed to be doing other shit. It’s become my greatest tool for keeping a bird’s eye view on her and I know it’s becoming a problem.

Just like she’s become my obsession.

Right now, she’s at her desk and I need to get out to the garage, but there are also bills that need to be paid. Keyword: Need to. I haven’t fucking touched them.

It’s easy when I can keep an eye on her from the cameras. She’s got her hair piled up on top of her head while she organizes today’s invoices. I can see she’s quietly singing to herself, even though she can’t carry a tune to save her life. From here, she looks innocent.

Fucking perfection.

And that’s what I’m watching when the high-rolling fed walks in the door.

Fucking Logan Prince.

My sister’s fiancé. Also the biggest pain in my ass.

Besides Hannah, of course.

He says something to Hannah, flashing that devil-may-care smirk and my first thought is to kick his ass for daring to go near her. My second thought, though, is that I know this man is damned near obsessed with my sister and for that, I know he’d never hurt her.

Hannah may be the beginning and end of my world, but she’s just another girl to him.

Seconds later, my little sister’s fiancé waltzes in without knocking, FBI swagger and attitude wrapped into one cocky smile. Sometimes, I think he and Savannah are perfect for each other. Other times, I’d like to wring his neck for touching her.

“Long time, no see,” Logan murmurs, shutting the door behind him. Last year, Logan went undercover and brought my stepfather, Marcus Parker, in for crimes against humanity. Trafficking. Sex slavery. Nasty shit you only read in fucked-up books or hear about on the news. I had a part in all that.

Now, he’s taken it upon himself to propose to my sister.

“What?”

He smirks, slinking into a chair in the corner. I should throw it out. Gives people the invitation to sit down and stay.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” he says cheerfully.

I grit my teeth and Logan’s eyes flash with humor. Fucking prick.

He jabs a thumb back at the closed door.

“She know your little secret?”

“Why are you here?”

Don’t get me wrong. Logan’s not a bad guy, but he knows too much, something he likes to remind me of every fucking chance he gets. Unfortunately, Savannah loves him. I know he’d die for her, just like Charlie for Bailey . . . but if either of them hurt my sisters, I’d make sure no one ever heard from them again.

Logan’s not the only one good with a bullet.

“I heard you’ve got family therapy next week.”

“That why you came? To remind me for my mother?”

Logan just chuckles, shaking his head.

“Maybe you can all chat about why the sister of your stepfather’s mistress is working for you there.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

“Keep your mouth shut.” I don’t need my family breathing down my neck about this.

“You know they’ll find out.”

“It’s none of their concern.”

Logan narrows his eyes, inspecting me in that annoying way he does when he’s trying to get inside my head. Some FBI shit I don’t like.

“Does this have anything to do with the leading lady in Parker’s fucked up line of bullshit?”

“And if it does?”

“Just making sure you know where your loyalties lie.”

“That’s rich,” I scoff and Logan cocks a brow.

“She’s dangerous, Carpenter.”

“So are you.”

His lip perks up at the corner, a devilish smile pulling on his face. “I am. So are you. Which is why I’m here. Parker’s dying.”

The room buzzes with silence.

This has got to be a fucking joke.

I open my mouth to ask, but he cuts me off.

“Brain cancer.” He sucks in a deep breath. “They won’t let him out, but with his year left to live, they aren’t prosecuting him any more than they already have.”

“So they’re going to drop it . . . just like that?”

“Yeah. Just like that.”

I shove out of the chair, nearly toppling it over on the ground. I need to walk. I need to punch something. I need to fuck my pretty little receptionist, but we all know, none of those things are going to happen.

“And everyone’s just supposed to forget about everything he did?”

Logan doesn’t answer, but I can see in the darkness of his eyes, he agrees.

“Your sister is upset. Which is the other reason I’m here.”

It feels like someone stuck a steel rod down my spine.

“They’re worried about you.”

Cement fills my veins. I’ve been dodging Mom’s calls for two weeks. She wants to forget about the past. Move on with the millions she got in her divorce agreement with Parker and live in her fancy ass house in Santa Monica.

She wants the same relationship we used to have. Before she fucked Dad over and before he died. Before she abandoned me with my grandmother because her new husband didn’t like me around.

“There’s more, isn’t there?”

The humor in his eyes fades and he gets that serious look. I fucking hate it. Usually, it means bad shit is happening.

“Melissa Gaines’ finger appeared in your mother’s mailbox last week.”

That throws a wrench in shit.

“Fuck,” I curse under my breath and Logan chuckles.

I scrub a hand over my face. This is getting too twisted.

“Who mails a fucking finger? That group Parker was in?”

That group being the Brethren— a conglomerate of sick fucks, mostly billionaires who prey on the young and less fortunate with their twisted games. Savannah was one of those victims and I’ll hate myself until the day I die for not being able to save her.

For not being around to notice.

“We don’t think it’s them. They’ve laid low since Parker was caught. They know we’re investigating them.”

“Why would they send it to Mom? Isn’t that a little fucked?”

My first thought is the cartel. Maybe they’re trying to send me a message because they think I’m going to rebel, soon, but . . . it doesn’t have their names written on it. They like to make it known who’s in charge. They’d never do something like this anonymously.

Logan shrugs. “Pretty fucked to send a finger in the first place.”

Touché.

“Who all knows about this?”

“Just me. Your mother. Your sister.”

“Half the FBI.”

“No, just my team. I’m going to make myself perfectly clear because you seem to have . . . other things on your mind. This stays between us.” His eyes harden. “She can’t know.”

And now that Hannah’s involved, it makes shit a whole lot more dangerous.

“I thought you were supposed to be getting out of this shit?”

Logan’s eyes flicker with something dark for a moment, before that cold mask of indifference slips back into place. “I will. When she’s safe.”

Because Savannah knows about the Brethren. Because knowing makes her a target. I can’t fault him for making it his dying wish to protect my sister. What more could I fucking ask for? He could hire a dozen men to protect her. At the end of the day, I know she’s safest with him.

“Any update on your little . . . situation?”

“Unless you call watching my back an update.”

“I told you. I’ve got men watching. They’ll see to it nothing bad happens.”

“Forgive me if I don’t find that as comforting as you seem to think it is. I didn’t ask for this.”

“This is what happens when you go fucking around with the forbidden fruit.”

I grit my teeth until they threaten to shatter in my gums. “These people aren’t ones you fuck with.”

He shrugs. “Neither was Parker. Look at the world, Carpenter. You really want to raise kids in this shit show?”

I don’t bother telling him I don’t plan on raising kids, at all.

“You can’t stop them all.”

“No, but I can try,” he agrees, standing. His gaze hardens. “I asked your sister to marry me, by the way.”

“Yeah. You should’ve fucking said something. Asked, maybe?”

He just shakes his head, a dark look in his eyes. “No. Had to be her choice. No one else’s.”

He reaches for the door and I get up to follow him, pissed off that I can’t argue that and even more pissed off when I see Hannah standing at the desk when we step into the lobby. Her eyes lock with Logan for a second, then with me before she looks away, her cheeks glowing red.

Fuck me.

Logan smirks, heading for the door, but he stops, hand on the handle.

“For the record,” he murmurs, keeping his voice low so Hannah can’t hear when she takes a call. “I only asked you to stay away while I was trying to save her. Until it was safe.”

I grit my teeth. I know it’s my fault my family worries about me. Wonders why I don’t come around. I just . . . I can’t.

“I know.”

Logan nods and with that he’s gone, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the girl who won’t leave them.

She hangs up the phone a second later, her gaze meeting mine and for once, she doesn’t have that cheery smile.

“Are you okay?” she asks quietly when I stride past her and back to my office.

“Fine.”

Then I shut the door.