14. Hannah

Hannah

A s it turns out, Marcus Parker owned a lot of property.

Mansions in three states, the Parker Estate in Malibu, a penthouse in downtown LA, a bunch of warehouses and businesses, and one, smaller water-side home in Venice.

I know that’s the place, just from looking at the picture and once I use my mother’s system to locate Missy’s mailing address, I sigh in relief.

I’ve found it.

Step two is complete.

It’s a short trip from my house, but I’m not going alone because, well, that would be idiotic of me. While I really don’t want to ask Mason for help, he owes me after I agreed to completely revamp his books and fix years of accounting errors, which, might I add, date back to the early two-thousands.

Plus . . . if he did know about Missy’s finger, why is he keeping it a secret?

So . . . here I am, standing outside Rummie’s, along with what appears to be every SoCal motorcycle gang in the surrounding four counties.

This should be fun.

I’ll admit, it’s a little embarrassing, pulling to a stop in front of the crowded bar in my little bright yellow bug, especially with the laughs it garners from the . . . cough . . . locals. It’s a lot more embarrassing that I have to hunt him out and ask for help.

Again.

Luckily, Ian let it slip that he, Mason, and Puke were coming here tonight to “unwind”. As soon as I step out of the car, my flight or flight reflexes kick in and I’m ready to sink right into the pavement with the urine from a man peeing on the side of the building, not too far away.

Anywhere has to be better than here.

“Oh, baby,” a woman in tight leather leggings and a tight bustier top coos the moment she sees me. She either looks like she’s auditioning for the remake of Grease in a few minutes, or like she might put a cigarette out on my face for looking at her the wrong way.

Honestly, both.

“Are you lost?”

I totally should have worn something . . . I don’t know, sexy? My “out of style” denim shorts and bright green T-shirt don’t fit in here. I’m not showing nearly enough skin. Not to mention, the sneakers I’ve had for years that I threw on because I was in a rush to get out the door.

I didn’t even wear makeup and I’m supposed to coax Mason out to come break into my missing sister’s house with me?

Fuck me.

“Need us to call your mama?” another girl, this one snarkier, chimes from her cigarette-smoking perch beside the door.

“No, thank you.” I’m ashamed at how timid and . . . southern my voice sounds next to their cool California accents. “I’m looking for Mason Carpenter. Have ya’ll seen him?”

God, Hannah, get it together.

“Ya’ll,” snarky girl snickers, mocking me, but the other shoots her a look of reproach.

“Honey, they’re going to eat you alive in there,” first woman says, eyeing me up and down. “Mason’s busy. Why don’t you go on home and wait for him there?”

My stomach slips uncomfortably. Busy with what? “It’s . . . um . . . important.”

I can see at this distance, she’s not much older than me, though probably a hell of a lot more fun. Bet her mother didn’t force her to brush her hair with one hundred strokes every night.

“Fresh meat. ” A man throws his arm around my shoulders and I cringe at the scent of his breath. “Want a beer?” he asks, offering me his.

“No,” I wince, unable to force the politeness out of my tone. It refuses to die. “No, thank you.”

I duck down and out from under his arm and first woman eyes the man.

“Oh, leave her alone, Bill. Poor thing’s shaking. She’s scared to death.”

I wouldn’t say that, but then again, there is a slight tremor in my hands that’s not normally there.

Missy, you asshole. You’re lucky you’re my sister.

“Hey, ain’t you the governor’s daughter?” a new man asks, sliding up on the other side of me.

I’m effectively cornered.

I open my mouth to speak, but the words get stuck on my tongue.

“I’m—I’m looking for Mason.”

“M—M—M—Mason,” snarky guy mocks, and he and a few of the people surrounding us chuckle.

“Aww . . . you got a little crush on Mason?” second girl chimes. Of course, she would. She’s been quiet for far too long. “Well, get in line, honey.”

“I just need to speak to him.”

“He’s busy,” Bill says and the original woman rolls her eyes.

“He’s inside. At the bar.” She steps forward, putting a hand on Bill’s chest and pushing him back. He’s so drunk, he nearly falls on his ass. She turns back to me, giving me a quick nod of her head and a scowl, telling me I better hurry or she’s not covering for me any longer.

“Thank you,” I breathe, and rush through the door.

—And stumble right into pandemonium.

I’ve never been in a bar before. It was forbidden like most things that involved fun, but even if I had, I don’t think it would have compared to the inside of Rummie’s.

The crowd is thick and overconfident; a drunken haze, hanging over the room. A woman’s dancing on a tabletop in the back, surrounded by a group of rough, cheering men. The bar is lined with loud people, most not even fully involved in a conversation because there’s just so much going on around them. Some people even dry hump against tables and chairs, “dancing” to the rock music blaring over the radio as if no one else is in the room.

First woman was right.

These people are going to eat me alive.

Come on, Hannah. Doesn’t mean they’re bad people, I chastise myself and even though I agree with the tyrant that is my inner monologue, I still feel like a mouse walking into a viper’s den as I slip through the crowd.

Someone tries to pull me into a dance, a drunk man I’m sure won’t remember my face after the next five minutes.

“Hey, babygirl. Daddy know where you are right now?” another asks, grinning at me through broken teeth. Looks like he’s already been in a bar fight tonight.

I ignore him, only to turn and run into a woman who sloshes her drink on me.

“Fucking cow,” she growls, lunging at me as if she might really bite me.

Suddenly, I’m missing the protection of first woman.

“Excuse me,” I squeak to a group of men gathered in front of the bar, but none of them move. They don’t even look in my direction, save to produce a truly long list of shitty pickup lines.

“Wow, she’s warm,” one comments, snickering sickeningly when I squeeze through them.

“And short. I like ‘em small. Makes ‘em tight.”

God, I could vomit if I’d actually eaten dinner.

Jesus, Mason. Where the hell are you?

And then, as if on cue, I spot him. He’s leaning back against the bar, Puke and Ian beside him and for a brief, shining moment, relief floods through me.

However, it’s quickly replaced by something else when I spot the girl beside him, her hand on his stomach. She giggles while she whispers something in his ear.

“Hannah.” Ian’s as surprised to see me as Mason is when his eyes flash to mine and instantly darken.

“What the hell are you doing?” I growl putting on my best angry wife voice and putting every single one of my shower acting skills to the test.

Mason’s jaw ticks.

The sinister voice in the back of my head chuckles.

“Umm . . . Mason,” the girl next to him asks, blue eyes flashing me up and down. “Who is this?”

“His wife ,” I snap before Mason can even get a word in. “Who are you?”

She at least looks horrified, looking back and forth between Mason and me like we’ve lost our minds. Maybe I have, at this point.

“Our baby is sick at home and you come here ?”

“Okay, I think it’s time for me to go,” the woman says, wincing as she disentangles herself from Mason.

Unfortunately, for both her and me, Mason’s eyes never leave my face, but instead of the burning hatred I expected, there’s a flicker of amusement and something else that makes my body tighten as the girl disappears back into the crowd.

Puke and Ian look terrified. Mason looks like he’s ready to whip me for his own amusement.

“I’ll take a shot of whatever the most expensive vodka you have is, please?” I say to the bartender who nods at my request. “Oh, and you can put it on his tab. Right, honey?”

Now Mason looks like he’s ready to kill me. Or fuck me. I’m not sure which would be more terrifying, right now.

“Alright, Hannah,” he murmurs when the bartender slides me my drink. I down the shot, letting the silky sweetness slip down my throat. Listen, I’m no drinker, but I was in a sorority. You can only sit out so many frat parties before people start asking questions. “You have my attention. What do you want?”

“That,” I say, dabbing at the corner of my mouth and sliding the shot glass back on the bar. “Was for not telling me about the mysterious package that showed up at your mother’s house last week.”

I can see the darkness coalesce in his eyes the moment he realizes what I’m talking about.

“ This ,” I hand him the paper with Missy and Marcus’s address on it. “Is where we’re going.”

He looks down at the address, handing the paper back to me.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Is that so?” I raise my hand to the bartender, who nods. “Can you make it a double, please? Guess I might as well stick around.” I chuckle when he slides me another shot. I sit down at the bar beside Puke, who looks like I’m the Grim Reaper coming to collect his soul. “I’m no expert, but I think this vodka runs about fifteen dollars a shot. What’s that? Forty-five dollars for wasting my time? I think it’s worth more than that, don’t you, Puke?”

“Ye—Yes, ma’am,” he replies without looking at Mason.

I down my second shot, this one sliding down a little rougher because it’s a double, but I drink it anyway, because I have a point to make. Mason can’t avoid me forever.

Speaking of which, he stares down at me, his head cocked and his eyes portraying a bored indifference, even if the tick in his jaw tells me he’s anything but.

“Shall I continue?” I ask, sliding the shot glass up the bar again.

He stares at me for a beat, as if he’s trying to read my mind.

Still . . . he doesn’t reply.

I move to raise my hand again, but before I can, Mason’s scooping me out of the barstool and hoisting me over his shoulder, caveman-style.

“You can’t ignore me forever,” I grit, smacking at his back because that’s all I can reach at this angle as he carries me out of the bar. People around us hoot and holler, but he pays them no attention as he carts me through the front door and out into the parking lot beyond.

“Hey, Mason. Some girl was looking for you. She was real pretty,” Bill says still drunk as a skunk and in the same place I left him.

“Shut the fuck up, Bill,” Mason grumbles, marching me through the crowd.

“Thanks for the help, Bill!” I call and I yelp when Mason’s hand smacks my ass. “Asshole,” I grumble under my breath.

The group at the door dissolves back into drunken chatter, forgetting all about Mason and me. Don’t ask me why, but now that Mason’s here, they don’t seem all that bad. Drunk, but not scary.

Maybe it’s because I know none of them would actually hurt me with Mason around. Maybe it’s because facing Mason is far more frightening than anything they could dole out.

“You go, Red,” first woman calls, putting a hand on Bill’s shoulder to turn him away.

Mason deposits me right in front of my bright yellow bug and all the blood rushes to my head when he leans in so far, I have to slip up the hood to keep from being pressed against him.

“What kind of game are you playing?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

I’ve got to hand it to him, it’s no wonder all the women are falling all over themselves when he’s around. The man may as well have invented the sexy smolder.

“I’m not playing any game,” I say innocently, though we both know, I definitely am. “You and I had a deal. You haven’t followed through with your end even though I have more than followed through with mine.”

His eyes flash menacingly and he leans forward, placing his hands on the hood on either side of me, effectively caging me in. My breath hitches and heat pools in my core at the press of his thighs against my knees, forcefully spreading them apart.

Yeah . . . I definitely need to get laid.

“You know B and E is a crime, little doe?”

I swallow over the lump in my throat, my heart hammering in my chest from the proximity of him. His scent encompasses me and something warm flutters in my core. Fresh soap, smoke, and leather. Him.

“So is hacking into the governor’s private databases,” I whisper, and his jaw flutters dangerously.

Gently, almost involuntarily, his finger traces the line of bare skin that shows where my t-shirt rests on top of my jeans. I let out a shaky breath, and even though my palms are slipping against the hood of the car, I force myself to stay rooted in place.

He doesn’t say anything, but if the heat in his stare was enough, I would have gone up in flames.

“Get in the car.”

He steps away from me in a flash and my heart nearly bottoms out from the wash of intensity firing in the air between us.

Good. Distance is good.

Carefully, I slide to my feet, stumbling—unfortunately—into Mason.

Maybe I shouldn’t have drank so much to prove my point.

“What’s the matter, little doe?” Mason cocks a brow at me. “Too much to drink.”

He holds out his hand and begrudgingly, I give him the keys.

He chuckles darkly, moving to the driver’s side of my little yellow bug, shaking his head.

“Passenger seat.”