15. Mason

Mason

H annah is a shit criminal.

“It’s that one,” she whispers loudly, pointing at a blue two-story house off a canal in Venice.

I shake my head, grabbing her hand and pushing it down.

“No. It’s that one.” I point next door to Melissa Gaine’s orange adobe “house” that cost Parker a fortune. The two buildings are almost identical. Like most things in LA, everything’s a carbon copy of something else and I’m not just talking about houses.

“No, it’s not,” Hannah argues, stepping up to the back gate of the blue house and peaking her head over the bushes that are almost as tall as she is.

I step up beside her, nodding to an upstairs window.

“There’s a TV on in the bedroom. You really want to go breaking into some random stranger’s house in the middle of the night, or do you want to get what we came for?”

She narrows her eyes on me. I wait for her to admit she’s wrong.

She doesn’t.

Instead, she steps up to the bushes behind the orange house, sneaking down the line of foliage as if she’s auditioning to be the next James Bond. I resist the urge to chuckle. It’s evident she’s never fucking done this before.

California’s princess, breaking the rules.

“Just so we’re clear.” I feel the need to reiterate this to her because Hannah’s never been in a single ounce of fucking trouble. “You know breaking and entering is a crime, right?” I don’t really care at this point. I’m as good as dead when they find out where she is, but Hannah wouldn’t make it in prison.

“Okay?” she challenges, brows furrowed in concentration as she stares at the wall in front of her. “So is jaywalking.”

Like a fucking spider monkey, she attempts—and fails— to jump up and climb the wall. She manages to reach the top, I’ll give her that, but halfway over, she gets stuck, perfect ass in the air.

“Can you give me a boost?”

I have half a mind to smack her ass, again.

Stepping up behind her, I put a hand on the back of her thigh and raise her up so she can climb on top of the wall.

“Here,” she whispers, holding out a hand.

I eye it for a moment because she’s fucking crazy if she thinks her little ass is pulling me up, and stride over to the gate flipping the very noticeable lock on the top and pushing it open, striding into the backyard.

“Asshole,” Hannah grumbles, even though she lets me help her down from her perch on the wall. I’m careful not to hold her too long. Shit like that is how I got in this mess, but I can’t deny the possessiveness that washes through me with her in my arms.

I set her on her feet and move to the back door. The house is pitch black, obviously, but the curtains are drawn, blocking out any vantage of the inside.

“Are you expecting landmines?”

Hannah glares at me from across the yard. Finally, she swallows nervously, stepping down the path as if Melissa’s going to pop out of a bush at any moment with a knife.

At this point, it wouldn’t fucking surprise me.

“There’s going to be a security system,” I tell her quietly. The curtain is drawn over the window of the sliding glass door, but the cobwebs shining against the white fabric means no one’s been here for a long time. “Do you have any idea what the code might be?”

She winces. “I didn’t think of that.”

“Not very criminal of you.”

She shoots me a glare.

“Maybe our birthday.”

“Okay . . .” I wait. She doesn’t answer. “What the fuck is it?”

It’s surprising to me that I don’t know her birthday. I know everything else about her. At least, the shit I’ve made up in my head. The girl’s a fucking mystery to me.

Melissa Gaines was easy to figure out. Shit parents. Childhood trauma. Some big-time rich guy swoops in and promises her the world and she gets caught up in it. Liked the dark side of the moon a little too much.

Hannah, though?

It would take a thousand years to figure out what’s in her pretty little head and I don’t have that kind of time before she leaves, again.

“You’re awfully rude, tonight.” She pauses, cocking her head. “Every night, really.”

I let out a deep breath, willing my self-control to keep hanging on by a thread.

“Birthday, Hannah.”

“September fifteenth.”

“Good girl.”

Hannah’s eyes widen and her lips clamp shut, cheeks flaming even in the darkness. It has the effect I intended and shuts her up for once, while I try to figure out the back door.

Listen, I’m not a criminal. I do, however, have a lock picker’s tool kit. It can be useful if you really can’t get a car door open, but mostly, it sits on a shelf in my office.

Now, it’s helping me commit a crime for the little brat behind me.

“Can you hurry up?” Hannah whispers after a few minutes of me fucking with the lock. And failing. “I feel like someone’s going to catch us.”

We’re standing in nearly complete darkness, save for the small penlight in my mouth to light up the lock. I shoot her a look and she concedes, standing quietly beside me, once more.

Finally, after a lot of bullshit, there’s a click and the lock inside disengages.

“September fifteenth.”

Hannah nods, opening her mouth to speak, but I don’t give her time before I’m sliding the door open and stepping into the darkness inside. I locate the control panel on the wall beside the door and type in the code, but it flashes red.

“Hannah, plan B.”

“Shit.”

“ Hannah .”

“Umm . . . Oh, August fifth! I remember her saying that was her anniversary with Marcus.”

I type it in and miraculously, the control panel beeps once, signaling the house is unarmed.

I hope.

“You’ve really got to get better at this if we’re going to be breaking into people’s houses,” I murmur as she steps through the curtain, hastily brushing off old spider webs.

“Oh, pardon me,” she sneers. “Let me see if they have a B and E class down at the local tech school.”

I swear to fucking God.

This little brat is going to be the fucking death of me.

“It smells really bad in here,” Hannah winces, looking around and covering her nose.

“Rotten food. No one’s been here for a while.” I keep the penlight low, looking at the stack of mail on the table. Bills Melissa didn’t pay, junk, more bills.

“What was she going to do with all this space?” Hannah looks around, waving her flashlight around the room and, consequently, the walls and windows.

Jesus Christ.

I push it down towards the floor and she opens her mouth to argue, but for once, she doesn’t.

“Parker bought her this place,” I murmur, stepping out of the kitchen and into the living room. “Way too fucking big for one person.”

“No kidding,” Hannah says, from where she stands at the mantel. There’s a picture there and upon closer inspection, I realize it’s Melissa and Parker, dressed up. Probably for a “party”.

Black venom slips through my veins seeing his face. He should be dead. Not cozy in his little private prison cell, being waited on hand and foot. Safe and fucking sound.

Hannah looks at me for a moment, then carefully, she reaches up, takes the picture, and lays it face down.

I move away from her, scanning the rest of the room and Hannah seems to abandon her search for evidence in favor of prying.

“I know you don’t like him, but . . . was he really into everything they’re saying he was?”

I can hear in her voice she’s not accusing me. She’s merely curious. As if she accepts my judgment, but like a child, wants to know the reason.

Unfortunately, for her, that’s the last fucking thing I want to talk about. She’s so fucking innocent, I’m not sure she’d even believe me if I tried.

“I thought we were here to look for clues?”

She takes a step back at the bite in my voice.

“Right. Sorry.”

You know those moments where you feel like a grumpy asshole, even if it’s completely warranted?

Yeah, they fucking suck.

“Hey, look,” she says suddenly, stalking across the room. I follow her to where an entryway table is crushed to pieces on the floor.

“Someone was here.”

Hannah falls silent, shining her flashlight on a trail of blood leading towards the stairs.

“Mason,” she says softly and I can hear the slight tremor in her voice.

“Don’t tell me you’re chickening out, now.”

She shoots me a look.

“Sometimes, I can’t stand you,” she grumbles as she marches past, towards the staircase.

“Right back at you, little doe.”

She rolls her eyes, carefully climbing the stairs and avoiding any of the dried blood on the floor.

I follow behind her, careful to keep my distance because, well, the view is something to be admired, even if she pisses me off.

Hannah goes in one direction and I go the other at the top. The house has four bedrooms and two of the four are filled with racks of designer clothing. Melissa has enough Gucci to feed every homeless person in the city twice-over. The third bedroom, actually a bedroom, must be the guest room because there’s nothing in any of the drawers but blankets and sheets.

“Mason,” Hannah calls out from across the house after I’ve just stepped out of the nearly empty bathroom connected to the guest room.

Tension coils through me at the sound of her voice. I step through the house, to the open door of the master—

—And stop short.

“Jesus,” I mutter, looking at the pictures above the California king bed in the center of the room.

Three pictures, all of a naked Melissa Gaines sit above the wall, all smiling coyly at us as if she knows what we’re up to.

The only problem is the eyes are cut out over every single one.

“There’s this, too,” Hannah grumbles, handing me a pamphlet. I check it over in the dimming flashlight in my hand and it feels like someone injected cement into my spine.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

“What is that place? The Inner Sanctum.”

I almost chuckle. Almost.

I hand it back to her. “A sex club. Invitation only.”

Hannah grimaces, her spine stiffening. She peeks back at her sister on the wall, then at me, and I’m reminded of her little jealous streak at the bar. Truth be told, Melissa Gaines could give the best head in this state and I wouldn’t find her attractive.

No, unfortunately, that spot’s reserved for her fucking sister.

And only her fucking sister.

“Did you find anything else?”

“That.”

She nods to a glass decanter on the dresser. It glows green like the color of Hannah’s eyes in my flashlight.

Neither of us needs to ask what that is.

“Do you . . . do you think something bad happened?”

“Hannah—” I grit and I almost feel guilty when she winces at my tone.

“No, Mason. I know you don’t care,” she snaps, actually stomping her foot. “But if someone took her, don’t you think it’s a good idea to find out who? I mean, what if they’re coming after everyone attached to your stepfather.”

“Parker,” I correct and she growls under her breath, shaking her head.

“Okay, fine. Call him whatever you want, but this concerns more than just me. Your mother got a finger in her mailbox.” She squares her shoulders. “I’m going to that club.”

Immediately, I shake my head. “No.”

“I didn’t ask you to come with me.”

“And you aren’t going alone, either.”

“You aren’t my father,” she bites, eyes flaring in the pale glow of her dying flashlight.

“No, but I’m all you’ve got. We aren’t going.”

She opens her mouth to say something, but a creak downstairs causes her to shut her mouth tight, eyes going wide.

“Security! Anyone inside?”

Oh, fuck.

Hannah jerks at the sound of the voice downstairs, but I seal a hand over her mouth to silence her and push her back against the wall. It’s not the best position. My front pressed completely against hers, her wide eyes staring up at me in fear. I know she can feel my cock and the evidently permanent hard-on pressed into her stomach, but there aren't a lot of choices in a situation like this.

We listen to the sounds of two pairs of feet moving about the house downstairs, and I wrack my brain for a way out of this situation.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Take off your shirt.”

Hannah’s eyes turn to sharp points. She mumbles something against my hand and I remove my fingers with a sigh.

“No,” she whispers.

“ Take off your shirt ,” I growl, stepping back from her. “And get on the bed.”

She starts to argue, again, but I don’t let her. I crush my lips to hers, lifting her quickly and spinning her back toward the bed before depositing her on top of the covers. I rip my shirt over my head, then hers, and pull her back to me in a rush.

She tries to push at my shoulders, but I only tug her closer until her body lines up with mine. Only then, does she seem to understand the plan.

I try not to think of the way she fucking feels in my hands. How much I’ve craved the taste of her. How little convincing it would take to get me to abandon my morals completely and fuck her right here, in her missing sister’s bed. Despite everything, a groan rumbles from deep in my chest. Tasting her feels like coming home.

Somewhere along the line, the kiss becomes blurred, but not enough that I don’t hear the footsteps of the men on the stairs. Just when they breach the bedroom door, I’m rolling my hips into Hannah’s and a soft moan slips free from her lips.

“Hey! You two didn’t hear us calling?”

Fucking hell. It’s about fucking time they showed up.

They flick on the light overhead and Hannah breaks away from me with a gasp, working to cover herself up with the comforter below her.

I hate to fucking think about what’s on it, but there aren’t many choices when you’re caught breaking into the house of your newfound obsession’s twin sister.

“What are you doing here?” I snap, stepping off the bed. Both men reach back like they’re going for their guns, but I’m not an idiot. I can see they’re both poor excuses for from here. Nothing like the nine in my back.

“You the homeowner?” one snaps. I can tell he’s new. Probably no older than Hannah from the looks of it. He keeps his gaze pinned on me—smart—while the other guy just looks around like a dumbass.

“I am,” Hannah says breathlessly, slipping her shirt over her head as discreetly as possible.

“You have your ID on you?”

She nods quickly and I steel myself for the handcuffs that are likely about to come. Imagine my surprise when Hannah reaches into Melissa’s purse sitting beside the bed and pulls out her wallet.

How the fuck didn’t I notice that?

She hands over Melissa’s ID and the younger guy inspects it, then Hannah.

“You set off the alarm,” he says, almost pissed off that Melissa’s ID checked out. Idiot didn’t look close enough. Hannah and Melissa look nothing alike. “Said you entered the wrong code.”

Hannah waves a hand, climbing off the bed to stand next to me.

“Sorry,” she laughs sweetly. “Must have made a mistake when we got here. We just got in from a long stay in Aruba. Have you ever been?” She makes a show of placing her hand on my stomach and nestling into my side. My cock pulses in response, particularly when her nails dig into my skin.

Little shit.

“Can’t say I have. What happened to your table downstairs?”

“Yeah, and why does it smell so bad in the kitchen?” the other guy chimes. Fucking idiot. Probably still has his lunch packed by his mother, every day.

“Oh, we let some friends stay over and they got a little carried away, I guess,” Hannah lies, smoothly. “Really, you must go and see Aruba for yourself. It’s truly magical.” She beams, cheeks burning bright red. “There’s this beautiful little villa we stayed at and they had these lizards—”

“Iguanas,” I correct and Hannah shoots me a look behind her smile.

“ Iguanas ,” she says dramatically. “Anyway, they climb everywhere, and I wanted to bring one home, but they wouldn’t let me and it was a whole debacle that my sweet pookie bear, here, had to stop—”

“That’s enough,” the first guy says, looking back and forth between us while I try not to think of all the ways I’d fucking love to punish Hannah.

Fucking pookie bear?

“We’ve got another call, so long as you’re clear.”

“All clear,” I murmur.

Stupid fucks.

He nods, not even second-guessing it.

“Have a good night. And try to make sure you enter the right code, next time. We might not be able to get here as fast if you actually need help if we’re chasing after false alarms all night.”

Jesus Christ.

“Of course. Thank you for keeping the streets safe, at night. You two be careful out there,” Hannah waves, watching as they retreat down the stairs. As soon as the door shuts below, she lets out a deep breath, her hands shaking.

“Holy shit,” she breathes.

“Pookie bear?” I cock a brow at her.

She chuckles, slipping her shirt back over her head. It’s a shame.

“What? Would you prefer I call you Big Daddy like Puke and Ian?”

Lead fills my spine. “Try it. I’ll have you screaming it by the time I’m done with you.”

Her cheeks flame to a deep shade of scarlet.

Maybe she’s better at this shit than I thought she was.

“Grab the purse and let’s get the fuck out of here.”

She bends down to grab it but stops short.

“Uh, Mason?”

I slip my shirt on over my head.

“What now?”

“Umm . . .” and I look at what she’s holding up in her hand.

“Well, shit.”

Melissa’s phone.