17. Hannah

Hannah

“ T hat one looks like a crab.”

Missy does an impersonation of a crab with her fingers and I can’t help but laugh. This is our favorite place to come lately. The back of the house where no one really ventures to. There’s a tall oak tree that shades the area, so it’s perfect for cloud gazing.

I never took myself, nor Missy for cloud gazers, but it’s simple and life has been anything but, recently.

“What do you think it would be like to be inside a cloud?”

“Wet,” I joke and she chuckles, though halfheartedly.

“I don’t like to think of clouds as water. I like to think of them like cotton or cotton candy. Big fluffy shapes just floating through the sky.”

I try to imagine her world. “There would be little cherubs that lived on top?”

She nods. “And everything would be warm. Light shades of pink and baby blue or soft orange.”

“What would the cherubs eat?”

Her face twists into a grimace and I cringe thinking about dinner last night.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper when she doesn’t answer. She shakes her head.

“There are worse things.”

“It was pretty bad.”

“Stop,” she snaps, cutting me off. I fall back to the ground, looking up at the sky. The clouds are fusing, turning everything a dull shade of gray.

And so the fun stops.

“I hate her, Hannah . . .”

I believe her. Sometimes, I think I hate her, too.

“I hate her for what she is. For how she treats us. For what she did to Dad.”

“She didn’t do anything to Dad. He died of a heart attack.”

“She pushed him to it,” she murmurs darkly, pursing her lips. “All her stupid rules and ambition. She doesn’t care about us. We’re nothing more than pawns to her.”

Worried, I look around us. No one’s near. The gardener is on the other side of the house. Mom’s gone for the week on vacation with her “friend” June, and the nanny she insists we keep on, even though Missy and I are nineteen, is inside, knitting.

We’re completely alone.

“I . . . I hate her, too.”

Missy’s eyes, brown like chocolate, slip over my face, studying me. The face that mirrors her own, while looking nothing like it at the same time.

Yin and yang.

“For what she does to you,” I whisper.

It feels like uttering a death threat against the king in Tudor England.

“And you.”

Guilt washes through me. I’ve suffered Mom’s punishments, but . . . never anything as bad as Missy.

“Yeah, me too. You get the worst of it, though.”

She rolls her eyes, looking back at the clouds.

“It’s because I’m different.”

“You’re too much alike,” I correct, matter-of-fact. “Both intelligent. Both driven and brave.”

She side-eyes me. “It’s because I don’t listen to her. You do. That makes you brave in my book. Smart. Doing stuff you don’t want to so you don’t have to live through whatever she dishes out. Hell, half the punishments you endure are because you take the fall for me.”

I shake my head. “I’m just scared. Not brave.”

Missy shakes her head. Sometimes, I wish I could be as brave as Missy. Stand up for myself and what I know is right. I wish I wasn’t afraid of the dark. My own shadow. The sound of our mother’s voice when she’s angry.

“Why don’t you come back to college with me? You can reapply. Pick a different major. Something you’ll actually like.”

“College isn’t for me.”

“But . . . what are you going to do?”

She shrugs, a small smile creeping onto her face. “Disappear.” She sucks in a deep breath, letting it slip out slowly. “Maybe I’ll turn into a bird and fly far, far away from sunny California. Maybe go somewhere frigid cold where no one would ever think to look.”

“Please don’t,” I murmur. “At least not without saying goodbye, first.”

She’s quiet for a moment listening to the birds chirp and watching as the clouds darken overhead. I listen to the sounds of the neighborhood around us, someone mowing their grass down the road. The cars driving past, just outside the wall.

Our prison wall.

“You’re so dramatic,” Missy chuckles, brushing the moment off. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You sure?” I’m not sure I believe her. Missy doesn’t make idle threats.

But . . . she lays her hand on top of mine and gives my fingers a soft squeeze.

“Of course. We’re twins, remember?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

She may think she’s enigmatic, but I know her and I know when she’s lying. She’s going to leave someday and I’ll have to make the choice to either go with her or stay and do as I’m told.

I close my eyes, letting the cool breeze quell the pressure behind my eyes. I refuse to cry because Missy wouldn’t cry.

Distantly, thunder rumbles on the horizon and when I force my eyes open and look up at the sky, the clouds are dark . . . angry.

“What the hell?” I look around me because the leaves have changed. They’re brighter, more jagged. The hedgeline is unkempt and thorns protrude from between the leaves, daring me to touch them.

I reach for Missy’s hand, but she’s not there anymore. “Missy?”

“Hannah,” she snickers from behind me and my heart nearly falls to my feet when I spin around and find her nestled among the thorns, a sinister smile on her lips that pulls her mouth into an inhuman grin. She holds out a little green bottle to me, the venomous liquid sloshing like syrup inside. “Just a little sip.”

“No.”

She takes a step toward me and I fall back, nausea pooling in my stomach as that grin widens even further.

“Are you awake, Hannah?”

“Come on . . .” Missy coos, the thorns digging through her flesh and tearing it until blood seeps out. She doesn’t even seem to notice.

“Don’t touch me,” I snap, backing away from her. This isn’t Missy. This is something else. My sister is gone, replaced with something cruel and violent and positively evil.

“Just a little sip and the demons will go away.”

I scream when the voice sounds right behind me, and Missy steps toward me—

—And then a strong arm wraps around my waist and pulls me back.

“Hannah,” a rough voice says in my ear, and a chill runs down my spine as I blink at the room around me. “Are you awake?”

I jump when a big hand grips my hip under the sheets.

That hand doesn’t belong to me.

“You had a nightmare,” Mason murmurs darkly, leaning forward and capturing my ear with his teeth. He releases it, presses soft kisses to the line of my jaw and though I struggle to understand just what the fuck is happening, I relax into him.

“Tell me about it,” he murmurs darkly, continuing to nip and suck little pieces of my exposed flesh and I work to soothe my racing heart.

Unfortunately, waking up to find him in my bed does not make it easy.

“It was about—Wait, why are you here?”

I turn over onto my side to stare at him and I only realize the mistake I made after it’s done. He’s so handsome in this light, shrouded in the moonlight and the dim glow of the closet light I keep on every night. Like a Greek statue carved by a famous architect. Women would line the streets to stare at him for hours, begging the Gods to let their fantasies come to life.

“You texted me. Asked me to come back because you were scared. Remember?”

I swallow.

I did?

Listen, I had a glass of wine before bed and then that turned into half the bottle.

Conclusion—I’m a lightweight.

“Whatever’s in your nightmares, little doe, I promise, I’m scarier,” he murmurs, voice gruff. His hand slithers over my hip, down my thigh, and then, dangerously low below the hem of my nightgown. When his fingers find me, he hisses out through his teeth. “I’m going to fuck away your nightmares, Hannah.”

I open my mouth, but I don’t have a reply. My head says no. My body stomps her foot and demands that I say yes.

Still, as his thumb circles me, slipping my arousal over my clit, I find my head is a boring place to be, anyway.

Slowly, Mason slips down the bed, eyes flashing dangerously dark in the room before he presses my thighs apart with his shoulders, nestling between them and slipping my nightgown up over my hips.

“Keep your eyes on me.”

“Holy shit!” I gasp, sitting bolt upright in bed.

I clutch a hand to my chest, my heart racing underneath my fingers as I look around my room.

Home. I’m home and . . . alone. I’m fucking alone.

On the nightstand, the bottle of wine I didn’t even close up still sits.

That explains it.

It’s with some annoyance I realize I’m incredibly hot . . . and turned on.

My nipples strain against my tank top, my panties are soaked and my skin is coated in a light sheen of perspiration.

Just like it would be if that dream was actually real.

Am I really that far gone that I’m having sex dreams now?

Growling under my breath, I reach for my phone, setting an alarm for three hours from now, when I’ll have to get up for work. Still, as I lay down against the pillows, staring at the moonlight dancing across the wall in straight, perfect gashes from the blinds, I know I won’t sleep a fucking wink.

Mason Carpenter’s going to be the death of me.

If I thought going back to work was going to solve all my problems, I was dead wrong.

They’re right there, glaring me in the face every time Mason’s shirt hugs his broad shoulders a little too tight. Or the way he lifts the bottom to wipe the sweat off his brow, showcasing the chocolate syrup-worthy abs underneath.

It could also be the way his eyes follow me when I’m not watching.

The man either hates me . . . or he’s having the same dirty thoughts I am. At this point, maybe both.

Either Mason enjoys the torture or he just likes to see me dirty, because when Puke and Ian are gone on lunch, he calls me out of the office to help him on a transmission because I’m “small enough to fit under the car”.

I think it’s just an excuse to torment me some more.

So . . . in the heat of the day, we circle each other in the garage, the only sound being the whir of a fan blowing hot around us. He’s got me under the car—of course—while he gives instructions on how to do whatever it is I’m doing.

I’ll be honest, I don’t even know what it is that I’m supposed to be doing. I don’t even know what a transmission does.

“I think I need a bigger size,” I say annoyed, until I roll out from under the car and find him crouching down beside me, watching me like a psychopath.

Mason cocks a brow at me and my cheeks flame from that little implied nefarious smirk. Still . . . he doesn’t move.

“You’re quiet today.”

“I was under the impression you enjoyed it when I was quiet.” I’m finding it hard to keep the sarcastic tone out of my voice.

He’s nearly dripping with enthusiasm.

“I didn’t sleep well,” I sigh. “Can I have a bigger socket?”

It’s a wrench, but I’ve taken to calling different tools in the garage by the wrong names because I know it pisses him off.

“Why?” His eyes glint dangerously. I know he’s thinking about the texts, but I don’t have it in me to explain they come and go like a bad ex-boyfriend. You never know when they’re going to show up, but when they do, you can bet they’re going to make an ass out of themselves.

“I had a nightmare.” Part of that is true. The part with Missy was definitely a nightmare. The part with Mason . . . should have been a nightmare because I haven’t stopped thinking about it since I gave up on sleep around seven in the morning.

I’m playing with fire. Getting in over my head with a man who made it perfectly clear once, he wants a single shred of nothing to do with me. Not with any real substance, anyway.

Sure, he might want to fuck me, even though I know he hates it. He might even find he cares about me a little more than he would like to let on.

At the end of the day, I’m nothing more than a nuisance to him, and the day I let myself fall back into the swirling vortex that is Mason Carpenter is the day I may as well give my women’s rights card away.

I’m just another girl to him. Even if he makes me feel like I’m the only girl in the world when he looks at me.

“What was the nightmare about?”

I freeze, my entire body filling with ice despite the heat in the garage.

I’m not going there with Mason. About any of it.

“I’ll get it myself,” I grumble, stretching as far as I can to grab a bigger wrench. Mason makes no move to help me and I slide back under the car, hoping that maybe if I ignore him hard enough, he’ll just give-up.

Unfortunately, Mason’s not the give up type.

“Hannah.” His voice is laced with a heavy darkness that sends a ripple of ice down my spine. I don’t want to think about last night. How he said he can’t protect me if I don’t tell him everything. I didn’t want to drag him into this in the first place, but I had to because he’s the only freaking person on this planet willing to help me.

It’s . . . dangerous. I know it. He has to, by this point.

As crude and grumpy as he can be, there’s a soft side to Mason. I’ve seen it a few times. When he took me home after he watched my mother bust my lip. When he picked me up that very first time on the side of the road, soaking wet and crying.

When he kissed me like I was fragile, but his to break as he pleased.

“Why do you care?” I snap, using all my might to try and force the stubborn bolt I’m working on to move. Macho man must have put this bolt on the car because it’s stuck like it’s cemented in place. Or I’m just weak.

“I don’t.”

Okay, ouch.

“Rude. Why bother asking then?”

I roll my eyes, but before they even make a complete loop, the creeper is dragged out from under the car so fast, I drop the wrench to the concrete beside me. It clambers to the floor, the sound echoing in the air around us.

The asshole just dragged me out from under the car.

And consequently, right between his legs.

God . . . Universe . . . Mother nature? Whoever’s out there, please don’t let me make a fool of myself.

He leans forward, resting his hand on the side of the car, and for a split second, I thank God it’s painted black. Otherwise . . . what was I rambling about, again?

“What was the nightmare about?”

This time, his voice is so low, I can barely hear him over the fan. His eyes are like the storm of the century, threatening destruction and I’m the idiot chasing it. His gaze travels over me, licking a line of heat from the center of my breasts in my tank top, all the way up to my eyes, before settling there.

His face is a few inches from mine, his breath warm on my skin and all I can think about is how that stubble on his cheeks would feel against my inner thighs.

My grandmother is probably rolling over in her grave.

“You,” I whisper, and he doesn’t move for a moment, save for the tick in his jaw.

He’s thinking.

“What about me?”

Slowly, I shake my head. I will take that dream to the grave.

Unfortunately, Mason doesn’t seem on board with that plan.

He leans closer, his lips hovering over mine. He’s not even kissing me, more like stealing my breath away until all I can taste is the mint from his toothpaste, the smoke from the afternoon cigarette he sneaks every day, and something so uniquely him, it’s addicting.

“Things I really shouldn’t be thinking about you.”

His small, amused smile is enough to make my stomach drop to my toes. His lips brush mine, just the smallest of touches. The lightest kiss I’ve ever had, yet, as soon as he touches me, the world lights on fire.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he murmurs against my lips and I can’t tell if he meant to say it out loud or not.

I let out a shaky breath, completely resigning myself to the fact that I’m doing something I shouldn’t.

So, since the damage is already done, I close the distance between us, kissing him lightly before pulling away. He doesn’t let me, following me until my head falls back to the creeper, and his lips stay locked with mine.

Slowly, like he’s savoring me, his tongue tangles with mine and my body melts into a puddle on the floor from the groan that reverberates through him.

There’s no love in his kiss. It’s pure sex. Uninhibited, volatile, soul-stealing sex.

“ Fuck ,” he rasps and a shiver rolls through me.

And I want every bit of it.

Until a throat clears.

I jump, almost bashing my head into Mason’s and he sits up on his knees, glowering at the person in the doorway.

I scramble away from him like we’re forbidden lovers caught in the act as none other than Mila Carpenter steps further around the car.

Oh, shit.

“What?” Mason snaps and she rolls her eyes.

“You really forgot?”

My stomach sinks, the overwhelming emotion of guilt surfacing.

“Hi, I’m Mila,” she greets, holding out her hand. I look down at my own greasy one and she chuckles, taking mine anyway and shaking it. “Mason’s little sis—”

She stops. Her eyes go wide and her mouth clamps shut.

Awkward tension builds in the air and for a moment, I think about leaping out the window in the garage door.

She knows.

Of course, she knows.

“Mason,” Mila says, voice higher than usual. She looks to Mason, who hangs like a dark cloud over my shoulder. “You didn’t tell me you were dating Hannah.”

“We aren’t together,” I say at the same time Mason says, “Didn’t know I had to.”

“Looked pretty together to me,” Mila mumbles. “Sorry, Hannah. I just thought you were someone else for a moment.”

Yeah, the woman who helped rip your family to shreds . . .

“It’s okay. No worries.”

Mila smiles, albeit a little tight-lipped, and turns back to her brother.

I can’t blame her for being apprehensive. She has no reason to trust me or even to be nice to me. For all she knows, I could be the same as Missy, ready to tear into her brother the same way Missy and Marcus tore into each other. She doesn’t know me.

“We need to leave. We have to be there in half an hour and you know traffic in the city’s going to be hell.”

“Just tell Mom I forgot. I’ve got a car to finish.”

“I can finish,” I volunteer, even though I have no idea what I’m doing. Mason shoots me a warning look. Somehow, he manages to pack more heat into the look than he could if he covered me in gasoline and lit a match.

“I’m not leaving you here.”

He says it so quietly, I almost think I imagined it before Mila’s eyes dart between us.

“Is there something going on?”

“Nothing that concerns you,” Mason says before I can say anything.

He stalks to the shop sink to wash his hands and Mila follows him, hands on her hips. I stifle a laugh. She’s feisty and she doesn’t take Mason’s shit.

I like her.

“You’re coming because it will make Mom happy to see you. Even Bailey will be there. Well, in Zoom-form, but nonetheless.”

I don’t ask because I don’t want to pry, so I busy myself with cleaning up some of the tools we’ve left out, my lips still burning from that kiss.

Well—my whole body burning.

I’ve kissed Mason Carpenter before. It was mind-blowing, but it cost me. This time, with no cameras around to catch us and nothing standing in the way . . . it was life-changing.

Or maybe I’m just being dramatic because he’s hot.

Part of me wonders just how far it would have gone if Mila hadn’t shown up. The other, more rational part is happy it didn’t.

Want to kiss the only person willing to help you locate your sister goodbye? Sleep with them.

Mila shakes her head, stepping past me on her way to the door.

“So, Hannah, how long have you been in town?” she asks, leaning back against the shop cart.

“Uh—a couple weeks.” I clear my throat, hoping she can’t see the distress in my face.

“Oh, wow. Tired of Sacramento?”

“Yeah . . . just needed a change, I guess.”

God, why did I say that?

“Well, I’m sure your mother misses you. You guys always seemed like such a close-knit family.”

“Enough,” Mason grits, rejoining us. His presence feels like electricity zapping at my skin. “Let’s go.”

“I was just speaking to her,” Mila says innocently.

“Well, don’t.” He puts an arm on her shoulder and steers her toward the door.

She rolls her eyes but complies by marching toward the exit. “It was nice seeing you again, Hannah.”

“You too,” I call, but Mason hangs back.

He shakes his head before turning back to me. “Lock the door,” he says, handing over a key. “And don’t open it until Ian and Puke get back.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

His nostrils flare at my attempt at sarcasm and under different circumstances, I would laugh.

You know, if I hadn’t been prepared not even ten minutes ago to have sex with him on the dirty garage floor.

“We’re finishing this conversation later. I’ll pick you up at nine.”

Fuck. I forgot about the sex club.

I will not be finishing this conversation later, but I let him think that just so he’ll leave. Having him around is fucking with my head.

With one last lingering glance, I watch him go, the closing door bringing about a finality that rattles me to my core.

Mason Carpenter just kissed me. Again. And for real this time.

Me . . . a sweaty, greasy mess and the sister to enemy number two.

And he kissed me like he was starved for a taste.