23. Mason

Mason

“ T here’s no chance? How well do you really know her?”

That’s the problem, isn’t it? That I’ve come to know her better than the back of my fucking hand and now I can’t walk away.

Somewhere along the line, this stopped being about bringing Melissa to justice and morphed into something far more dangerous. If Hannah’s in this shit, then I am, too, whether she likes it or not.

“She’s not helping her.”

Logan nods, waving to one of his unnamed workers as they leave for the night. The little prick that broke into Hannah’s house was hauled away ten minutes ago, leaving behind nothing but a pool of his own blood and piss and a broken kitchen table on the linoleum floor.

I should have killed him.

I want to. For what it’s worth. When I arrived and saw his hands wrapped around Hannah’s throat, the gun at my back seemed too kind an execution for him. I wanted to use my bare hands. Wring the life from him for daring to touch her.

Now . . . I’m struggling to remember all the reasons I said she could never be mine.

And that’s a real fucking problem.

“What I can’t figure out, is why they would let her go.” I know he’s talking about Melissa from the cold, dark hate in his eyes and the call Hannah got the other night. I can’t say I blame him, though, Parker’s just as much to blame for Melissa Gaines’s issues as her Mother, but there’s something dark about her that wasn’t put there by anyone else.

“She can be very . . . persuasive.”

“We need her to talk, Mason. I need to know what the fuck she brought with her,” Logan says so quietly, Savannah can’t hear.

“I’ll handle it.”

“None of that sob story shit, either. I need the full story. This affects more than just you.”

“I said, I’ll handle it.”

Logan’s eyes glint black in the light while he watches Savannah step up to the back door. There’s a scowl on my sister’s face as she looks back and forth between the two of us.

I know what she’s thinking. I don’t care.

She hates that I’m here with Hannah as much as Mila did. They don’t trust her and while I understand why, I also don’t give a fuck. I’ve seen the differences between the two Gaines daughters. I can understand wanting to save your sister from a gruesome death, even if it means putting them behind bars for the rest of their lives for the horrible shit they’ve done.

“Just know,” Logan says, eyes glinting black in the moonlight. “I’ll do what I have to. No matter the cost.” He looks at Savannah grimly. “Antonio’s men will watch your house. I’ll send you his number, in case you need anything.”

And then he walks away, pressing a kiss to Savannah’s forehead.

I can’t fault him for loving my sister—for being willing to do anything to protect her, no matter the cost. He’d put a bullet in anyone if it meant she’d be safe.

I also can’t shake the dark anger that comes with thinking about that gun being pointed at Hannah and because of that, I know I’d do the same fucking thing.

“We need to talk,” Savannah says cooly when I step up to the back door. Logan, who murmurs quietly into the phone on the other side of the kitchen, eyes us carefully.

“It can wait.” I need to find Hannah. Of course, she’s not where I left her because the girl can’t follow simple instructions.

“No,” Savannah snaps. “Right now. What were you thinking?”

“Right now, Savannah? I’m thinking you need to get the fuck out of my way.” I move to step past her, but of course, she crosses her arms, her blue eyes flaring angrily.

“Mom’s going to be hurt.”

“When is she not?”

She doesn’t like that answer, because she falls back like I’d slapped her. I take the opportunity to step into the house and leave her glaring at me in the kitchen.

Mom can be hurt. Savannah can throw a tantrum. They can tell me it’s not safe. It won’t change the fact that the one girl I’ve never fucking been able to get out of my head is the one who was almost strangled to death tonight. Or that she’s directly related to one of the two people that ripped my family apart.

Anxiety-riddled tension slips down my spine as I make my way down the hall. It’s not safe here anymore, and while the thought of having her in my home makes every fucking nerve ending in my body feel like a live wire, I’ll be damned if she’s staying here.

Hannah’s bedroom door stands ajar and I step into the doorway, finding her scurrying around the room. Three suitcases sit on the bed, open with clothes strewn haphazardly inside.

My muscles feel like someone injected them with concrete. Packing in a hurry can only mean one thing.

She’s running.

She doesn’t notice me until I step up behind her and when she spins around, she collides with my chest, letting out a startled gasp. I take the small duffle bag from her hand, peering inside.

Cash. A fuck ton of it.

“Mason—” she starts, but I drop the bag on the bed and silence her by taking her chin in my hand. Her breath catches in her throat, but she doesn’t pull away when gently, I lift her chin to look at the marks on her throat.

The bruises staining her skin set my blood at a low, molten boil.

And from that moment forward, my mind’s made up.

“You aren’t running.”

She swallows hard, her breath coming out shakily when I release her chin.

“I have to,” she says, so quiet, I almost can’t hear her.

“Why?”

The thought of her leaving and never coming back pisses me off. That anger at her being gone also pisses me off.

I don’t get attached. I’ve never gotten attached. Not until her.

And there will never be another like her.

She’s my addiction. Letting her walk away, not knowing if she’s safe is like asking to take a bullet to the foot.

—Fucking stupid.

“Who was that, Hannah?”

“I don’t know,” she breathes. I can see it in her eyes that she doesn’t, but I had to be sure.

“Who’s after you?”

“I don’t know,” she repeats, and I can tell by the look in her eyes, she means it.

Part of me wants to accept that answer. The other half wants to drag her to the bed and not come up until she’s putty in my hands and willing to tell me the secret of life if I ask for it.

“Then, I’ll tell you this. You run; they follow. You aren’t in any less danger on the road than you are right here.” Her green eyes flash in the dim lighting of the room, but she still shakes her head.

“I . . . I can’t bring this to you. Your family,” she glances around, dropping her voice. “I can’t stay here.”

“You aren’t.” Grabbing one of the suitcases around her, I zip it shut. “Get anything you need.”

Immediately, she’s shaking her head. “That’s a horrible idea.”

“Why?” I grit, my teeth clanking together, and she goes silent, her cheeks flaming and tears brimming in the corners of her eyes. “Did Savannah say something to you?”

“It’s nothing. Really. She’s just worried about you and I can understand,” she rushes, placing a hand on my chest to try and stop me from moving toward the door. “You have a family, Mason. People who care about you. I . . . don’t.”

“What the fuck did you just say to me?”

Her lips clamp shut at the anger seething in my voice.

I step into her and she steps back, her eyes on my chest until her back hits the wall behind her. I close the distance between us, reaching up to cradle her cheek in my hand because I fucking need to.

She doesn’t stop me when I brush a loose curl behind her ear. She doesn’t stop me when I gently raise her chin to not hurt her. She definitely doesn’t stop me when I lean in, sealing my lips over hers and stealing a kiss, just like I’m planning to steal the governor’s daughter.

She’s mine.

It’s not the harsh, erratic kiss we shared in the truck, but my cock aches in my jeans with the need to slip inside her. Feel her clenching around me like a fist.

She makes a little breathy sound, letting me slip my tongue lazily along hers, drinking her in like she’s my last breath.

When I break the kiss, her eyes pop open, cloudy and the brightest fucking green I’ve ever seen.

“Little doe, if it were that easy to walk away from you, I would have done it years ago.”

Her mouth parts and I know she wants to know more, but she doesn’t ask. Good.

I couldn’t escape her when she was just working for me and I was helping her find her sister.

Now . . . she’ll be everywhere.

Something about that is unsettling.

Logan’s words drift back through my brain.

How well do you really know her?

Unfortunately, like the back of my fucking hand.

Her eyes are soft when she lifts her head. She’s scared. I can see it. Fuck, I can feel it in the little way her hands shake against my chest. Still, she raises up on her tiptoes and softly, presses her lips not to my mouth, like my body craves, but my cheek.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

It’s the most heartfelt thank you I’ve ever received.

It also pisses me off.

“It’s final.”

I release her, grabbing one of the suitcases and heading toward the door. Savannah’s eyes follow me when I pass them out the front to throw the bag in my truck, but she doesn’t say a word.

Good for her.

Logan’s right. She’s running, but from what? Her past? A ghost? This unknown motherfucker? I’m not even sure she knows.

I need to get to the bottom of it—fast, if I plan on keeping her.

The only problem is I’ve got secrets, too.

Secrets far darker than anything she could imagine.

“I still feel like I smell like him,” Hannah grumbles, stepping out of the bathroom. The marks on her neck have turned an angry purple against her skin and she looks exhausted. I’m exhausted, too, but I know I won’t sleep a wink. Not after everything that’s happened tonight.

“You don’t,” I murmur darkly, polishing off the rest of my beer. Listen—sometimes, you just need one. I’m no alcoholic, but I feel like it, having Hannah in my space. I don’t invite people into my house. It’s the only place I can come and be alone and now . . . it’s full of her scent.

Her bare feet pad across the floor and she stops and I realize I’ve got a newfound foot fetish.

No.

A fucking Hannah fetish.

This was a shit idea.

“Do you have an extra blanket?”

“You’re in my room for the night. I’ll set up the spare tomorrow.”

Also a bad idea, but I’m not having her sleep on my old couch while I sleep in the bed and the spare may as well be a warzone right now. No one’s slept in there for years, so there aren’t any sheets on the bed. Not to mention, it’s full of boxes of Mom’s shit I removed from the house when my grandmother signed it over to me. I just didn’t know what to do with it and she didn’t seem to care.

Hannah’s eyes go wide for a moment and I almost laugh.

“No, really,” she protests. “I’ll sleep out here. I can listen in case anyone tries to get in.”

The thought of Hannah on the floor, the man from earlier on top of her as he chokes her fills my veins with venom.

I’m still pissed off he’s alive.

“Hannah.”

“Mason.”

“Go to bed.”

“No, I don’t want to put you out any more than I already have.”

I grit my teeth, standing from the couch and carrying my empty beer bottle to the trash.

“It’s temporary,” I agree, my back to her, so she can’t see the agitation winding through me. “You help keep the house clean. Help with dinner. Groceries. Don’t bug me and don’t bring anyone over. I don’t care what else you do.”

I know I’m being harsh, but ask me if I give a fuck.

Not with the tension winding through me.

The need to break the man that tried to steal from me, steal her from me sets my blood on a low simmer. Especially when I turn back and take in that soft, sleepy face and throat covered in his bruises.

I find the reason I’m so pissed off is because try as I might, I can’t get her out of my fucking head. Whether she’s in my house or not, she’s always been there. Like a pest that's impossible to irradicate.

She probably always will be.

Instead of arguing, Hannah bites her tongue for once.

I don’t fucking like it.

“Well, I’ll still take the couch. I just need a blanket.”

And so, we’re back to this.

“No.”

She groans, sitting down on the sofa and crossing her arms over her chest and, for a moment, I actually debate on spanking her ass. My patience is holding on by a single thread at this point.

“I’ll sleep here without a blanket, then.”

Jesus Christ.

Stooping down, I reach for her, slip my arms under her when she tries to scramble back, and haul her up against my chest to carry her wedding-style.

“You asshole,” she grits between clenched teeth and I can’t resist the chuckle that claws up my throat before laying her on the bed.

With some dismay, I realize I wasn’t counting on having her face to face with me when I brought her to my very large, very available bed. So close, I can taste the toothpaste on her breath, smell my scent in her hair.

Yeah . . . this is a big fucking problem.

She’s inches away and like there’s a magnet pulling her in against her will, she leans forward, her lips an inch from mine.

My cock begs me to fucking kiss her again. Pull her in, drink her like the last drop of water on the planet. My head tells me to get the fuck out of there.

“Go to sleep, Hannah.”

Forcing my legs to move, I pull back from her and make my way to the door, only pausing when she gives me a soft reply from the bed.

“Goodnight, asshole.”

I shake the little voice out of the back of my head, telling me to stay. That fucker never knows what’s good for him.

“Goodnight, brat.”