28. Hannah

Hannah

I can’t sleep.

I woke shortly after Mason left and forced myself to shower because I could feel the sickness of that place on my skin. I was still awake even when I heard him come home. I listened to his footsteps on the hardwood floor outside my door, before they retreated quietly to his room.

The rain pounding against my window is, to put it lightly, the least of my worries.

My sister is still missing. Fact.

My best friend is helping to traffic men and women and facilitating their deaths as well as rapes. Fact.

Mason Carpenter is the only person I feel like I can really trust in this world.

Unfortunately, fact.

I can’t help but feel like this is only borrowed time with him. Like he’ll wake up tomorrow and decide I’m not worth the trouble. That Missy’s only going to get what she deserves because, let’s face it, she’s an asshole. Even if the rumors aren’t true, she still wouldn’t be a good person underneath it all, and for most people that’s enough to give up.

I’m not that smart.

I should walk away. Count my losses and cut contact with the entire state of California. Maybe somewhere across the world. Maybe somewhere tropical. Somewhere no one would think to look for me so I could live out my days in undefined peace. Away from my mother. My sister. Michael.

Mason . . .

For some odd reason, Mason hurts.

Maybe it’s just the way he can make me come like he was born to do it or maybe it’s because, try as I might, I can’t stop the tightening in my chest when I see him. Or the way I could listen to him talk in that deep voice for hours. Or the way his eyes make me feel like I’m the only woman he’s ever seen.

Either way, it can only end one way. He ghosted me once and even then I thought maybe he was just afraid of his own feelings. Maybe my mother scared him off or maybe he was just busy when he didn’t show up the day he said he would.

The next day came and went, though. Then the next and eventually, I started to understand in the back of my mind that he wasn’t going to come back because I was nothing more than a passing moment for him.

A girl with baggage and a dangerous sister.

Mom was right.

He doesn’t even like you. He just wants what’s between your legs.”

And that’s the big joke, isn’t it?

Girl likes a guy. Guy decides she’s not good enough or is too boring. Maybe she won’t let him try anal with her or maybe she’s not into whatever the next girl is.

Next girl is exciting. Next girl is carefree and fun. Next girl won’t complain or ever have a normal human emotion because next girl is perfect.

Next girl isn’t real.

Still . . . Current girl loses. Next girl always wins.

It’s smart to stay unattached. Uncommitted.

I just wish I could follow my own advice.

Thunder rolls off in the distance as I watch the window beside me light up with lightning.

I hate storms. I always have.

They remind me of that dark place.

Unease stirs in my chest, but I ignore it, closing my eyes and forcing myself to try and fall asleep. I have to work tomorrow and after our late night, I’m betting I’m going to be exhausted by the time Mason and I get home.

I’m almost asleep when another strike of lightning hits, this one a lot closer. My eyes pop open with the thunder that rumbles the house and I stare around my room as if it will manifest into my darkest fears.

And then . . .

The fucking power goes out.

The house is thrown into darkness and for a moment, I just lay there, heart beating loudly in my ears.

No.

I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for the lights to flicker back on and forcing deep breaths past my lips that may as well be wheezes at this point.

One, two, three.

I open my eyes, my throat seizing when I realize the lights are most definitely not back on.

Okay, Hannah. You’ve been here before. You’ve spent plenty of time in the dark. It’s not a big deal.

Then the voices start to trickle in.

“Hannahhhhh . . .”

Tap, tap, tap . . .

I spin around as if I might catch someone standing behind me, but there’s no one there. At least no one I can see in the pitch black of my room.

“M—”

I start to call out for Mason, but I know as soon as I do, I’ll feel like an idiot. Like a scared child, calling for her father to scare away the monster that lives under her bed.

“Whore.”

“I’m doing this for your own good.”

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

Fear wraps around my lungs, squeezing tightly until I feel like I’m either going to suffocate or explode from my racing heart.

Shame envelopes me, but even so, the storm rages on outside, a bolt of lightning shooting across the sky and then the rumbling crack of thunder shaking the house.

Terror crawls up my spine at the sinister voice playing in my ear, repeating over and over like a broken record until I swear I’m losing my mind.

Whore.

I tear from the bed, imagining cold fingers wrapping around my throat and sucking the life from me while I fight helplessly. I almost face-plant on the floor before I make it to the door and rip it open, and rush to the one across from mine. I bang on his door, my other hand clutching at my chest as the sickening feeling of dread washes over me.

I don’t want him to see me like this. Panicked because the lights went out. Afraid of the dark like a child.

I also feel like my heart’s going to explode if I spend even another second in this hell by myself.

His door opens, just as I raise my hand to knock again and he stands, shrouded in the shadows. Over his shoulder, a candle is perched on the top of his dresser, casting a soft warm glow behind him.

I know it’s him from the scent of his skin. Something woodsy, deep, and . . . safe.

“I’m here.” His voice is soft when he wraps his arms around me. He lifts me against his chest and I straddle his waist, burying my face in the side of his neck as a quiet sob tears from my throat. “Breathe.” I hadn’t even realized I was shaking, but with his body pressed against mine, tremors move through me. “Slow.”

I force a deep breath past my lips, my lungs aching and my throat dry. Mason carries me to the bed and instead of depositing me on top of it, he sits down, cradling me against him.

“Keep breathing.” I don’t think about it at first, but the way he says it almost feels like it has a deeper meaning. Like a warning that if I stop altogether, the outcome will be disastrous.

So . . . I repeat the motion, sucking air into my lungs and slowly letting it back out until my throat begins to loosen and the ache in my chest dies down.

Now that the panic attack has subsided, I’m exhausted and the comfort of his shoulder, mixed with the way he runs his hand from the top of my head down to the small of my back over and over makes me want to fall back asleep, right here, where the demons of my childhood can’t get to me and the dark is just a simple time of night.

Thunder rolls in the distance, the lightning slowly moving further and further away until the only sound is rain.

We don’t get storms often in Southern California, but when we do, they can be treacherous. Harsh and unpredictable. Suddenly, I’m wondering what would have happened if I had been home tonight, in my own house, completely alone.

Neither of us moves for a long time as he strokes the ends of my hair. I listen to the sound of his heartbeat and let my mind slowly calm down until I’m just memorizing the sound. Call me crazy, but I don’t want to forget.

“What did she do, Hannah?” Mason asks after a long, long time. He says it so quietly, I think I imagined it at first.

What didn’t she do?

I swallow past the lump in my throat, willing myself to form the words. I’ve never told anyone out loud just how bad my mother could be, but I don’t have the fight in me to keep it from him. Not anymore. Not when he’d risked his life multiple times to help me.

“She would . . . lock me in the darkness.”

I can’t decide if it feels good to get that off my chest or not.

“Why?”

Mason’s body is riddled with tension, but he doesn’t stop stroking my hair with the same gentle softness he did before. He smells so good, all I want to do is climb under the sheets with him and let him hold me, but I know that’s not what Mason Carpenter and I are. We’re not softness and comfort and that feeling of home you get when you find your person. We’re harsh and demanding. Two peas in a pod when there’s a job to do, but at each other’s throats when there’s nothing else to focus on but us.

He still hates me for that night. I still hate him for walking away.

“Whenever we were bad, she would lock us in this closet she had specially fitted to be light-tight. It started when we were kids, but it carried on when we moved to Sacramento.” Absentmindedly, I run my finger over a tattooed snake where it ends on his shoulder, thick muscles rippling under my finger. “She thought she could lock us away and it would set us straight. The darkness was just another punishment.”

“And Missy?”

I chuckle, though it lacks any real humor.

“Missy got the worst of Mom’s punishments. Eventually, she started doing everything she could to piss Mom off because the closet didn’t work on her anymore. I started doing everything I could to stay out of it. She locked me in the closet for hours when she found out I’d kissed you.”

Sickness pools in my stomach at the dark memories resurfacing. Something tapping on the other side of the door. My fists sore from trying to beat it open and my throat scratchy from begging for someone to let me out when I could swear something was lurking in the dark, waiting to drag me to hell.

Something evil and pitch-black with blood-red eyes staring from the void. Just like my mother’s soul.

“Look at me, Hannah.”

Carefully, I raise my gaze to his. Even in the darkness, he’s so handsome, it hurts to look at him. Stormy gaze. Hard jawline. Broad, bare shoulders, dark tattoos over strong muscles holding me steady.

“I’ve never told anyone that before. You must think I’m an idiot,” I half chuckle, though I feel like I’m going to be sick. If I look at him and see pity, I’ll shatter. I can’t.

I move to get up, but his hand on my back hardens, holding me there.

“No.”

His other hand comes up, gripping my chin to turn my gaze to his. When I meet it, something inside me burns hotter than the candle on the dresser behind me.

“The only thing here that’s going to hurt you, little doe, is me. And I plan on making it feel like fucking heaven when I do.”

My core warms at the dark vehemence in his voice. As if he’s a knight vowing to protect me with his life and I’m the princess reigning over a stolen castle. Perhaps he could be a knight. In shiny black armor with chinks and scuffs and a knack for making me feel steady when the ground is falling out from under my feet.

“Mason . . .” I whisper. Don’t ask me why. Maybe because of what he just said or maybe because my knees are starting to hurt from kneeling over him for so long. Hell, maybe I just want to say his name because it feels like I’ve been starved for him, even though I’ve barely had a taste.

Still . . . when his eyes lock with mine, heat floods my core and my demons seem to drift away.

And then I realize why I’m so drawn to Mason Carpenter, of all people.

It’s because when he looks at me, I feel like he’d burn the world to the ground just to watch me spit on the ashes.

Heat burns in my core, my clit thrumming with the beat of my heart. My hand rests on his bare shoulder and I’m suddenly acutely aware that I’m just in a baggy t-shirt and lacey panties that leave nothing to the imagination while he’s in a set of boxers.

His jaw ticks when I lean into him, but he doesn’t stop me.

I close the distance between us, my pulse thrumming between my legs. I don’t know whether I’m seeking him or his comfort or maybe even just the way he makes me forget, but when my lips hover over his, my chest suddenly feels tight again.

Gently, I brush my lips over his, tasting him. Drinking him in. He doesn’t kiss me back, but a low groan rumbles up his throat, filling me with heat that spreads through me like wildfire.

I kiss him again and this time, I don’t stop. He lets me for a moment, before finally, he meets my kiss with a harsh one of his own. As if he’s punishing me for wanting him. For making him want me. When I pull back, he catches me around the waist and pulls me back into him. When my hands slide up into his hair to deepen the kiss, his slide under my shirt and over my bare hips until he cups my ass in his hands. He tugs me closer until the notch in his boxers lines up perfectly with my clit.

I slip my tongue into his mouth, tasting the peppermint on his breath and letting out a soft moan, rolling my hips over the length of his erection.

A sharp sound of anger rumbles through his chest and he fists my hair to tug my head back.

“I’m not fucking you tonight, Hannah.”

Something pangs in my chest and despite the hand in my hair, I repeat the motion of my hips, drawing a hiss from between his lips.

“Why?” I challenge. He obviously wants me. I want to get lost in him. Forget about the darkness. Stop fighting my desire for him and just let this man consume me like I’ve dreamed about for years.

His hand on my ass slides up to grip my hip and he stops me, pulling my gaze to meet his forcefully. When he lets go of my hair and raises his hand, instinctively, I turn my head.

But the pain doesn’t come.

Instead, his thumb, gentle as ever, swipes a tear from under my eye.

“Because there are still tears on your face from a panic attack.”

Rejection burns like acid in my throat, just as bad as any panic attack.

I must look pathetic.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, tears burning in the backs of my eyes. Thank God it’s dark in here. I’m sure in the light, I would look pitiful. “I just . . . I don’t want to remember that anymore. Every time it’s dark. I want . . . something else. Something good.”

Even in the dim light of the candle, I can see his jaw clench. The intensity in his eyes burns me, full of possessiveness and sizzling heat and . . . something else I’m not sure I want to understand.

“And you think I’m the one to do that?”

“I trust you,” I admit, though now that I’ve said it, I regret it. It’s true. I trust him with my life. Do I trust him not to rip my heart to shreds when this is all done, though? I’ll get back to you on that.

“Bad idea, little doe.”

I open my mouth to speak, but he shuts me up by bringing my face back to his with a rough kiss and a deep growl that settles between my legs. Before he pulls away, he nips my bottom lip between his teeth before sucking the marred skin into his mouth.

“I’m not going to fuck you,” he rasps, peppering kisses along my jaw and down to my throat. “Not tonight. But soon.”

My stomach clenches at the thought, but I don’t have time to react before he flips me onto my back on the bed, the comforter cool against my skin, despite the heat blazing through me.

“But I will make you forget.”

My stomach tightens at the look in his eyes. He’s never looked at me like this before. With soft, all-consuming desire. Like he has to touch me or he’ll lose his mind. Like I’m the only woman in the world.

Like I’m his.

It’s fucking terrifying.

Placing a hand on either side of me, he hovers over me, his cock pressing into my core. He captures my lips with a rough, quick kiss, before slipping my shirt over my head. He tosses it into the abyss surrounding us and slips a hand up my stomach to knead my breast.

With the candle at his back, he looks like the devil, come to steal my soul in the dead of night.

With the way my body tightens when he leans down and sucks my nipple into his mouth, circling the bud with his tongue, I wouldn’t be surprised.

Electricity zaps against my skin where he touches me and all I can think about is how badly I want to please this man. The fear is gone, replaced with something hungry. Something warm and new and completely lost to me.

“Fucking perfect,” he murmurs and my heart flutters at the way he grumbles it, like it pisses him off. Like he wants me, even if he hates himself for it.

He grabs my other breast, nipping it before sucking my nipple with a deep groan. My back arches underneath him, the heat inside me liquefying in my veins.

Releasing me, he slips lower, running his tongue down my stomach, past my navel, and then lower, to nip the inside of my thigh. I yelp from the pain, but it quickly dissolves into a moan when he soothes the sting with his tongue.

“Mason,” I breathe when he makes a quiet, dark sound, slipping my panties to the side. I’ve never . . . done this. I don’t know how to tell him that as a new kind of heat floods my cheeks.

He eyes me darkly, slipping from the bed and yanking me forward until my ass rests on the edge. Even on the floor, he still has to hunch over to reach me.

“I’ve never— ah . . .” The most erotic sound I think I’ve ever made tears from my throat when he leans down and runs his tongue from my ass to my clit. I surge off the bed, jumping at the new sensation and he bands a hand over my stomach with a raw possessiveness in his eyes.

The growl of satisfaction that rumbles through him goes right to my core.

“I’ve waited years for this,” he murmurs, almost to himself, before he’s using his other hand to spread me open. He circles my entrance with his tongue before he slips it inside.

I watch him between my legs, my hand fisting the comforter below me as he moves his tongue in and out, slipping through my folds, but completely ignoring my clit. His eyes lock with mine as if he’s daring me to stop him when he spreads my legs wider, hooking one over his shoulder.

He’s never looked so . . . dangerous.

“You’re fucking soaked, Hannah,” he murmurs against my skin, circling the area around my clit, but not touching me where I need him. “This little cunt has always begged for me.”

My body tightens, my legs shaking as my orgasm already threatens to tear through me. It’s always been harder for me to come, but with Mason, it’s like a walk in the park. A few touches, a couple growled words, and I’m barreling toward ecstasy faster than I could have ever thought imaginable.

“Mason, please,” I whimper, my eyes screwed shut as he continues to deny me what I want. He’s trying to prolong this where I feel like I’m going crazy with the need for release.

A sharp sting startles me and I gawk at him.

“Did you just bite my clit?”

“Did you just tell me what to do?”

“Asshole,” I snap, though it lacks its usual bite.

“Brat,” he rasps, nipping me again and drawing out the pain.

“Want me to stop?”

He’s daring me. He raises a brow, hovering on the edge of insanity. I’m right there with him because I actually shake my head no.

“Good girl.”

God, if this is the devil . . . you better never drag me to heaven.

Though it’s slightly twisted and probably degrading, heat floods my core. So much so that my arousal leaks down my inner thighs which would be embarrassing if Mason didn’t slip a finger inside me and finally, finally draw my clit into his mouth.

My back arches off the bed and I cry out, not bothering to be quiet. I don’t care who hears me now. I just want this man inside me.

Why didn’t I do this sooner? The sight of Mason Carpenter with his head between my legs is a sight I’m sure most girls would sell their right arm to see. I didn’t think I would. But that was before. Now, I feel like I’ve been let into some secret club where it’s just me and all my dirty fantasies are coming to life, right before my eyes.

“Fuck, Hannah,” Mason rasps, his eyes locked on mine when I roll my hips into his mouth. “That’s it.” Using his free hand, he spreads my pussy, diving back between my folds and feasting on me like I’m his last meal. I writhe underneath him, grip his sheets so hard I distantly worry that I may rip them, and tug on the strands of his short hair until I’m sure I’ve given him a bald spot.

Something tells me he’d wear it with pride.

Sealing his lips around my clit with a deep sound of satisfaction, he flutters it back and forth, his fingers curling up to rub over a spot that I didn’t even know existed.

My entire body feels like it’s been dipped in a vat of lava and then finally, everything explodes, sending me catapulting into an orgasm that I’m sure will be my last. I scream—yes, scream—out his name, tugging the strands of his hair, the bed, anything I can get my hands on while the pleasure rips through me. He says something, but I can’t hear him. I can’t even see him through the blurriness in my gaze.

He rips his mouth away when the orgasm starts to fade, but his fingers stay buried inside me, drawing out the little aftershocks of my orgasm. A soft whimper tears through me because the pressure is building again and I don’t know if I can survive another orgasm like that.

He crushes his lips against mine and I moan into his mouth when he curls his fingers up again to stroke over that spot that only he seems to know about. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes, but he doesn’t stop and I don’t want him to.

Time stops, balancing on the edge of a pit that will send me straight down to hell. He kisses me until my lips are bruised. Until my body is engrained with him and I’m not sure I ever want to leave his bed. Until I need him.

He fingers me through another orgasm, this time swallowing my cries with a deep groan before withdrawing his fingers. I reach between us to wrap my hand around his cock, startled at the sheer size of the thing. He groans, a feral sound, and catches my wrists, pinning them to the bed above my head.

He kisses me until the heat returns. Until our grinding becomes too much and before I’m on the edge of telling him I don’t care how I’ll feel later, I just want him to fuck me. When he rips his lips away, a shudder rolls through him that’s both the hottest and most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen.

I can feel the desire radiating through him. The tension. The hunger. He wants me, but he won’t fuck me tonight. I’m not even sure I could handle it, but I wants to and that’s the most dangerous thing of all.

Maybe that’s why I find him so . . . alluring. He’s bad for all the right reasons. Dangerous and safe, at the same time. He’s a rocky island in the middle of a hurricane at sea.

My darkness and his aren’t the same, but they go hand in hand.

He doesn’t say anything when he picks me up and deposits me on a pillow at the head of the bed. He still doesn’t say anything when he covers me up and slips in behind me.

Neither of us acknowledges it, but when he slips his arms around me and pulls me back into his chest, pressing a rough kiss to my cheek with a quiet, “Sleep,” something’s shifted between us. Some new understanding I’m not sure either of us want to know the meaning of.

So, I let him hold me. In the dark. Even when I hear the power kick back on while my mind is teetering on the edge of my consciousness, I don’t move.

Because right here is where I want to be.

Safe and exhausted in the arms of a man who should hate me but can’t bring himself to do so.