33. Mason

Mason

I find myself in the garage out behind the house when I return. I don’t bother with dinner because doing so would mean pretending like I’m not still pissed off from earlier and I can’t.

Not when she’s right fucking there.

After I left on the bike, I took a drive past the old Parker estate. The fucking thing’s empty, sitting against the sun like Dracula’s forgotten castle. Sure as fuck had enough darkness in it. I circled back around, waiting until I was sure Savannah would be gone before I came home. Luckily, Hannah was in the shower, so I was able to sneak quietly out here without having to face her.

Dad and I spent whole summers out here in this little shack, working on cars. Motors. Lawn mowers. Whatever we could. At the time, I didn’t understand why we did it. Now, I’m glad we did because they’re some of the best fucking memories I have with him.

I wish I could talk to him. Ask him what the fuck I’m supposed to do. How I’m supposed to keep all this shit going. What to do about the cartel. Hannah. Governor Gaines and her disturbed daughter. All of it.

He’d know. At least, that’s what I tell myself while I angrily pull the parts off that need to be replaced.

Tomorrow, I’ve got something to do. I won’t be around, but Logan’s men will be, as well as Ian and Puke and I know they’d never let anything happen to her.

Not if they enjoy breathing, anyway.

At some point, I notice all the lights in the house are off. Good. That means she’s gone to bed and I can get the fuck out of here without having to face her and deal with the bullshit that happened earlier.

My head’s still reeling; my cock still rock fucking hard remembering the way she felt wrapped around me, milking me.

Don’t even get me started on the fucking fantasies.

Fuck.

She was perfection.

I close up the shop and head inside, stepping quietly through the house to grab the keys to my bike. I’m about to head out when I notice the empty Plan B box in the trash and the plate covered in foil on the stove.

Fuck me.

And now, I feel like a dick.

Despite being hungry. I shove the plate in the fridge and head for the door. I grab my bike, rolling it out to the road so I don’t wake her, only to look back at the house and see the glow of the lamp emanating from her room. She stands in the glow, messy red hair and soft eyes.

It’s the worry in them that makes my heart stutter awkwardly in my chest.

I don’t know why. We both got what we wanted. Or at least, that’s what she thinks. What I thought I needed to end this obsession so I could finally let her go. But . . . looking up at her, my chest burns with something possessive and violent.

Growling under my breath, I turn away, climbing on my bike before I do something stupid.

And I don’t look back.

I have never been a needy man.

It’s why Mom and I never got along when I was a kid. At the end of the day, I didn’t need her and I was content to keep myself occupied whereas my sisters needed her constantly.

I suppose that’s partially to blame for the large gap separating us now that I’m an adult, but . . . it could also be the man sliding into the stool in front of me through the scuffed and damaged bulletproof glass.

The California State Prison smells like cheap government cleaner with an underlying aroma of piss.

Good.

I hope Parker gags on it as he rots away in his cell.

“You look like shit,” I murmur into the receiver and his eyes flash with displeasure before he picks up the phone.

“Funny,” he murmurs, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Seems the tables are reversed.”

He’s referring to the few days I did down in county for beating the smug smirk off Drew Marshall when he hurt my sister. An offense Parker himself had me cleared of.

“Orange suits you,” I remark coldly, regarding the bright pumpkin-orange jumpsuit he’s wearing. “Cancer, huh?”

Though his eyes are sunken in and rimmed in dark circles, they still hold the same discontent for me they always have. A superiority that he created in his own head.

“If you came to ask about my diagnosis,” Parker starts, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. “I will be dead by the end of the year.”

“While I would love to think about you dying a slow painful death due to the tumor in your brain, I can’t help but feel it’s too kind for you.”

He smirks.

“Let’s get to the point,” he says, looking over his shoulder. There’s a guard standing back, pretending to not pay attention, but we all know he’s going through every word we say with a fine-tooth comb. “I don’t have all day, you know?”

“Yes, I would hate to distract you from counting the cinderblocks in your cell,” I murmur, gripping the phone tighter. I’ve always fucking hated this guy. Even when I didn’t know the extent of his depravity, I found him dangerous.

Now that I know what he’s done to Savannah, he’s lucky there’s a bulletproof shield protecting him.

“Tell me what your mistress’s mother is doing rounding up all the kids of the members of your private club?”

His eyes flash with something, but it’s quickly replaced with a look of indifference.

“Can’t say I know.”

“Can’t say I believe you.”

“You know, I never liked you,” he murmurs, so matter of fact, you’d think he was talking about the weather.

Can’t say I disagree with him though.

“You always had this pathetic savior’s complex. As if you were God or some shit.”

“Funnily enough, I didn’t care for you or your perverted glances toward my ten-year-old sister, either.”

His eyes zero in on me. “What do you want Carpenter?”

“You dead,” I murmur, holding up a finger. “That’s the first thing. Unfortunately, before you go, I need some information on your mistress.”

That gets a rise out of him. For the first time since I’ve sat down, something more than contempt flashes across his gaze.

“Melly and I are no longer together.”

“Shame. You two seemed so perfect for each other.”

“If this is about her, I haven’t heard from her in months.”

“No, but you have attempted to call her. Several times, from the looks of it.” I hold up Melissa’s cell phone, showcasing just how many times he’s called since he’s been locked up. The look of disgust on his face is almost humorous.

“I have things I need to discuss with her. My house, for one.”

“It’s a shithole, really,” I interject before he can finish and his jaw twitches.

Fuck, why didn’t I do this sooner? Fucking with Parker is the most fun I’ve had in a very, very long time.

“So you’ve been.”

“I have.”

“And?”

So, he does still care.

Funny.

“Seems she either flew the coop or someone did it for her.”

“And you care because?”

“Because she’s a criminal. She should be charged, just as you are.”

“Her sister’s looking for her, isn’t she?”

Silence falls between us.

Hannah is off the table for this conversation. The moment Parker catches wind that Hannah’s involved, she’ll be on his radar and I’ll be damned if he sends his thugs after her next.

I’m no stranger to death. I’m prepared to put someone in the ground if it means protecting what’s mine because, make no fucking mistake about, Hannah’s mine, just as much as I’m hers.

She just needs to accept it.

I can see by the hard set of Parker’s jaw, he wishes I would have died a year ago when he sent his men after me in the middle of the night in a last-ditch effort to silence the family. That was the night he hired Johnson to try and murder my mother and sisters on live television.

Unfortunately, for him, it’s not so easy to kill me. If that were the case, I would have been dead a long fucking time ago.

“A word of advice—”

“I didn’t ask.”

“I’m giving it anyway,” he grits, wiping a hand over his forehead. Dark purple bruises mark the hand as the veins protrude from the skin.

The cancer’s eating him alive.

“I was led into my . . . charges by a very conniving offer. I was to work alongside Laura to create this business and then, when shit hit the fan, I was sold out. She cannot be trusted. Laura will turn in the blink of an eye and if you think your pet is safe from her just because she’s her flesh and blood, you’re a bigger fool than I thought you were.”

It doesn’t surprise me that he’d pass the blame to Governor Gaines. Setting him up, forcing him to rule over the Brethren as if the status and immeasurable wealth were all just the negative side effects of his plight.

Parker is simple. Selfish. Rude. Arrogant. Disgusting.

A wet napkin is more complex.

“So, no indication as to where Melissa could have gone?” I cock a brow at him.

“No,” he grits through his teeth, sweat dotting his brow. I imagine, in his state, sitting up for this long is no easy task, though forgive me if I just don’t give a shit.

“Great, then I’ll be off.” I move to stand and he opens his mouth, but it’s not until I go to hang up the phone that he stops me.

“Wait.”

The sinister motherfucker in my head can’t help but chuckle.

See? Simple.

“She went to her mother for help.”

I wait for him to add something, but he doesn’t.

“And?”

His jaw feathers and he sucks his teeth. My biggest fucking pet peeve.

“Shortly after I was apprehended, they started hunting Melly out like sharks to blood. She went to her mother. Though . . . her mother never turned her in, did she?”

“She was sent to the warehouse. I already know this.”

I move to hang up for the second time, but again, he stops me in a rush.

“But who helped her out of there?” When I don’t answer, he continues. “Ask yourself this,” he starts, dropping his voice so low, I can barely hear him. “Would I have sacrificed myself, my career, my fortune, to save your mother? Your sisters?”

No. The answer is no.

“I think you’ll find Laura is a lot closer to Cortez than she lets on. Same with her lap dog.”

“Five minutes,” the guard barks, looking directly at me.

So the Cartel is working for the governor. I’ve known that. Michael, too. All for the prize of Hannah.

“You’ve not told me anything useful.”

“No one trusts the government, Carpenter.”

“They double-crossed her. How?”

“Melissa was addicted to the black dahlia. I couldn’t stop her, of course . . . I wasn’t able to stop myself, either.”

“If you’re trying to justify years worth of crimes against humanity with a drug you created, this conversation is finished.”

“No. Only, explaining. Six years ago when they first approached me about the black dahlia, I thought they were insane. But . . . when it came into fruition and we started sampling it, we found it could take you to new heights. Sexual, astral, that profound thinking that only comes from a real, good high. We used it countless times at our events without any issues. You want to know who owns it?”

I cock a brow and wait for his answer.

“Cortez.”

“And you think . . . Cortez has Melissa.”

His eyes glint wickedly.

“I know it.”

“Time’s up, Parker.”

Parker stiffens when the guard's hand lands on him, trying to mask the wince of pain.

“Get her out of there. Hannah, too, and leave.”

That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. Turning a blind eye to the deaths of dozens to save Hannah sounds heroic and all, but Hannah’s not that kind of person.

She’d turn herself in if it meant saving those people and that’s exactly what I’m afraid of.

One thing I’ve grown to loathe in my adult life is my vivid imagination.

If she turns herself into the cartel to save her sister, I know exactly what will follow.

Parker is hauled from his chair and escorted toward the exit and with the deafening slam that follows, those visions of what they would do to Hannah—to my fucking girl—plague my mind.

Fuck, I need to get out of here. I need to see her.

I need to bury myself inside her until she forgets about that fucking plague of a sister of hers and accepts that she can’t do anything to save her.

I need her.

As I said, I’ve never been a needy person.

Looks like that’s changed now.