41. Hannah

Hannah

Laura Gaines: Try anything, I’ll kill him.

Sometimes, when Mason’s asleep, I like to trace the snake on his chest, memorizing it with my fingertips when he’s not watching me with those hurricane eyes.

Tonight, he’s sleeping peacefully for once, though I know it’s because he was exhausted when we got to his mother’s house.

We spent the day in the shop, cleaning up and dealing with police and news reporters that wanted to be the first to catch the inside story. It crushed my heart to hear them speaking about his dad’s garage—his garage that he’s worked so hard to build—as if it were just another passing building.

This is Mason’s whole life, and now, it’s out of commission until we can make sure it’s safe again.

We came to Monica’s because someone’s out to get us. Logan and Savannah are staying, too, to keep everyone together. It was a strange affair. A quiet, solemn dinner. A quiet, solemn goodnight before we all went our separate ways. I know for them, this is just like old times. When they were all in fear for their life and I hate that I’ve brought it back to them.

I stared at that picture for a long time today, debating on whether or not I should come clean and tell Mason about it, but in the end, I knew it would only stress him out more.

He’d see it and think this was a threat to me, not him.

What he doesn’t see is that this is all my fault.

I dragged him into this mess.

And now I’m going to set him free.

Even if it kills me.

He fell asleep holding me as if I might try to run away in the night. It breaks my heart to know when he wakes up in a few hours, he’ll be waking up alone, but I have to do this.

I have to save him.

If he taught me anything in our time together, it’s that love isn’t just selfish. It’s selfless when it needs to be. You give your heart to another person and beg them not to beat it black and blue, but in the end, sometimes you have to do it, just to make sure they’re going to be okay.

The fucked-up part about love that no one ever tells you about is how you have to learn to be careless and careful at the same time. You can’t worry about every movement, worry that at any time, the person you’ve given your soul to could up and leave because, let’s face it, feelings change. You also can’t take them for granted because you never know how much time you have left.

Mason could have died.

Ian and Puke, too.

I can’t have their blood on my hands. His blood.

Mason said he’d bleed for me a thousand times, but he forgot, I’ve never bled for him. He’s given everything to keep me safe and if love was enough, then I wouldn’t be here trying to force myself to slip from the bed. I’ve been so happy to accept his protection when I have the greatest shield of all time, right within myself.

Turn myself in and he’ll be free.

So . . . that’s what I’m doing.

I glance at the clock behind his head. Half past midnight. Everyone else in the house has been asleep for hours.

It’s time to go.

Carefully, I slip from Mason’s arms, the chill of the night settling deep in my bones when I stand from the bed and quietly slip towards my bag on the floor. I can’t look at him. If I do, I’ll back out of this and I can’t do that.

This is not his fight.

I riffle through the bag, trying to pick out something to wear. What is the dress code when you’re heading to the gallows?

Leggings? Jeans? Khakis?

I settle on the jeans for warmth because I have no idea where I’m going and the denim scratches my thighs as if it’s reminding me this will be the final time I’m ever going to see him.

I hope, after I’m gone, he can find someone who understands him. Who won’t take his love for granted, like I did for so long. Who will do everything in her power to show him what real happiness is because, after everything he’s been through, he deserves it more than anyone.

Maybe I’m being dramatic. Maybe I’m just in love.

I pull on a t-shirt and some sneakers and tug a hoodie over my head. I don’t bother with anything else. What good would it do?

Once I’m dressed, I silently creep back to the bed to lay my note on the pillow beside his. My pillow. He doesn’t stir and I take the moment to pause and soak him in, memorizing the strong features of his face until he’s burned into my brain.

Fuck, this is going to hurt.

Silently, I slip my gun off the nightstand and into the pocket of my hoodie. It’s Mason’s hoodie, so it’s huge. Luckily, the gun is well concealed.

Leaning down, I place a soft kiss to his cheek and commit his scent to memory. Leather, smoke, forest, him.

“I love you,” I whisper, hastily wiping the tear that slides down my chin. Quietly, I slip from the room and shut the door behind me with a soft click, taking one last glance at Mason Carpenter. My life. My soul. My everything , before the door shuts.

And then I leave him.

For California in early September, the air is chilly as I walk through the night. The streets are dead. I’m not surprised. It’s well past one in the morning, but even the street lights seem dimmer.

Maybe I’m just creeped out.

I’ve got to hand it to Monica, Santa Monica—funny—seems cozy. If I didn’t like home so much, I would definitely consider moving here.

And then it hits me.

Home.

Mason’s home, I know, but for a short while, it was my home, too. Maybe it would have even been my permanent home, were I not walking to meet death as we speak.

It’s funny. In all my life, I’ve never really felt like I belonged anywhere. Not until him.

Now that I’ve found somewhere, someone I belong to, it can only be classified as cruel irony that I have to walk away from it now.

I can’t tell you how many times I almost turn around and head back. At least a dozen before I reach the end of the street, but . . . then I turn the corner and start down Santa Monica Boulevard.

Tonight I’m giving myself up to my mother and while that might not seem too bad to most, for me, it means this is the end of the line. I’m not na?ve enough to believe I’ll come back from this.

I texted her from Missy’s phone and left mine on the nightstand before I left. I’ll have no use for it now, and I refuse to leave it with her.

I’m nearly halfway down the sidewalk when a car rolls to a stop beside me.

“Hannah?”

I’m almost as shocked to see Ian as he is to see me.

“Ian? What are you doing out here?”

He stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. “What are you doing out here? Where’s Mason?”

Fuck.

“He’s at his mother’s.” I’m ashamed of how small my voice sounds. And then an idea strikes. “We . . . had a fight.”

Ian doesn’t look pleased and not that I blame him, but I feel guilty for the disappointment in his face.

“You still shouldn’t be wandering the streets by yourself. It’s dangerous. Come on. I’ll give you a ride.”

“No, that’s okay. I’d like to walk.” I offer him a smile, but I can’t say it’s very generous. “I need to clear my head.”

“Hannah. Come on. Mason will kill me if I just let you roam around at night. Think of the shop.”

Dammit.

Conceding that there’s no way I’m getting out of this, I begrudgingly trudge forward.

Fine, Ian. Have it your way.

“Can you take me to the Greyhound station up on Wallace?”

He stops and stares at me, his hand on the gearshift of his old Mustang.

“Greyhound? As in the bus?”

I swallow over the lump in my throat. “Yes.”

“You’re leaving him.”

It’s not a question.

I suck in a deep breath, a shiver rolling through me, but I don’t think it’s from the cold.

“It’s for the best.”

He breathes out a sigh like I’ve just presented him with the choice of a lifetime. Betray his best friend or betray the woman who just climbed in his car.

“You’re going to get me killed,” he murmurs, putting the car in drive.

He starts off down the street and I must admit, not being out in the dark quells some of the nausea radiating through me. Just not much.

“You want to talk about it?”

I shake my head. That’s the last thing I want to do. Just add more lies to my already fucked-up pile. “No. Thank you for doing this.”

Ian nods, tapping on the steering wheel to some screamo song that I don’t know, quietly playing in the background.

“I must admit, I’m a little surprised, but if this is what you want to do . . .”

“It is.”

“Going to hurt him, you know? Just leaving in the dead of night.”

I wince. “It has to be done.”

Visions of Mason waking up in the morning to an empty bed parade around my mind. Tears flood my eyes thinking about how he’ll blame himself, but I hastily shove them back.

I’ll think about that later.

Right now, I have to get away from Ian.

“I don’t want to hurt him,” I admit because it’s the truth. My stomach is in knots and it has been since I decided I was doing this. Every time I looked at Mason today, every time his hand brushed my lower back or my hip. Even when he made love to me tonight—a stark contrast to the night before—my chest ached because I knew this was the last of us.

The great Mason Carpenter and Hannah Gaines love affair: A love story with a tragic ending.

I almost roll my eyes. It’s a little too much like Romeo and Juliet.

“So why are you?”

“Because it’s not safe for me to be around him. He’ll see that when I’m gone and things can go back to normal for you guys.”

Ian just shakes his head and my stomach drops.

“Listen, I’m sorry, for what it’s worth. I didn’t know I was going to fall in love with him and I definitely didn’t know all this was going to happen.”

“You’re in love with him now?”

I pause.

“I am.”

He chuckles under his breath. “Thought you were just using him.”

Ouch.

“You know me better than that.”

“Do I?” he counters.

“Yes . . .” I grumble, though, right now, I’m not sure what I know anymore. “Are you angry with me?”

“For running?” he asks and after a pause, he lets out a deep breath. “No. Sorry, I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He shakes his head.

“Well, if you do, I’m sure Mason would listen.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he would.” He runs a thumb over his lip, thinking. “You sure you don’t need anything else? Food? When was the last time you ate?”

“I’ll eat on the bus.”

“You sure? Not always the best.”

I offer him a smile. “I’m sure.”

He falls silent, staring out the window ahead of him. There’s a tension radiating through him that’s not normally there, but I chalk it up to helping his best friend’s girlfriend leave him.

“The street for the bus station was back that way,” I murmur, absentmindedly staring out the window beside me as houses pass. We’re heading toward Malibu. The complete opposite direction from where we need to go.

“I know.”

I don’t move, but the way he says it sends a shot of fear down my spine.

“Got to stop by the store real quick. Can’t send you off without something to eat and drink.”

“Really, I’m fine.”

“Well . . . that’s to be determined.”

“What?” Icy panic seizes through me, but again, he offers me a calm, gentle smile.

“I mean with all the crazy shit going on. I know you think leaving will stop all of it, but . . . I don’t know.”

Oh . . .

“He loves you, you know?” Ian says after a moment, his voice quiet.

“I know.”

“And you love him?”

I can’t help the smile that graces my lips. “I do.”

“Yet, you’re willing to leave. Listen, Hannah, I’ve seen him with other women. He just . . . didn’t care about making it work. I can see him trying for you, and it’s strange to see him that way.”

I don’t know that I like where this conversation is going, but still, I nod to play along.

“He’s my best friend, Hannah. You have to understand that.”

“Ian, where are we going?”

“I told you—” he starts, but I cut him off.

“You’ve passed four gas stations that sell food.”

He shakes his head. “We need something better.”

“Where are you taking me?” I snap, rearing back in the seat to face him. He holds out his hand to caution me to calm down, but my heart is suddenly racing a mile a minute.

“Hannah,” he warns. “You’re overreacting.”

“I’m overreacting to you driving me out to the middle of nowhere?”

“We’re near the pier. It’s not that far.”

“We’re supposed to be back in downtown.”

“Let me out,” I demand and he doesn’t budge. In fact, he slips into the turn lane and heads onto the highway. “ Ian !”

No response.

I reach for Missy’s phone, but he grabs my hand, stopping me.

“I wouldn’t if I were you.”

“What are you doing?” I jerk out of his grasp, and he just watches me, his jaw feathering as he takes us down the highway toward Malibu.

“I have to do this, Hannah.”

“Ian, no you don’t. Whatever you’re planning, please.” I can taste the panic in my voice. Feel the guilt pouring off him, but still, he doesn’t stop.

Is he kidnapping me?

“You don’t understand!” he snaps, voice louder than I’ve ever heard Ian get. Like he’s panicking. “They’ve got my sister. My fucking sister,” he whimpers, anger dissolving into tears.

“Ian, who?”

Fear seizes in my throat, my fight or flight reflexes working overtime to come up with a solution. I could duck out of the car, but we’re on the freeway and if the fall at this speed didn’t kill me, another car would.

“Hannah, the fucking cartel is after us. You brought them to us. I’m not stupid! Now they’ve got Jenna and I’ll be damned if I sacrifice her for you.”

“He trusted you,” I whisper, tears cracking in my voice. “Mason trusted you and you’re betraying him?”

“Yeah, and I gave him my all. Helping him with that fucking chop shop shit. Working late. Doing whatever I had to because that’s what friends do. And you know what he did? He traded it all in for you . The source of all his problems.”

In a lot of ways, he’s right. I am the source of Mason’s problems. As much as he loves me and as much as I love him, I know it’s true. He’s put his life on the line for me countless times and yet, it’s never enough. There’s always someone or something else out to get me and who’s there to pick up the pieces? To take a bullet to protect me?

Mason.

“He cares about you, Ian. If you’re in trouble, we can help—”

“I don’t need your fucking help,” he spits, his earlier anguish turning to seething rage. “Haven’t you ever noticed you leave a trail of bodies wherever you go, Hannah? It’s no coincidence that your sister was exactly the same, only she didn’t act innocent when they fell at her feet.”

Tears burn in my eyes as the city lights of Los Angeles fade away behind us. As Mason fades away behind us.

“Stop.”

“No, face your demons, Hannah. You’re the one who created them.”

“Do you really think this is what Jenna would want?”

“Don’t fucking talk about her,” he grits, hand tightening on the steering wheel.

“What do you think she’ll say when she finds out you traded another person for her?”

“Shut the fuck up!” He bashes his hand against the steering wheel so hard, I expect the bones of his hand to splinter. “She wouldn’t understand. She’s just a kid. I have to do this,” he says quietly, almost like he’s speaking to himself.

“Mason will kill you when he finds out what you’ve done,” I whisper. Tears burn as they slip down my face, but I don’t move for fear of pissing him off even more. He’s a man on the edge and I don’t know if I would survive a crash going the speed we are on the highway.

“I’m doing him a favor. He’ll realize once you’re gone how toxic you are for him. His little poison apple.”

The gun in my pocket digs into my stomach as if it’s reminding me it’s there. I can’t shoot Ian. Ian who was nice to me when I first started at the shop. Who welcomed me. The Ian who’s Mason’s best friend.

I can’t do that.

But . . . I’m also not willing to die for him.

“Pull over.” Ian freezes when the cold steel presses to his temple. I can see the vein fluttering in his forehead as the reality of the situation sets in.

“You aren’t going to shoot me. We’re going seventy on the freeway.”

“There’s a lot of things I used to think I wouldn’t do, Ian. Pull. The fuck. Over.”

He shakes his head, pulling off to another highway that will take us outside the city limits. The cars are less here, the streetlights further apart. He doesn’t slow down, but I can see his fingers flex on the steering wheel. Like he’s going to try something.

“Ian, don’t make me shoot you.”

He runs his tongue over his teeth.

And then he jerks around and reaches for the gun.

I pull on the trigger and the sound ricochets around the car. Glass shatters and something warm and wet hits my face and slips down as the car skitters along the highway. My ears ring, my head spinning, as I struggle for the wheel, but his foot is on the gas and we aren’t slowing down.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, we come to a crash against a dirt bank and the car topples over, crashing onto its roof and lurching me sideways. My head hits something, but I don’t feel the pain as the adrenaline courses through me and the car crumples around us.

And finally, we come to a stop.

I can’t look at Ian. I know he’s dead. My hands are cut from the glass in the car, and the roof is caved in a bit. Everything is upside down and the car is smoking from under the hood. The airbags went off and smoke leaks from them, invading my lungs and cutting off my oxygen supply.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I have no idea where Melissa’s phone is and there’s fluid leaking from under the hood. I don’t know how badly I’m injured, but a car is approaching, so I unbuckle myself and nearly fall on my face.

Slipping through the broken window is a painful experience. My limbs ache as the adrenaline wears off and I’m covered in blood and bits of Ian which makes everything worse. I don’t even know where the gun is.

I crawl out into the dirt and suck in deep breaths of air, the smoke from the airbag burning my throat as I cough.

“Look what we have here,” a sickening voice says above me.

I freeze, sputtering as tears burn in my eyes.

When I look up, it’s into the eyes of Cortez.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he snickers, eyes dark and full of malice.

I suck in a deep breath, through the blood on my face. At this point, I don’t even know if it’s mine or Ian’s.

“Oh, fuck.”