1. Mason

Mason

1

There's no point in running.

New city.

New people.

The same demons rage around inside me.

I thought a fresh start was what I needed. But as I turn the lock on the Twisted Roses front door and take a step back, I'm not sure what I'm doing here.

The dancing skeletons decorating the front window of the tattoo parlor laugh at me. The neon red closed sign blinks at me like a warning. When I came to Los Angeles, all I wanted to do was disappear. To erase my past—to be someone better.

So why doesn't it feel like it's working?

Different city. But I'm still the same person with rot crawling through him.

Commotion comes from the nightclub that sits next to the tattoo parlor, and I look over to see a group of girls in miniskirts and high heels giggling as they walk through the door. I'm tempted to follow them. To do the one thing I'm good at and forget my problems.

It would be easier.

Whether it's booze, pot, or women, I'm good at drowning shit out.

Just enough to dull the edge, even if I still inevitably always end up alone. Wondering what piece of myself I lost this time. Wondering how many more it's going to take before I'm no longer strong enough to fight off the beasts festering beneath the surface.

It would be easy to walk the few steps to Incinerate and get lost between a nice pair of legs. Then, I could forget what I should actually be doing with my life.

If I made smarter decisions and found healthier outlets, I might finally get my head on straight. But I'm not known for making good decisions, and my skin itches with whatever unease has been brewing in the air all day.

Still, something pulls me in the opposite direction of the club.

Gut instinct.

Self-preservation.

Maybe I'm just fucking tired.

I walk to the gate beside the tattoo shop and unlock it to climb the steps to the apartment above.

It's quiet now that Sage and Lyla moved out, and I wish that was a good thing. But even if I understand them moving to the Twisted Kings compound now that Sage is the motorcycle club's new vice president, I don't like that it makes this place so empty.

Maybe I'll get a roommate.

Is twenty-seven too old to have a roommate?

Do I care?

I can afford the place on my own with my income from the tattoo shop. And if it really came down to it, there's plenty of family blood money I've been avoiding. Still, having someone else hanging around would be nice. Then I wouldn't have so much time to spend inside my head.

Stepping into the apartment, I set my keys down on the table inside the door. The clatter of metal on wood echoes through the walls. Silence that begs my demons to come out and make some noise.

I make my way over to the refrigerator when my stomach rumbles. It's essentially empty unless I feel like ketchup on bread, so I grab a beer instead.

My last session ran an hour longer than expected. I'd usually grab a burger or something quick before coming home. But right now, I just need to sit—to empty my mind.

Popping the cap off the beer, I hope it'll do the trick.

When one thing doesn't work, try another.

Just don't stop taking steps.

I hate that I can hear every one of my footsteps as I make my way to the couch and drop down onto it. There's never anything good to watch, so I pause on whatever doesn't seem terrible. It's not like I'll pay attention anyway. It's just noise.

One thing I appreciated about Lyla living here was her crappy television shows. I'd complain about them because I refused to let her think that shit was entertaining—but it was. It gave me something to think about to keep me out of my head. We'd argue over who was going to pick who on whatever island dating show she was binging, and I make a mental note to ask her how the finale ended.

Now it's just me.

Sports I don't care about.

Thin walls in the middle of winter.

A restless city filled with chaos.

I fucking hate it.

My phone buzzes, and I pull it out.

Mandi

Heathens tonight?

She attaches a picture of her and her friend pouting their overinflated lips. And I'm tempted. But I lock the screen instead and set my phone aside.

Distractions aren't working like they used to, and the thought of fucking Mandi or her friend—and her friend?—is exhausting.

I don't even like her, which I'd feel bad about if she cared. But she's using me to get back at her douchebag ex-boyfriend, so she's no more invested than I am. Besides, that's apparently what I'm good for.

Girls know better than to look to me for a relationship. They see one red flag after another. Baggage they don't want to unpack and walls they don't want to climb.

They don't even know half of it, which is for the best.

So they use me like I use them. For company. For sex. For whatever the fuck emptiness we're trying to fill on that day.

Anything so I don't have to think about what I'm running from.

Tipping my beer to my lips, I drink it down and let it settle in the cracks. I tip my head back and close my eyes to give the demons a sip so they shut the fuck up.

I seal my eyelids until I no longer see the faces on the other side of them. It's just darkness.

Somewhere down the street a horn honks and sirens sound. It's starting to rain, creating a soft tempo on the windowpane. The noise is comforting, and without it, I'd never get any sleep in this place.

My home in Vegas had thick walls, and it was fancy shit in the middle of nowhere. Back there, I didn't mind the quiet because I was young and dumb and na?ve.

That man's gone now.

I'm halfway awake and halfway asleep when something rattles the gate at the bottom of the steps that lead up to the apartment. The front door's thin, so I hear everything, and I clearly make out the sound of metal squeaking as it swings open and closed.

I'm pretty sure I locked it, and Sage and Lyla didn't say they were coming by tonight, so there's no one I'm expecting.

Standing up, I set down my beer and walk toward the front door to check it out.

I didn't used to be so paranoid, but I'm not an idiot anymore. Eventually, shit catches up with you. I've got enough demons chasing me that one of them was bound to make it here eventually.

I'm almost at the front door when someone starts knocking on it. It's quiet at first, but then they bang with both hands, frantically.

"Coming," I yell.

Calm the fuck down already.

Everyone is always in such a rush in Los Angeles. Worse, in such a panic. Eventually, we'll all get what's coming to us. No use trying to hurry it along.

Another bang comes at the door just as I reach to unlock it, and the moment the door cracks, someone shoves it open from the other side. I step back, ready for whatever might be coming, when a tiny woman pushes her way through. She rushes past me into the apartment, leaving a wet trail behind her from the rain.

"Woah." I look outside, but there's no one chasing her.

She closed the gate behind her at the bottom of the dark staircase, and the only people milling around are across the street.

"What the—" But I'm cut off when I close the door and turn to face the girl who just rushed me. "Reed?"

Sage's younger sister stands in front of me with tears spilling down her cheeks.

One of her eye sockets is bruised, and her lip is split open. Dried blood dots her sleeve where she must have been dabbing her shirt over her cuts and bruises. Her silky chestnut hair is messy, half tied back and half down, with a large chunky piece falling in front of one of her golden-brown eyes.

"What happened?" I take a step forward, and she jumps back.

Fear.

It has me clenching my fists, and my nerves shot. She's scared because of what someone did to her, and I don't fucking like it.

"Where's my brother?" She glances around the apartment.

Her lower lip quivers, once more splitting it where it's cracked. A bead of blood drips down to her chin.

"The clubhouse. He and Lyla moved." She must know this since it's been in the works for months, but she's rattled, so she clearly forgot. "Let me help you with that."

She blinks as more blood trickles from her lip. Her tiny hand reaches to wipe it away, but she ends up smearing it across her cheek.

Last time I saw Reed, she was a force to be reckoned with. Big smile, big eyes, big personality that can't be bottled once you get a look at her.

Whoever this girl is standing in front of me, she's shaking. Rattled. She's smaller than her height, which isn't saying much when she's already so damn tiny.

At six foot six inches, I'm taller than most people, making everyone seem on the shorter side. But Reed is just over five feet, and right now, curling her arms around herself and shaking, she's extra small.

Reed brushes her bloody fingers down the front of her shirt. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine, Reed." I take a step toward her, and this time she doesn't flinch or step back. "Who did this to you?"

"I just—" She shakes her head and starts pacing the room.

She's carrying nothing. No phone. No purse. No bags. That's not a good sign when she lives up in San Francisco.

Reed walks over to the couch and drops down onto it. "I'm fine. He was just—"

She's mumbling, not finishing her thoughts. But when she says he, every demon in my head rears to life because I don't care who it is, I'm going to fucking kill him.

I slowly make my way over to the couch and sit at the other end so I don't scare her, fighting to hold back my rage.

"You're safe here." My tone is level, even if my head is far from it. "I've got you."

Reed looks up at me with those big brown eyes that hold the key to happiness. I might have only met her once before, but I recognized it at that moment. And as she wipes away her tears, smearing more blood across her cheek, I make a silent promise that I'm going to set this right for her.

"I'm sorry." She glances around the apartment. "I was looking for my brother. I didn't mean to interrupt your evening."

My teeth grit at the fact that she's traumatized and still thinks she needs to apologize to me right now.

"You're fine. You're not interrupting anything."

"You sure?"

I nod, and she presses her lips together as she exhales. It rushes blood to them, turning them ruby.

"I'm going to call Sage." I slowly reach for my phone, like any movement might scare her.

"Okay."

"Did you bring anything with you?" I glance at the door in case I missed a bag, but there's nothing there.

She shakes her head.

"That's okay." Standing up, I tip my head to the hallway. "I'll get you something to wear. I think Lyla still has a few things she hasn't moved yet."

Reed stands up, playing with her hands in front of her, and I spot dark circles around her wrists that look a little like finger marks from someone holding on too hard.

"Can I take a shower?" she asks, her eyes darting to the other end of the apartment.

"Of course."

I lead her down the hallway, even if she's stayed here before, so she knows where things are at. We stop at the room that backs up to mine, and I grab the clothing Lyla left behind. A T-shirt and sweatpants should work.

I've been giving Sage and Lyla crap for moving out so slowly, but right now, I'm thankful for it.

"I'll grab some antiseptic and bandages." I glance at her eyebrow, which is bleeding again, while the ring around her eye is slowly getting darker. "Wash up, and we'll clean it when you're done. And I'll call your brother."

Reed steps into the bedroom, and I reach for the handle to give her some privacy.

But she stops me with her hand over mine when it's halfway shut.

"Hey, Mason."

I look down at her, and she blinks up at me. Beautiful even when she's bruised and bleeding. Eyes that don't deserve to look sad for even a minute because she should be treated better than whoever did this.

"Thanks." She tries to force a smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes.

I nod, wanting to say you're welcome. Wanting to offer her whatever pleasantry might feel good to her at this moment. But as her eyes drop to the ground and she shrinks in on herself, I'm certain if I open my mouth, I'm going to scream. It's taking everything in me to hold it together. So I don't say shit.

The door shuts, and my skin itches with desperation. I want to hold her. To hug her. To make sense of what happened.

Not that there can be any peace in it.

Walking back down the hallway, my irritation from the day transforms into something else. Pure, unbottled rage with a singular focus.

I'm not seeing clearly on many things right now. But one thing is certain. I'm going to kill whoever did this to her, and I'm going to enjoy it.