17. Reed

Reed

17

Mason's been at the shop all afternoon, while I've been pacing the apartment. My conversation with my brother has me on edge. I opened my laptop and closed it again and again. I've talked myself in circles trying to decide if I should search the internet for answers or just ask Mason. Nothing feels like the right thing to do, and now my fingers hover.

Sage told me to talk to Mason, but I need to know what I'm walking into. I need the facts—or, at least, what's been printed. And then I can do my research. I can ask my questions. I can decide why my brother would keep Mason's secrets from me and if I should have allowed myself to trust him.

My fingers float over the keys, and I'm staring at the screen. Hovering over the search bar before slowly typing in the name Gabe Prince.

My search floods the screen with articles, and I realize the Prince family is as prominent as the Zane family in Las Vegas. They roam in the same social circles and businesses. And they're both known for their charitable work around the city.

But even if there's plenty printed about each family individually, there's very little that ties Gabe to Sienna.

At first, all I find are the couple of interviews Gabe did after she died. Him reminiscing on time they'd spent together or giving generic answers like he'll always miss her.

Digging a little more, there's a photo or two of them together. They weren't seen in public often, but the longer I scroll, I realize they must have met through Mason because he's in most of the photos during a certain time span.

A picture of the two of them fills my screen, and it's a strange reminder of how a person can look so much like themselves and not at all like the person I know.

In most of the photos, Mason and Gabe are in dress shirts and slacks—the opposite of the jeans, T-shirts, and hoodies I'm used to seeing Mason wearing. And they're attending events like the ones Carter used to drag me to. Where everyone pretends to know everyone else, but it's all a show of money and power.

Mason's smiling in the photos, but he doesn't truly look happy. At least, not the version of happiness I'm used to seeing. There's nothing relaxed about his posture and there's an unsettling, distant look in his eyes.

As I continue to dig, things start to devolve. Mason and Gabe are caught partying more often than not, and the images aren't as classy and put together as they started.

Somehow, none of this came up when I was researching the Zane family, which is surprising. Until I realize Mason's name has been removed from most of the articles and the only reason I'm seeing them now is because I searched Gabe's name.

There are a few photos of Gabe and Sienna. A few more of Gabe and Mason.

None with the three of them together.

And when I switch from images to articles, the top headline has my heart pounding.

Prince's Fall From Grace: Gabe Prince Found Murdered at Twenty-Five

I click on the article and see that Gabe died a little less than a month after the death of Mason's sister.

Not death—murder.

I skim as fast as I can, hoping this isn't what Sage was referring to when he implied Mason's keeping secrets. But then I hit the bottom of the article and there's no denying it.

The night Gabe was killed, he was out at a club with Mason. Gabe started not feeling well, so he left early, but he was attacked on the way home. When Gabe regained consciousness in the hospital, he told authorities he wanted immunity for something surrounding Sienna's death, but then he succumbed to his injuries before he could talk.

Mason was questioned since he had been with Gabe that night, but they could never tie the two. And Gabe's killer was never found.

The DNA evidence was corrupted, and the investigation was buried at that.

My hands tremble as I read the article again and again, finally closing my laptop and staring at the tile wall in the kitchen once I do.

I grew up around bikers—murderers. Men who go to great lengths to protect things they care about, but after everything that happened with Carter, can I accept that Mason might be just like them?

Violent. Aggressive.

If he did kill Gabe because of something related to his sister, he might have had a reason. But does that matter?

I'm familiar with the violence my brother hides, but Mason felt different. I wanted to believe he broke the mold. I've been held by hands that hurt, and I can't handle that again.

I don't know how long I've been staring at an empty wall when a key slips into the lock on the front door, dragging me out of my thoughts. But I push my laptop away and fold my hands in my lap, trying to steady my breathing when Mason walks in.

His hoodie hides his hair, and it's damp from where it must be raining.

"Hey." He spots me sitting at the counter and nods.

"Hi."

I watch him circle the room like it's a rubber band tugging. Every step threatens to snap reality back into this alternate world he and I have been living in.

Mason slips off his sweatshirt, and my back is tense as I wait for this all to snap. I watch him make his way through the apartment, and a million questions are on the tip of my tongue. But once I ask them, there's no going back.

Facing Mason's secrets feels like me facing my feelings for him. If this was simply friendship, it wouldn't matter. I was born and raised in violence. I've associated with bikers my whole life.

People end up dead. Sometimes there's a good reason, and other times there isn't.

It's what those men do.

But with Mason, it's different. He's been caring and comforting. He's been my safety at a time when it hurt to get through the day. When it hurts to smile or to be touched. If he's not the man I've come to trust, I'm going to have to come to terms with that, whether I'm ready or not.

There's no avoiding this either. Mason pauses on the opposite side of the kitchen island, and his blue eyes burn like the hot pit of a fire.

It's time for us both to face our demons and to find out if we can survive them.

Mason glances down at my laptop, and I know he senses it. He's observant. He sees everything I don't want him to.

"Working?" He looks back up at me.

I nod, even if it's only partly true.

Tonight's research wasn't about Zane Hotels. It wasn't even about Carter. This is about the man standing in front of me.

Mason leans forward on the counter, bringing himself closer to eye level. His arms are crossed in front of him as he watches me.

"You look like you're waiting for me to say something." I lace my fingers together.

"I am."

Carter lied to me so often I could sense it the moment he walked into the room. A certain look he'd give me. He'd refuse to make eye contact and wouldn't sit still. Mason is the exact opposite. Patient, quiet. He knows what I'm going to ask him, and he's accepted it.

The silence is deafening as he stares at me. I'd love to avoid this—run to my room and go back in time to this morning. But I've been avoiding reality for six years. Thinking if I don't face what's in front of me, it won't hurt as much.

I did that with Carter, and it turned me into someone I'm not. Mason accepts my ugly baggage. The least I can do is sit here and face this with him.

"Your sister was dating your friend when she died?"

He nods, waiting for me to continue.

"There was more to her suicide, wasn't there?"

"Yes."

"Gabe had something to do with it." I press my lips together and pause, waiting for him to stop me as I take in a breath, but he doesn't. "You know what he did, and you killed him because of it, didn't you?"

Mason lifts off the counter and plants his hands on the surface, looking down at me. Pain floods his gaze, either from what I'm saying or the memory of his sister.

"Yes, I did."

I expect his admission to be what breaks me. For it to change my view of him. But it's still the same Mason standing across the kitchen, even if he doesn't show an ounce of guilt or regret.

"Don't you want to know how I guessed all that?" I ask.

"Doesn't really matter. It was probably your brother, but if it wasn't, you're smart. I knew you'd figure it out eventually."

"And you still encouraged me to look?"

Mason pushes off the counter, circling the kitchen island until he's sitting on the stool beside me. His body turns in my direction.

Anyone else would shut down with this kind of confrontation. Instead, he's drawing closer. He's cutting himself open and placing all the bad, ugly secrets between us. And I realize he wants to face this.

The truth.

The pain.

No matter how much it hurts.

"You wanted me to find out the truth about you." My voice is almost a whisper.

"I did."

"Why?"

"Because I've been running a long time, Reed. Just like you. But you make me feel like I'm ready to stop."