48. Mason
FORTY-EIGHT
MASON
The rest of the afternoon is a blur, my mind racing in a thousand different directions, unsure where to focus my attention. The only way to calm my thoughts is to make a list and tackle things one by one, not leaving any room for miscalculation.
First, I take a walk, chain-smoking cigarettes, while I scope out the camera’s blind spots around the perimeter of the house. Then, when I make it back to my room, I let myself mourn.
I mourn the loss of a daughter I never really had.
I mourn the loss of a sister I never got to know.
And I mourn for Olivia, her body wearing memories that she didn’t make by choice.
My anger toward her has morphed into sorrow. It’s confusing because years of hurt feelings don’t just disappear overnight, but she was a victim, not a villain, subject to crimes I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.
By the time dinner comes around—the first “family” meal since I’ve been back—I’ve decided that I’m going to take a chance, trusting that Olivia means it when she says she wants to make my father pay. Selfishly, I want to take him down, and while I know it would happen eventually with or without her, Olivia deserves justice, whichever way she chooses to seek it.
We’re all just lions at Thomas Wells’s circus, desperate to feel the earth under our feet, our paws chained to cold metal.
It’s hard to sit through dinner when you’re expected to eat across from a man who lives his life as though he hasn’t tattooed people’s hurt on his skin and worn it as his shield. He kisses my mother like she’s the only thing he sees, but her stare is vacant, and my heart squeezes knowing they’re really just two hollow pieces of an empty shell.
Olivia is also here, although God knows why, silently twirling her pasta methodically around her fork. My head cocks as I take in my mother. Does she know? I assume she’d have to, what with the fact Olivia is always around.
And then another thought hits me, wondering if Olivia was the first.
If she was the last.
My blood boils even hotter, my fists clenching so tightly the silverware cuts into my hand. I’ve never wished death upon anyone, but even if the life drained from his body under my hands, it wouldn’t feel like enough.
After dinner, we all separate, prisoners dismissed back to their cells. But instead of heading to my room, I walk outside, lighting up a cigarette and hiding in the shadows, waiting until Olivia leaves for the night.
It’s forty minutes later when she appears out of the side door, adjusting her top and wiping the smeared lipstick off her lips. My stomach tosses, again questioning whether I can trust her. Is she setting me up? Testing my loyalty?
Reaching out, I grip her by the shoulder, my hand covering her mouth to stifle her gasp as I push her against the brick wall.
“Shh, it’s me,” I whisper.
Her body softens as she realizes, and she nods her head.
My hands drop to my sides as I back away. “What do you need?” I ask.
She tilts her head. “For…?”
“To get them?” I lower my voice even more. “The pictures. What do you need?”
Her eyes spark in understanding. “ You need to get them.”
A warning tingle rushes up my spine, my brows shooting to my hairline. “And how do you expect me to do that?”
She licks her lips. “I’ve known his passcode for years. It never changes, and he’s never taken me seriously enough to think I was a threat.” Her nostrils flare, jaw clenching. “I’ll distract him, and you can slip into his office and grab what we need.”
“What about the cameras?”
Her forehead wrinkles. “We’ll just have to make sure and do it right before we turn them in.”
I suck in a breath. It’s risky but not impossible. “You’re sure they’re there?”
She nods. “He adds to them all the time.”
My stomach sours.
“But he has favorite ones. Some from when I was…” She doesn’t finish her sentence, but she doesn’t need to—I get the gist.
“And you’ll…go public?” I tilt down my head to meet her eyes, my palm gripping her arm. “You’re truly okay with that?”
“If I said I would do it, then I’ll do it, Alexander,” she hisses, ripping herself out of my hold.
I raise my hands. “I’m just making sure. It’s not like you’re making fucking cookies, Olivia. I don’t want to start this unless you’re one hundred percent in. This is important . This could change everything.”
Her eyes soften. “This could set us free. Both of us.”
Her hand comes up, fingers grazing against my stubble, and I jerk back, my mouth twisting at her touch. “What are you doing?”
She shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I just thought?—”
“Well, you thought wrong.” I harden my gaze, my fingers gripping at the roots of my hair. I turn toward her, pointing my finger. “Are you fucking with me right now?”
Her eyes widen. “What? No.”
Running my tongue over my teeth, I step in closer. “You better not be, Olivia. We have a past, but if I find out you’re playing me, I will fuck your world up. Do you understand me?”
“I understand.” Her throat bobs with her swallow, her cheeks flushing. “You never used to be so callous.”
My lips twist. “I used to be a naive fool.”
“That girl you were with at the gas station, is she…”
My lungs seize at her bringing up Lily, yet another warning bell going off in my head. “She’s none of your concern.”
I try to stop the thoughts, but her name was enough, and the ache sharpens in my solar plexus, spreading until it feels as though I’ll bleed out from the pain.
Olivia’s lips purse. “Fine. I’m sorry I asked. I was just curious.” She lifts her shoulders.
“I don’t want to talk about her.” I can’t.
She gazes up at the sky, running a hand over her face. “We can do it at the press conference next week.”
My heart rate picks up, pounding in my ears. That would work perfectly. As long as I can get the photos before we leave, there’s nothing he can do to stop it once we’re in front of the press. It’s our best shot.
“You’ll speak? You’re sure?” I ask again, anxiety slithering around my spine like a constrictor.
Her eyes darken. “I’m sure.”
“Okay.” I blow out a breath, energy billowing inside of me like a smoke cloud, knowing I’m right there.
On the edge of freedom.