Chapter Thirteen
Mason
I flip onto my side and reach across the bed for London, needing to feel her warm body against mine.
When my fingers find cold sheets instead of London’s familiar curves, my eyes fly open.
My heart is pounding as I sit up in bed and glance around, but I don’t see her anywhere.
I move into the bathroom and flick on the lights, giving my eyes a minute to adjust.
Where the hell is she?
A brief image of London tied up somewhere in the house and at my father’s mercy flashes through my mind, and it makes my stomach clench.
I shove the thought away and reach for the nearest shirt to pull over my head.
I’m halfway out the door when I double back for my gun.
In the hallway, I creep forward and quiet my breathing.
The house is eerily still.
I tiptoe down the stairs slowly, gripping the gun tightly.
At the bottom, I flatten myself against the nearest wall and listen.
I don’t like how quiet it is.
After sending Carlisle a text, I venture deeper into the house, stopping at my study and my father’s makeshift office before I peer out the window.
The estate is bathed in the soft glow of the moon, and a few moments later, I see the guards exchange shifts.
I let the curtain slide back into place and retreat into the shadows.
I shouldn’t have fallen asleep.
I should’ve stayed up to keep an eye on London, especially when she refused to tell me what happened with my father.
I didn’t like hearing it from Katia, especially given the strain between us, but I know how intimidating Jack Payne is.
You were also afraid that if you pushed her, she’d realize how close she came to danger and run.
It’s not lost on me that London is far from prepared to deal with my world, and how one small incident could tip her over the edge.
It took every ounce of self-control I had, coupled with the ashen look on London’s face, for me not to race out of the room and hunt my father down.
He’s toying with me—with us—and I almost wish he’d go the more direct route.
I hate not knowing what he’s got in store.
Focus. Find London. Make sure she’s safe, and worry about your father later.
After scouring the house, I meet Carlisle at the back door.
I taste bile in the back of my throat as I return inside and pause in front of the door leading to the basement.
When I press my ear to the door and hear a low grunt and a hiss, I almost rip the door off its hinges.
My eyes are wild and unfocused as I reach the bottom of the stairs with my gun out.
There’s a single light bulb on, and Katia is leaning against the wall on one side of the room.
Her black hair is in its usual braid, and her eyes are pinched in annoyance.
In the middle of the room, London is standing in a pair of yoga pants, her shirt soaked with sweat, and her hair pulled into a high ponytail.
She lifts a leg and kicks the punching bag again and again.
Neither of them notices me as I lower my gun.
What the hell are they doing?
Katia looks amused. “Are you imagining that punching bag is me or Mason’s father?”
“Both.” London grunts, cocks her fist, and throws a punch. The chain that suspends the punching bag from the ceiling rattles. “I’m not picky right now.”
Katia stops next to London. “That’s not going to help you feel better.”
London grabs the punching bag and levels Katia with a dirty look. “Are you volunteering to take its place?”
Katia shrugs. “You need a solution for your anger, not an outlet to help you repress.”
“I wasn’t aware you were a therapist, too.”
London releases the punching bag, spins around, and lands a swift kick to the center. “I don’t need your advice. What I need is… fuck. I don’t know what I need.”
“You want to feel like you’re in control. Like no one can make you feel helpless again.”
London snorts but doesn’t reply.
“You also want to make sure your family is safe.”
London glances at Katia. “Is this another lesson in weakness? Because I am not in the goddamn mood. I’ve tried to talk to them already, but they won’t leave.
I mean, hell, even Noah gets how serious this is and has hired extra security.
I’ve tried to get him to talk to me, but I think I’ve burned that bridge. ”
“Sounds like that boy has common sense after all.”
London scowls. “He’s always had common sense.”
“Debatable.”
London’s eyes flash as she moves to Katia and clenches her hands into fists. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You’re right. I don’t.”
“I’ve dealt with a lot of assholes in my life, but Jack Payne…”
“He’s not your run-of-the-mill asshole.”
London turns her focus back to the punching bag as if she can summon my father there through sheer will. “I just stood there. He threatened my family, he’s got people watching including Mathew, and I…I just fucking stood there like an idiot. I should’ve done something.”
“It would’ve made things worse. Mathew isn’t going to do anything.”
London throws her hands up and begins throwing punches again, one after the other in quick succession. “He’s already threatened me and my family. How much worse can it possibly get?”
“Threats are nothing in our world. You got off easy.”
London stops punching and faces Katia again. “You don’t like him much, do you?”
Katia doesn’t say anything.
“What if we work together to take him down? We could recruit other people. I’m sure you’re not the only one—”
Katia throws her head back and laughs, cutting London off. “Blondie, if you’ve got some kind of death wish, keep me out of it. We cannot go after Jack Payne.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’ll get yourselves killed,” I add, emerging from the shadows.
Two pairs of eyes turn to me, and London squares her shoulders while Katia looks away.
I stop in the middle of the room and make a big show of putting away my gun.
London’s eyes flick from the weapon to my face and back again until she crosses her arms over her chest and exhales.
“What are you doing here, London?”
“Practicing.”
“In the middle of the fucking night? I don’t think so. Let’s go.”
“No.”
I turn to Katia and frown. “You’re supposed to be keeping her out of trouble. Clearly, I’ve overestimated your abilities.”
Katia shifts from one foot to the other, but her face gives nothing away.
I know her well enough to know that she’s keeping her anger under wraps and on a tight leash.
I’ve known her long enough to know that she takes pride in her abilities.
My words have found their mark.
I have no idea what London has that blinds Katia, but endangering her life once is inexcusable. Twice is asking for trouble, and she’s lucky I have a war looming, or we’d be having a different conversation. As it is, I’m still mulling over the appropriate punishment to get my point across.
Katia knows it’s coming, but she’s smart enough to know it can’t be stopped.
“It’s not her fault,” London argues hotly. “She’s doing the best she can.”
“I don’t care what bond the two of you have forged, but stay out of it,” I snap. “She knows what she’s signed up for, and she knows who she works for. She also knows better than to interfere when it isn’t her business. Or maybe you need reminding.”
Katia stiffens. “No, I don’t.”
“There will be no more talk of taking my father on,” I say. “I know neither of you is stupid enough to think these walls don’t have ears.”
“He has to be stopped,” London protests. “You can’t expect me to sit around while he puts a hit out on my family.”
I turn to London. “You can, and you will. I already told you that I’d take care of it.”
London blows out a breath. “But Mathew—"
I clench one of my hands into a fist and ignore the surge of irritation coursing through me. “I said I’m taking care of it. Katia, take London back up to her room and make sure she stays there.”
“But—”
“Go.” I level London with a pointed look. “Don’t make me do something you won’t like.”
London raises her chin and stares at me. “We need to talk about this.”
I glare at her. “I will fucking drag you out of here kicking and screaming if you don’t leave.”
Still, she hesitates.
“Or I can throw you over my shoulder,” I add. “Your choice.”
She strides past me with Katia following on her heels. I wait a few moments before leaving the basement, pausing to lock the door behind me.
I know London isn’t happy with me, but I don’t care.
She needs to fall in line before she causes any more damage, and I can’t figure out how to get through to her.
You can find other ways to make your point.
Growling, I storm into my office and go straight to the small table with the glass decanter. I pour a drink and swirl the amber liquid around the glass as I consider my options. I’m itching to teach London a lesson, but I know I can’t handle this in my usual way.
London isn’t a problem to be dealt with.
No matter how frustrating she is, she’s not doing it on purpose.
The last thing she needs is another reason to leave.
I’m halfway through my second glass when I realize that talking doesn’t work.
So, what are you going to do? Lock her up and only allow her out for brief periods to eat and get fresh air? She’ll resent you if you treat her like a prisoner.
I push back against the irritation and frown into my glass.
When I turn back around, a third drink in hand, Carlisle is darkening my doorway, a few fresh cuts on his face. He approaches my desk, stopping on the other side, and linking his hands behind his back. His eyes are gleaming.
“You finally have some news.”
Carlisle nods. “Yes. You were right. The man we caught at the crash site… he’s a contractor. The Fitzpatricks and Everetts hired him to stage the attack on London and Katia. Their goal wasn’t to have the car crash. It was to send a message.”
The glass cup in my hand shatters, sending shards in every direction.
I ignore the blood dripping down my hand and step out from behind the desk. “And why are you fucking telling me? I said I wanted whoever was responsible on their hands and knees in front of me.”
Carlisle clears his throat. “They’re not the only ones responsible.”
I motion for him to continue.
“There’s a contract killer for hire,” Carlisle continues. “There’s a bounty on London’s head.”
I stop in front of Carlisle and ignore the chill that races up my spine. “You have one minute to explain why the hell you didn’t know about this.”
“I don’t know when it happened.” Carlisle’s words pour out in a rush. “I was investigating the Everett and Fitzpatrick involvement. I didn’t know there was another player—”
I hold up my hand. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
A flash of something moves across Carlisle’s face. “The bounty hunter wasn’t hired by the Everetts or the Fitzpatricks.”
“Who the hell hired him?”
Fucking hell.
“I’m still working on that. The trail has gone cold,” Carlisle replies. “I’ve got men out there working on finding out who the killer is.”
“There’s only a handful of them,” I say. “You should be out there yourself, not in here giving me excuses.”
Carlisle presses his mouth together and doesn’t say anything.
“Bring me a name, or it’s your fucking balls I’ll serve London,” I warn. “Maybe I should’ve gone with one of your brothers after all.”
A muscle works in Carlisle’s jaw.
“Whatever the bounty is on London’s head, triple the contract and offer the same amount for whoever brings me the name of the person behind this.”
After nodding swiftly, Carlisle turns and leaves the room.
I reach for another glass and hurl it across the room. It explodes against the wall. I reach for another glass, and another, until it looks like a tornado has ripped through my study, leaving debris in its wake.
It doesn’t quench my rage, but at least it gives me something to do.
I leave the study, taking the stairs two at a time until I reach my room. The bathroom is shrouded in a thin mist, and I can make out London’s outline behind the shower curtain. She pokes her head out to look at me, and our eyes meet briefly before I stalk back out of the room.
I’m staring out the window when London emerges with a towel wrapped around her.
She pads over to me, and I turn to her.
When she steps into my arms, and I crush her to me, I realize that it isn’t just anger building within me. All of the worry and fear I’ve been carrying around rises within me till it reaches a breaking point. I make a low noise in the back of my throat and hold her tighter.
I’m going to rip that bounty hunter apart with my bare hands if I have to.
He’s not touching a hair on her head.
And I’ll be damned if I let them or anyone else take London away from me.
London lets the towel drop to the floor and takes my hand to lead me to the bed.
She pauses to pull on a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt, never once letting go of me.
The bed dips and creaks as she pulls me down next to her.
Then, she curls herself around me, and I drape an arm over her shoulders and exhale.
I recognize the vise-like grip around my heart.
It’s been decades since I’ve felt it, not since I saw my mother struggling to breathe as the light faded from her eyes. I swore to myself I'd never feel that way again.
For the first time in a long time, I’m terrified, and I have no idea what to do next.
Or how to protect London from the fallout.
Fuck.
How much more danger am I going to put her in before I do what needs to be done?