Chapter 31—
Em
O h my God!
“Mason!”
I jump out of the car and rush over to where he’s pinning Vince to the ground, hands around his neck.
I’ve never seen anyone get punched before. Not even slapped.
Heaving breaths saw in and out of him. Mason’s glare stays down. He’s so focused on choking the man, he doesn’t even hear me.
I yank on his arm. “Stop it. Let him go.”
He doesn’t budge. His knuckles are white while Vince’s face is starting to turn blue. His legs thrash as he tries to fight Mason off.
I give one more pull. “Please, Mason.” And this time the sound of his name breaks his frenzy.
His head snaps around, and his dark eyes find mine, but for a second he looks at me like he doesn’t recognize me. His features remain twisted and hard .
In the next moment, his eyes dart over me, and the same confusion from the other night at my apartment washes over him as if he doesn’t know where he is or what’s going on.
A groan from Vince swings Mason’s attention back to him. I watch the tension in his grip loosen, then his hands switch to the guy’s shirt to yank his face toward him.
“If you so much as look her way again, I’ll pluck your fucking eyeballs from their sockets,” he snarls an inch from him, his nostrils flaring with his threat.
He drops him to the asphalt and pushes off.
I take a step back on reflex. I can’t believe he laid into Vince like that just for running his mouth. What would he do if someone were to actually put a hand on me?
“Fuck, Mason.” Vince rises to his feet, albeit a little unsteadily. “Always with the short fuse, huh?” Glaring at Mason, he straightens out his shirt, then jabs a finger at me.
“She must have a death wish to put up with you,” he says before pivoting and marching toward the restaurant’s entrance.
Mason turns to me but hesitates to move, wary of my reaction. His fingers twitch down by his sides. His jaw is tense.
I blow out a breath and put his mind at ease.
“What just happened?” I ask, raising my hands to his face. I want him to look at me, and only me. I’m the one who got through to him. That has to count for something, right?
Mason’s fingers close around my wrists, the same fingers that nearly drained the life out of a man right in front of me.
“I won’t let anyone talk to you that way. You’re more than what he implies, Em. ”
His voice is filled with emotion, and his touch is just as tender—a stark contrast to how he snapped at me earlier.
I half expected him to shove me into my car himself. He was scary. Scarier than hunting me through the alley or taunting me in my apartment. I know he was just playing then, because he promised me I’ll always be safe with him; the devil you know, right?
But there’s something haunting within the swirl of green that meets me, and seeing him so violent, lashing out at another guy, is frightening. It’s a side of him I haven’t really given much thought to. Where’s all that rage coming from?
And what did Vince mean by me having a death wish?
Mason’s throat bobs. His right hand releases my wrist and tilts my chin up. “You’re mine .”
The word is spoken with a soft growl, and as he holds my gaze, I feel his claim on me in my bones. I know he means it with every cell in his body. It’s in the way he takes me. In the way he ensnares my very soul.
He nods toward my car. “Now get gone before I prove it right here in the parking lot.”
—
My cell phone chimes in my pocket as I wipe down the table Jake just cleared of dishes. Straightening, I drop the rag and pull it out to check the message I assume is from Ash.
It’s not.
I like watching you bend .
— Unknown sender.
My eyes dart toward the large window, and my heart gives a kick to my ribcage when I see the black motorcycle across the street, the familiar rider staring me down through the visor of his helmet. His head is cocked to one side while he slouches on the seat, phone still in his hand.
The sight of him does something to me. He’s dressed in all black, per usual, giving him that unyielding air of danger I can’t fucking resist.
A tingling sensation chases across my throbbing clit, and I hear his voice in my head, ‘I’m already fucking you.’
The skin at my nape prickles, and I squeeze my thighs together on reflex. Yes, I can feel him inside me, the smooth glide, the pressure, the size of him stretching me, his piercings rubbing my inner walls…
I swallow dryly. My eyes swing over my shoulder across the now-empty diner before I stuff my phone back into my pocket and pick up my rag again.
With a little sway in my step, I’m not at all putting on a show for him when I move toward the last table and turn around, leaning over it with my back arched to grant him a perfect view of my ass.
I can feel his lingering gaze on me. As my hand sweeps over the table with a mind of its own, a heated sensation like palms mapping my body spreads across my skin, and I get lost in my thoughts for a moment.
My phone chimes again. My lips curl into a knowing smile.
“Emily?”
Shit! My spine snaps straight, and I whirl around to face Laura. “Y-yes?” I stammer in shock. Embarrassment flares through me. Does she know what I was doing ?
I wring the rag in my hands, meeting her nonchalant expression. “What’s up?”
“You can take off if you want.”
My eyes dart to the clock on the wall behind her. It’s 20 minutes till closing.
My posture relaxes. “Oh, okay.”
I pass the rag into Laura’s waiting hand.
“Have a good night, honey.” She tips her head a little, and the soft curve to her lips gives me the indication she’s well aware of everything, including the man waiting for me outside.
“You too.” I awkwardly wipe my palms on my thighs. “See you tomorrow.”
As I walk toward the kitchen, I resist the urge to glance over my shoulder at the window.
I hang up my apron and clock out before finally checking the last message on my phone.
Bad girl, Emily.
Another flare of heat warms my face. I like taunting him.
I push out of the back door and round the building to meet Mason in the front. I sense his grin behind the visor as I cross the street toward him. He’s leaning forward, gloved hands working the grips of the handlebars. The engine is already running.
“Waiting for me?” I muse, a hand on my cocked hip.
I feel his heated stare travel over me from my blazing cheeks down my legs and back up, but he doesn’t say anything. Then he nods to the helmet on the backseat .
“Woah!” I unlatch the straps and pick it up.
My breath hitches. It appears to be the same helmet, but instead of a plain matte black shell, I’m holding a unique piece of art made specifically for me.
Golden filigree designs that remind me of a tattoo swirl along the sides.
The words Baby Girl are written in bright purple letters across the front. The details and the shading are insane.
I turn it back and forth in my hands. I remember Ash mentioning the shop’s custom paint jobs and wonder if Mason did this himself.
He tips his head over his shoulder as I just stand there admiring it.
“It’s beautiful,” I murmur.
I’ve never received anything this meaningful. No one ever made something for me. Bought stuff? Sure. But this is so much more.
The words choke in my throat. I don’t know what to say except, “Thank you.”
My eyes linger on the reflective visor, searching for his, and several seconds slip by with us simply staring at each other.
When he revs the engine, I take my cue and straddle the bike behind him, the helmet secured under my chin.
Mason still doesn’t speak a word, not even when I realize he’s driving in a different direction than the house, and I ask where he’s taking us.
His silence is starting to become unsettling.
My fists clench his sweatshirt tighter as we climb in elevation. The trees flanking the highway grow dense before he makes a turn onto a winding backroad, and then lastly onto an unmarked dirt path.
Towering woods press down on us from both sides. My heart drops further into my stomach. It’s dark, and sinister, and the mere ambiance sends my pulse racing.
Mason stops the bike in the middle of nowhere. I dismount and remove my helmet before taking a look around. I amble a few feet, wondering why he brought us here.
Sounds of him moving make me swing back around. His helmet is off, but in its place is the half mask of the skull, black eyes trained on me. He looks terrifying.
My breathing judders, and I take a trepidatious step backward. My sight is drawn to his clenched fists. He’s still wearing the motorcycle gloves.
He reaches into the pouch at his front, and before I even see the knife in his hand, understanding crashes over me.
I whip around and run.