Chapter 38
Em
S tretched out on my bed, I scroll through my meager social media feed for a distraction. I haven’t left the house all day and barely picked at the late lunch I cooked only to have a reason to get up.
I crawled back under the covers after a few bites.
Mason’s cologne clings to the sheets, and I’m utterly at odds with myself. I hate him, and yet I want him.
I never told him that I kept all his sketches tucked into the cover of one of the books on my shelf.
I’m not sure why I kept them. As disturbing as they are, I couldn’t throw them out.
I had the urge to guard them like a secret.
A treasure. Not so much because they’re images of me, but because with each detail, he poured so much of himself into them. They hold pieces of him.
Fuck!
What if he’s right? What if I gave up my one chance to ever feel something more than lukewarm?
Falling for him was never part of it .
Pulling the blanket up to my nose, I close my eyes and fill my lungs with his signature scent of sandalwood and spice when my phone buzzes with a text notification.
Reluctantly, I scan the screen to see that it’s from Ash, offering to take me out on my night off.
I read the text in the notification window at the top instead of opening the messaging app.
He’s been checking in with me, but after witnessing Mason’s reaction to his brother touching me in the woods, I’ve been distancing myself from him, too.
I stand by my conviction. I won’t be the woman who gets between brothers.
I close the screen without bothering to reply and slide my phone face-down onto the nightstand.
My fingers linger on the case as my sight catches on the wireless speaker again. I can’t believe I hit him. I don’t feel relieved at taking a stand for myself. It was over, we were done, he would’ve left… If anything, I’m more afraid of what he’ll do next.
I shouldn’t have struck him.
I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling. In my entire life, I’ve never felt so many conflicting emotions. That look in his eyes, like he thought he deserved it, haunts me.
The sharp buzz of the front door jolts me out of my ramblings. I fling the covers aside and rush down the hallway to answer the intercom in what little I wear.
“Hello?”
“Please tell me you haven’t had dinner yet.”
I roll my eyes at his persistence. “Ash…”
“Come on, Emily. You have to eat, don’t you? I brought takeout. Let me in. ”
Dammit!
I hang my head in resignation and buzz him in, then race back into my bedroom to throw on a pair of sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt.
I’m back to answer the door right as he knocks.
“See? That wasn’t so hard.” He meets me with a grin, holding up three to-go bags from the taco truck he took me to on our first date.
I shake my head but can’t fight the smile curling my lips as I step aside to invite him in. Motioning toward the kitchen, I relock the door before following.
I grab us water bottles from the fridge. Ash drops the paper bags on the table and goes for the cabinet to pull two plates from it while I take a seat. He found them on the first try.
“What did you get?” I ask, reaching for the closest bag.
“Same as last time.” He drops one plate in front of me and scoots the other one across the table.
I unroll the top and pull out the familiar wrapper. “You remember what I ordered?”
“Of course.” He slides out the chair opposite mine. “But I got you an extra one. I didn’t know how hungry you were.”
I glance back into the bag and see three more tacos at the bottom. I laugh. “Kinda starving now that I smell it,” I admit.
Ash leans across the table and snatches up the other two bags. I watch him lay out his food on the plate when my attention catches on his right hand working the wrapper off.
I gasp. “What did you do to your hand?” The skin on his knuckles is badly scuffed, like it had been bleeding .
“Eh, it’s nothing,” he replies, then chuckles. “You should’ve seen the other guy.”
Watching his eyes drop to his plate, I feel a weight settle in my stomach. I assume he means Mason, and I have. I remember the cut above his eye.
So it was from an altercation with Ash and not some random guy he let his frustration out on.
“Just a minor disagreement between brothers,” he adds, raising the taco to his mouth.
“ Minor? ” I’d hate to see the results of something serious. Then I wonder…
“What was the disagreement about?” I ask, waiting for his eyes to shift back to mine.
They don’t. Chewing slowly, Ash keeps his stare deliberately on his food.
Guilt sears through me at his all-telling silence. “It was about me, wasn’t it?” I concur.
Taco in one hand, Ash waves me off with the other. “Don’t worry. We’ve had worse fights. He’ll get over it.”
Get over his beef with his brother or get over me?
Somehow I can’t see Mason letting me go. He ignored my rejection before; who’s to say he won’t do so again? He thrives on the chase. I fear he’ll never stop.
My appetite is gone after that, but I choke down the food he brought anyway. I don’t want to be rude. He made such an effort.
I listen to Ash ramble on about work while watching him finish all eight of his tacos and the bottle of water. Replacing the cap on mine, which still has some left in it, I rise from my chair to clear the table .
I dump the trash and carry the plates to the sink to wash them. When I turn on the water, I hear the feet of Ash’s chair skip along the floor.
He comes up beside me. “Has Mason stopped by?” he probes, taking the dish towel from the counter.
I feel his stare drilling a hole into me as I look down and run the soapy sponge over the plate. I sidestep the question. “He texted me, saying he wants to talk, but I blew him off.”
My cheeks warm under Ash’s scrutiny. I wonder if he noticed my diversion.
I hold my breath until his posture in my periphery relaxes. He shifts his weight and leans his hip against the edge of the counter, facing me. “If he does come by, promise me you won’t let him in. I don’t want you alone with him. He’s not in his right mind.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, handing him the clean plate to dry.
“He’s had anger issues for years, and sometimes he can’t even remember what he did. It’s like he gets trapped in his head…” Ash’s voice trails off. “I just don’t want you caught up in one of his episodes.” He gives the plate another run with the towel, then returns it to the cabinet above.
Submerged in water, my hands have stopped moving. My mind is replaying the scene from this morning, the confusion at my mentioning the message, and the way he looked at the mirror.
He didn’t remember breaking into my apartment on Thursday.
A tremble runs through my grip on the second plate.
“Promise me, Em. ”
My eyes shift to Ash at the coaxing sound of my name. His right hand cups my face, fingers brushing along the curve of my cheek.
My focus lands on his mouth as his thumb traces my lips. “I could stay over if you want…” he drags out, his voice a heady breath, thick with arousal. “In case he drops by.”
The seductive note coats me like honey. It’s warm and sweet and makes my knees weak. I almost give in.
Mason’s argument about Ash losing interest once a girl gives it up to him echoes in my ears; Ash himself admitted as much.
Yet here he is, trying so hard, and I finally get why.
As long as I care for them both, the conquest for me will never be accomplished.
Ash has to win me over each time… make me choose him instead of his brother.
I’m the catalyst. They feed on the rivalry as much as they feed into it, and I’m the only one who can stop it.
“No.” I shake my head and pull away from his touch. “That’s not necessary. I won’t let him in. I promise,” I add with a soft smile.
Ash’s lips form a tight line. Either he doesn’t believe me or he thinks Mason won’t be deterred by a closed door.
“Alright,” he sighs with a rough edge, letting his hand drop. I can’t tell whether his tone is resignation or frustration at my shutting down his advances. “But I’m only a phone call away if you change your mind.”
My smile crinkles. “Thanks.” I hand him the other plate. I don’t remember if I scrubbed it, but it looks clean when he takes it. “And thanks for dinner, too,” I tag on .
“My pleasure.” He tips his head in his signature casual air, and the tightness in my chest loosens when I detect no resentment.
I drain the water, and Ash finishes wiping the dish before sliding it back into the cabinet and closing the door.
He passes me the towel so I can dry off.
“I get it, you know?” He straightens and pivots my stance towards him, his height towering over mine.
I clench the rag in my grip. The hairs at my nape prickle when his hands slip underneath my shirt, tracing the waistband of my sweatpants. “You’re a good person, Emily. Don’t feel guilty. Mason’s issues are not yours.”
His touch inches higher, lazy fingertips brushing against the sensitive skin of my stomach. His head dips. “Don’t let him ruin this,” he says softly into my ear.
I press my palms to Ash’s chest. “I should never have agreed to this. I was in over my head and didn’t consider the consequences.”
I step out of his embrace, tears pushing their way into my eyes. “I can’t do this to him, Ash. I’m sorry.”
The muscles along his face twitch. Through my blurring vision, I see his jaw clenching. His Adam’s apple jerks.
Ash gives me a sullen nod.
With a weight pressing down on my chest, I watch him turn to leave. I track the fall of his boots down the hall. I hear the deadbolt on the door disengage, the sound of it opening and closing quietly, and then there’s silence.
Fuck! My heart never felt so heavy.
I wipe my tears and trudge down the hallway toward my bedroom, turning the deadbolt over in passing. The urge to drop everything and run back home with my tail tucked between my legs is suffocating me. I proved everyone right. I won’t survive here.
I grab the remote and turn on the TV as I scoot under the covers. The news channel is the first one that pops up.
Looking down, I bunch the blanket around me when the familiar voice of the anchorwoman from Channel 9 goes off, “This latest and most gruesome attack appears to have taken place in the early hours of Thursday.”
My eyes shoot to the screen, my grip frozen on the remote.
“27-year-old Vincent Tucker was found stabbed to death in the parking lot of a popular pool hall downtown.”
Oh God, no!
“A surveillance camera from the parking lot, which happens to be adjacent to the infamous Black Lotus gentleman’s club, caught the attack. I must advise you, the footage is very graphic.”
The news coverage cuts to the recorded feed, and I drop the remote to slap my hands over my mouth. Heart pounding in my ears, I stare at the fuzzy video of a guy in a black hood matching Mason’s build, as he rips Vince backward by the hair and spins him around.
A knife flashes in his gloved grip. He plunges the blade into Vince’s stomach repeatedly before slashing his throat in a final strike. Blood sprays out.
“At this time, it’s unclear if the assailant knew Tucker personally,” the anchorwoman supplies over the footage. “The victim was attacked unprovoked from behind as he dismounted his motorcycle. ”
With the pounding in my ears increasing, I keep watching as the raised hood slowly turns toward the camera like he knows exactly where it is. He knows someone is watching. He’s going to show his face.
My eyes go wide. Please, no!
The killer looks right up into the camera, only instead of his face, an LED mask with blue stitching is revealed. Mason’s mask! The one that’s been haunting me since I moved here.
The newscast cuts back to the studio, showing the crew at their desks. “This recent attack puts Castle City’s police department under even more pressure as the murders of 22-year-old Shelly Baker and 24-year-old Marisol Fuentes remain unsolved.”
My hands start trembling, and a cold grip squeezes my throat. I see Mason’s hands around Vince’s neck… feel them around my own…
What if Mason strangled those girls and doesn’t remember it?