Chapter Sixteen #2
A redheaded woman races past with two men trailing closely behind, and they can barely walk straight. She steps into one of the hallways, and they fall against her, laughing uproariously. I glance away from them and stare back at the main floor.
There isn’t enough liquor in the club to dull my senses, but I’m tempted to try.
I’m halfway to the bar when I see Noah’s friend, Steven, backing one of the women against the nearest wall, a dark gleam in his eyes. The brunette stiffens when he reaches out and grazes her breasts. My heart is pounding as I change course and make a beeline for them.
Steven has his hand on her leg. I tap him on the shoulder.
Before he turns around completely, I punch him in the mouth.
I taste the bloodlust before I realize I’m reaching for him again.
Steven uses the back of his hand to wipe the blood from his mouth.
His eyes widen and focus when they land on me, and he tries to scramble back.
I grab him by the scruff of his neck and slam him against the nearest wall.
Steven makes a choking noise as I drag him back onto the floor and throw another punch.
My ears are ringing when I pull him up by the scruff of his neck and punch him again in the jaw.
Bright-red blood drips down the sides of his mouth.
The metallic smell fills my nostrils.
The ringing in my ears turns to a dull roar as I drag Steven away, barely registering his yelling and kicking.
I pause in the hallway outside my office and release him.
He crawls away, huffing and panting as he does, and I consider letting him go.
Any mercy I feel toward Steven disappears when he glances at me.
He tilts his head and spits out a mouthful of blood.
I lunge at him, and he doesn’t stand a chance. He pushes me off him, clawing and kicking, and it enrages me further. The monster in me is calling for blood, retribution, and the chance to be unleashed, and I allow it a fraction of release.
The crunch of bone is like music to my ears.
There is nothing but quiet and focus as I rear back again and again.
I think of Michael Everett and Lance Fitzpatrick and imagine they’re the ones at my mercy.
I punch him again, and this time it’s Thatcher Thayer beneath my fist.
When I reel back, it’s my father’s face tilted back to look at me.
Suddenly, it’s London’s face, and the baby growing inside of her.
My heart stops as I falter and peer at Steven.
He coughs, more blood pours out of his mouth, and I’m angry all over again.
It isn’t long before Steven’s face is unrecognizable, and my haze lifts.
I’m dimly aware of a wheezing sound and a quiet voice.
Then a pair of fingers close around my wrist, and I blink to find Steven clutching me, terror and fear written on his face.
I draw my hand back to punch him again and spot Katia a few feet away.
Steven makes another wheezing sound, and I look back at him.
I release him and rise to my feet. Katia hands me a napkin, and I use it to wipe my chin and the spatters on my bruised knuckles. Then everything comes rushing back, and I hold myself still.
“Have them throw him out,” I tell Katia. “He’s not welcome here anymore.”
Katia bends down and hoists Steven to his feet.
His breathing is labored as she brushes past. As she rounds the corner, I storm to my office and step into the bathroom. I avoid the mirror above the sink as I wash my hands, then splash cold water on my face. The ringing in my ears is gone, replaced by a low whistle and heavy limbs.
I can still smell Steven’s blood when I step out of the back door and into the night air.
It lingers as I get into my car and turn it on.
After lowering the roof, I back out and drive off with the wind whipping steadily around me. I barely slow as the wrought-iron gates open, allowing me to race past. When I turn onto the side road, I grip the steering wheel with both hands and inhale mouthfuls of air.
I have never lost control like that.
Never indulged the urge to beat a client to within an inch of their life.
And if I hadn’t mustered up enough self-control…
I’ve taken plenty of lives without a thought, but something about the look in Steven’s eyes made me pause.
Under normal circumstances, a man like Steven is untouchable, but I wasn’t in a forgiving mood where the little shit was concerned.
Trying to put the moves on London is bad enough.
Ratting her out to Noah for refusing to sleep with him is another.
Any man with an iota of self-preservation wouldn’t have set foot in the club again, but Steven doesn’t seem to have much common sense.
I did the club a favor by revoking his membership.
I press down on the gas pedal, take the next turn a little too sharply, and merge onto the main road.
The pale moon is high in the sky, and only a handful of streetlamps illuminate the empty stretch of road ahead of me.
I press down harder, until the world rushes past in a blur of shapes and colors.
It still isn’t enough to outrun the unease that’s taken hold of me. I want to go back to the manor, drag London out to the car, and drive away.
I want to put as much distance between us and the manor as possible.
It won’t make a difference. Even with safehouses all over the world, I know there’s no corner on Earth we can go where my father wouldn’t hunt us.
That’s if our enemies don’t get their hands on us first.
Think, Mason. You’ve never met a problem you couldn’t solve. All you have to do is figure out a way to convince London to give up the baby.
A car honks as I race past it, and I ignore the sound.
I press down harder.
The disgust I felt earlier is slowly turning into quiet determination.
I can have Katia set up a safehouse abroad for London’s parents and have London join them there until she’s ready to leave the baby.
I take another turn and nearly collide with a tree.
She won’t leave the baby, and you know it. London didn’t just keep it to herself because she knew you had a lot to deal with.
If I send London away, I don’t think I can make her come back. What use is dragging her back somewhere she doesn’t want to be, anyway?
Whatever love she has for me, her maternal instincts are already stronger.
As if we needed one more problem to deal with…
You just want to think of the baby as a problem to avoid the truth.
Sometime later, I pull up outside the manor with no memory of how I got there.
I slowly release the steering wheel and push the car door open, get out, and stride up the stairs.
In the kitchen, I retrieve a pack of ice and place it over my knuckles.
When I close the refrigerator door, Olivia is leaning against the counter, her hair pulled into a bun on top of her head.
“Don’t.” I brush past her and sit in an armchair overlooking the double French doors. “I’m sure you have better things to do.”
“I know that you only know how to push people away.” Olivia comes to stand next to me and folds her arms over her chest. “But this is different, and you know it.”
I press the ice against my knuckles and frown. “Does everyone but me know?”
Olivia sighs. “It isn’t about that. London didn’t tell me. I figured it out.”
“You think I should’ve noticed.”
“I think it doesn’t matter whether you did or didn’t. What matters is that you know now, so what are you going to do about it?”
I look back at my sister and scowl. “You realize there’s no version of this where London and I ride off into the sunset together, right? We are not going to raise this baby and spend the rest of our days watching them grow up.”
“Why not?”
I stand up and let the ice pack fall to the floor. “Are you fucking kidding me? Am I the only one who remembers who we are and the kind of world we live in?”
I don’t like being the only one thinking clearly.
I also don’t like being made to feel like I’m the bad guy.
Olivia waits for me to look at her. “I know it won’t be easy to leave, but you can. You’re Mason fucking Payne. If you want to start over, you can, and you know it.”