Chapter Twenty-Five #4
Mathew picks up his glass and tilts it in my direction. His lips spread into a slow, knowing smirk. “So, the rumors are true. The indomitable Mason Payne has feelings after all. I haven’t seen you this riled up, in…ever.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about. You know I don’t like to share. That’s nothing new.” I eye him. “She’s just here to take the edge off. I’ve grown tired of Katia, and it’s good to change things up. You should see how naive she is.”
Mathew’s expression lights up, and he licks his lips. “I bet she’s into all kinds of dirty stuff.”
I shrug. “She’s getting there. Stripping it all away and exposing those parts of her… that’s the best part.”
I hate talking to him about London and everything we share, but he’s buying it.
She’s safe for now.
Mathew chuckles. “Sounds like you’re enjoying yourself.”
I force myself to smile. “She’s a good fuck, but she’s not worth any trouble. You can have her when I’m done.”
Mathew’s smile sends a chill down my spine. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
Fucking asshole.
How in the hell can I protect London from him without him learning what she is to me, and how much I’ve grown to care about her?
He won’t hesitate to use her against me, and that won’t be the worst part.
What Mathew does will be nothing compared to what our father will.
Come on, take the bait, take the bait…
Matthew downs his drink and wipes a hand across his mouth. “I think I’ll stick around for a while.”
I cross over to him and pour a drink. I let my eyes move over his face, slowly, intently while my mind races.
“You might as well help me figure this out then. It’s the fucking Everetts and Fitzpatricks,” I say. “They’ve been trying to cut us out for a while.”
Mathew’s eyebrows raise. “Father know about this?”
“I’ve tried to tell him, but he won’t hear it. Today was only the beginning. They’re gunning for us, and I’ll be damned if I don’t give them the fight of their lives.”
Mathew frowns. “It’s a good thing I’m here.”
I brush past him and sit behind my desk. Slowly, I link my fingers and offer him a bored look. “Let’s talk business.”
Mathew’s smile falls, but he quickly recovers and strides over to me. He stops on the other side of the desk and tilts his head. “Let’s talk business.”
***
London
I push myself off the edge of the bed and frown. “You should get that looked at. I don’t think what I did earlier was enough. I’m not a doctor.”
Mason presses his mouth into a thin, white line. “Didn’t I tell you it was nothing to concern yourself with? I don’t like having to repeat myself.”
I swallow. “I know, but…”
Mason covers the distance between us, and there’s a dark gleam in his eyes. “I don’t have time for this today. Think before you open your fucking mouth, or I’ll give you something to shut you up.”
I jerk back as if I’ve been slapped. “I was just expressing concern. There’s no need to get wound up.”
Especially not after what happened in the living room.
My skin still burns from his touch, and my mouth is still tingling.
God help me, but I want to finish what we started.
Even the memory of Carlisle walking in on us isn’t enough to make me take it back.
I don’t think anything is.
Why am I not more concerned?
Mason mutters something and takes a step back. “Don’t you have something else to do?”
I scowl. “What the hell is your problem?”
I’m regretting going to the guest room when every instinct told me to run in the opposite direction.
Mason’s eyes flash. “Right now, my problem is you. You need to do as you’re told. We are not playing house.”
I ignore the twist in my chest. “I don’t need you to tell me that every damn second. You think I don’t know what this is?”
Each time I think I’m getting closer to peeling back the layers, he pushes back harder, and I have to start all over again.
I’m not even sure why I bother.
Because somewhere deep down inside, you want to be the one to fix him. Just like you want him to be the one to set you free. You need to let this sad little fantasy go if you have any hope of surviving, London. Don’t be stupid.
Mason straightens his back. “Start acting like it then. You could make yourself useful and do some cleaning while you’re here.”
I stiffen, and it feels like he’s poured ice water on me. “That wasn’t part of the agreement.”
I’ll be damned if I get down on my hands and knees to scrub his floors.
I have no idea what’s gotten into him, but he’s in an even worse mood than usual.
It must have something to do with his brother.
Based on his reaction, I’m going to assume this isn’t a social visit, but I’ve learned my lesson after snooping last time.
I won’t get sucked into his drama.
You shouldn’t even be here. You should go back to the complex with whatever shred of dignity you have left.
Except something about the look in his eyes when he told me to stay made it impossible to leave. I can’t seem to make myself turn my back on him, and God help me but I want to make him feel better.
I want to silence his demons.
Mason takes another step and towers over me. “You’ll do whatever the fuck I tell you to do, and you’ll like it. I own you, London. Don’t forget that.”
Tears burn the back of my eyes, but I blink them back. “Screw you.”
Mason goes as still as a statue. “What did you just say to me?”
I square my shoulders and draw myself up to my full height. “You heard me.”
His expression darkens. “Luckily for you, I have business to attend to. You’ll pay for that tonight.”
I give him the dirtiest look I can muster, but it doesn’t faze him.
Without waiting for a response, I stalk away, and I feel Mason’s eyes on me the whole time.
Goddamn Mason Payne, his stupid rules, his contract, and everything about this arrangement.
What the hell am I doing?
I am not his slave.
I can leave whenever I want.
Haven’t we already been through this? You only think you can leave and not have it all blow up in your face, but you know that he’s not wrong. You can’t walk away now.
Like it or not, Mason has me right where he wants me, and there isn’t a damn thing I can do.
But I don’t have to take it lying down.
I refuse to let him break me.
I’m halfway to the kitchen when my phone rings.
For a while, I ignore it and step into the kitchen and look around.
I open and close several cupboards before I realize I have no idea what I’m doing.
When I stop in front of the fridge and peer into it, I exhale.
I count backward from five, stand up, and fling open the nearest cupboard.
I pour myself a shot and study the glass.
My phone rings again, jolting me out of my reprieve.
I answer without looking. “Hello?”
“London? It’s me. I need your help.” My dad’s voice is low and scratchy. “Do you think you can get away?”
I glance around and lower my voice. “Dad, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“You need to get here.” His voice is urgent. “Now.”
I frown. “Dad, I can’t. What’s going on?”
There’s a cacophony of voices, and the sound of a struggle.
Then the line goes dead.
My heart is pounding as I pull the phone away from my ear and dial Noah’s number with trembling fingers.
“Come on, pick up.” A few moments later, I hang up and shove the phone into my pocket.
My mind races as I pace the kitchen, sorting through my options.
I try my dad, again and again, only to receive the same busy tone.
The minutes stretch on, and there’s a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach.
I down my drink and sneak upstairs to the guest room.
Half an hour later, I make it to the small servants’ quarters on the ground floor.
I remember the back exit there, duck out of the house and lift the hoodie over my head.
I break into a jog, praying no one stops me, making my way to the service gates.
I fall to a crouch, moving through the thick foliage around the service road, looking for a way over the complex walls.
I find a tree near the West wall, and climbing it brings back childhood memories that I quickly push away. There’s no time for nostalgia, not when I can be caught at any moment.
One branch hold my weight well enough to allow me to cross the wall, and the drop down send s a jolt through my whole body.
Lucky you didn’t sprain your ankle.
I break into a spring. My hoodie falls back, and the wind whips through my hair, but I don’t care.
I have to get to my dad.
No matter our differences, he needs me, and no one is going to stop me from helping him.
Hang on, Dad. I’ll be there as soon as I can.
I’m covered in sweat when I hurl myself into the backseat of a taxi and hunker down.
He hits the gas and peels away from the estate.
I throw money at him and race from the car before it comes to a complete stop. My heart is in my throat, and I breathe a sigh of relief when I spot my dad’s car in the driveway. Then I burst through the front door and see the overturned side table and shards of glass on the carpet.
“Dad? It’s me.” I creep into the house and flick on the lights. In the living room, I pause when I spot a vague outline. A heartbeat later, I hear a muffled cry and lurch toward the sound, barely able to make out two outlines pressed against each other.
“London, you shouldn’t have come. They lured you here. It’s a—”
Before my dad can finish his sentence, an arm clamps down on my shoulder. I stumble backward, my shriek is cut off as a pair of arms wrap around me from behind. I buck and thrash and throw my head backward, earning a grunt in response.
The last thing I see is my father and Noah’s pale faces, their hands bound, and their mouths moving soundlessly.
Then, the world goes black.