Chapter Twenty-Eight
Mason
Mathew’s voice drones on in the background, but I have my back turned to him as I stand at the window.
Even though he’s on speaker, it feels like my father is in the office with us.
His presence is already suffocating.
I don’t even know why Mathew is here.
He shouldn’t be here, but he’s almost gleeful as he stands on the other side of the room, agreeing with everything my father says. He’s even chimed in with a few ideas, all of which my father has unsurprisingly shot down.
Mathew has never been one to use his head.
Of all the qualities he possesses, he doesn’t have a head for business. It’s one of the many reasons I’m the one that must take care of our problem.
Mathew will only make it worse.
Worse than getting so distracted, you couldn’t close a simple deal, and you let a woman get inside your head? Those are Mathew-level fuckups, and you know it.
I’m surprised my father hasn’t flown over here and ripped the door off its hinges on his way to crucify me. I expect him to burst in, veins bulging in his neck, and his face a dark and angry shade of red. I can’t remember the last time he was this pissed.
Can you blame him? You’ve been assuring him for months it’s all taken care of, and yet here you are, on the precipice of war, and you have no one to blame but yourself.
Fucking London.
I should’ve known she was trouble when I first laid eyes on her in the diner.
A smart man would’ve kept it professional.
A little too late for that, don’t you think? You’re not going to leave her to the mercy of your enemies.
I tell myself that London should’ve known better than to get involved with me and then sneak away, but the guilt churning in my stomach says otherwise.
No matter the cost, I can’t condemn her to that fate knowing it won’t be merciful or quick.
Frowning, I move to take a drink and pause when I realize the glass is empty. My frown deepens as I walk over to the tray with the decanter and pause. Mathew’s eyes are still on me, but he’s unusually quiet.
Bastard.
It figures he’d be around when everything is falling apart, almost as if he planned the whole thing.
Upon further reflection, I realize he isn’t smart enough or stupid enough to engineer any of this in the hopes of removing me from the equation.
He doesn’t have the finesse or patience to put something like this together.
He knows, head of the Payne empire or not, I wouldn’t hesitate to go after him if I found out he’d set me up.
Despite our rivalry, there are lines we don’t cross, and turning on each other is one of them.
Maybe he needs reminding.
I eye Mathew over and consider my next move carefully. His face gives nothing away.
Has he learned how to be a better liar during his time away?
It isn’t until I finish the drink I’m holding that I realize my father is calling my name.
I blink. “There’s no need for you to come down.”
“There is every need,” Jack says. “I knew you’d fuck up, but this is big, even for you. Luckily, I have business that still needs tending to. Clean this shit up, Mason.”
“I will.”
“You’d better.”
I’ve spent an hour standing here, listening to him call me every name under the sun. And then another hour listening to him detail a plan for damage control to salvage our alliance with the Everetts and Fitzpatricks.
Why do I care? My father didn’t call me to put our heads together and come up with a plan. He just wants someone to hurl obscenities at.
For now, I’ll do.
You’ve already tried getting him to listen to your plan, and he won’t have it. What else can you do?
My father’s plan won’t work. Bending to their will won’t get them to back off in the long term.
Taking London is the first step in a much larger scheme, and even though I’ve spent the past few days turning over every stone and calling in every favor, I’m no closer to putting together what they’re doing.
I hate surprises.
Are they staging a coup?
Muscling in on our territory?
Looking to expand without cutting us in on the deal?
Removing us from the equation altogether?
There are too many scenarios and far too many unknowns for me to narrow it down.
Each night for the past few days, I’ve lain in bed, inhaling the sweet smell of London’s perfume and wondering how I let it get this far.
In my dreams, when she visits me, I see her calling out to me in a green field, the sun high over her head.
But when I get to her, she’s lying in a pool of blood.
Each time, I wake up thrashing and covered in sweat because I keep seeing her face staring up at me as the light in her eyes dies, and when I look even closer, her features change into my mother’s.
You couldn’t save her, either. How does it feel to know you’re a colossal fuckup, just like Mathew thinks you are?
Shit.
I keep reminding myself that London isn’t my mom, and the situations are vastly different, but no matter how many times I reiterate it, I can’t bring myself to accept it.
I hate that London dredges up these feelings.
I don’t want to care about her, much less spend every waking moment coming up with a plan to save her.
You were supposed to corrupt her. She wasn’t supposed to rub off on you.
I have no idea how she did it, or how I let her get close enough to succeed.
It shouldn’t have taken her life being in danger for me to realize the truth.
That she’s been letting the light in, coaxing parts of me I thought were long dead, and I let her.
Hell, a part of me was even starting to see myself through her eyes.
Goddamn it all to hell.
Being away from her shouldn’t be this unbearable, but it is.
It feels like I can’t breathe.
At least you’re no longer wasting precious time or energy pretending she doesn’t mean something to you.
As soon as the phone call ends, I offer Mathew a brusque nod and wave him off. He scowls and storms out of the study, passing Katia on her way in. She waits for a long moment before shutting the door behind her, then takes a phone from her pocket and sets it on the desk.
“What did you find out?”
Katia clears her throat. “I found her,” she says. “And London isn’t working with them.”
I search her face. “Are you sure?”
Katia nods.
I’m relieved to know I haven’t been duped, and that London wasn’t sent to blindside me.
It also makes everything worse.
It would’ve been easier if she was a rat. Then I could just write this whole thing off as a lapse in judgment and lick my wounds in silence.
I take out my Glock and examine it intently. “Is everything ready?”
“I’ve made it clear to the men that anyone who breathes a word of tonight will have to answer to me.”
The barest smile stretches out across my face. “Good.”
I can’t afford Mathew getting a whiff of what we’re about to do.
Executing a rescue against my family’s wishes will be hard enough without considering who I’m going up against.
The Everetts and Fitzpatricks need to know they can’t get away with this, consequences be damned.
The element of surprise is one of the few things I have going for me.
There’s too much on the line, but it’s also too late for me to back down.
I stroll out of the mansion, adopting a blank expression.
I do a quick sweep of the floor, pausing to talk to a few clients.
Somewhere in the shadows, I know Mathew is watching and waiting to swoop in if I step out of line.
I make inane chit-chat as I do another turn, nodding to some of the women.
When I’m sure Mathew has lost interest, I duck down one of the hallways and wait.
A heartbeat later, Katia slithers into the shadows next to me and peers out. Slowly, we creep down the hallway.
Once we reach the back door, Katia whispers something into the phone, and Carlisle rounds the corner.
He reaches into his pocket and presses a finger to his lips.
Katia points her flashlight at the scanner next to the door, and I roll my shoulders.
After punching in a few numbers, the door hisses open, and a musty smell pours in.
Katia goes first, and I follow, with Carlisle bringing up the rear.
The tunnel is damp and quiet, save for a quiet dripping somewhere deep inside.
I keep my eyes fixed ahead.
Katia blazes confidently ahead, taking a few more turns before we reach a ladder.
She pulls it down and glances back at me before jumping up, her movements quick and lithe as she snakes her way to the top.
She throws open the hatch and sticks her head out.
A moment later, she looks down at us and nods.
My hands are sweaty as I grip the ladder and quiet my breathing.
At the top, Katia reaches out a hand, but I don’t take it.
I hoist myself out and pause to dust myself off.
Carlisle is the last to emerge, and he stops to slam the hatch, grimacing when it bangs loudly. I look up to see that Katia is already studying the alley we’re in, her eyes darting back and forth. She and Carlisle check behind the dumpsters and do a quick circle before returning to me.
A silver sedan waits by the curb.
A few storm clouds are gathering in the distance as I quicken my pace and ignore the buzzing in my pocket.
I throw myself into the backseat and ignore the warning signals going off in my head.
I’m coming, London. I know you’re probably going to hate me when this is all over, but at least you’ll be alive to do that.
Carlisle slides into the driver’s seat and revs the engine, the sound slicing through the stillness of the night air. Katia is the last to get in, turning to face me in the back.
Is she waiting for me to call this off?
I can tell she is, and I almost want to agree with her.
I don’t see this ending well, but it doesn’t matter.
I’m Mason fucking Payne, and they picked the wrong person to mess with.