6. Mason
6
MASON
G host and I keep our distance when we’re out in the yard, moving through the general population like two predators who recognize their own but refuse to hunt together. There’s a silent agreement between us—one that doesn’t need words. He’s on board, that much I know. But the other unspoken rule is just as important: we don’t make our alliance obvious. Not here. Not when every set of eyes in this place is trained on us, waiting, watching.
We’re the two highest-profile criminals in this prison, though for vastly different reasons. Ghost is infamous. A legend wrapped in myth, his name still whispered across news networks, his face flashing across screens every time another body is pulled from some forgotten grave, fueling the eternal question—was it one of his? The media feasts on him, digging up his past, spinning theories, rehashing old footage of him walking into the courthouse with that cold, unshaken stare.
Me? I’m the opposite. I avoid cameras like the plague. No press, no interviews, no public appearances. I keep my head down, my name floating under the radar by design. But people still know who I am. How could they not? And those who don’t? Well, curiosity is a powerful thing. If they dig deep enough, they’ll find the answers they’re looking for.
I’ve done what I came here to do. It took longer than planned—but the worst of it is over. The pieces are in place. Now, all I have to do is walk out of here and let the next phase unfold.
And that won’t take long.
My bail’s been posted. A few more hours, a couple of signatures, and I’ll be out of this hellhole. Just as soon as the ink dries on the paperwork.
And once I walk out those gates, the real work begins.
Freedom. I can almost smell it.
It clings to the edges of my senses, teasing me, promising things I’ve taken for granted—the feel of my own bed, the sound of silence that isn’t punctuated by the distant echoes of men losing their minds. Even the damn shower water at home will be different. I won’t leave it feeling like I’ve somehow gotten dirtier.
I push back from the table, ready to walk, ready to leave this place behind, when Clay’s voice stops me.
“I need a favor.”
I glance down at him. The kid looks wrecked, like I just told him his last friend in the world is walking out the door. Maybe I did. Maybe that’s exactly what’s happening. The thought grates at me.
Ghost will look out for him, but something about Clay staying in here when he’s innocent doesn’t sit right.
I sigh, dropping back into my chair. “Make it quick.”
Clay fidgets, his fingers pulling at the fraying edge of his sleeve. “They wouldn’t even allow me a phone call, Mase. Please…” His brows knit together like he’s not sure how to say what he needs.
“Tell me.”
He exhales, shaky, hesitant. “Could you just get a message to my sister? She lives local. She doesn’t even know that I’m in here.”
I watch him carefully. His eyes don’t meet mine. There’s more to this than he’s letting on. “What’s the message?”
“Just… tell her where I am. Let her know I’m okay. And…” He hesitates, his throat bobbing with the effort. “Tell her that David knows she’s here. And that she needs to be careful.”
Something shifts in the air between us.
I lean in slightly, my voice dropping. “What does that mean, kid? You into some shady shit?”
He shakes his head fast, eyes wide, skin paling. “No. David is her ex-husband. She’s just trying to avoid him.”
Ah. One of those situations.
Messy. Dangerous. The kind of thing I wouldn’t normally get involved in. But Clay isn’t asking for much. And I already told myself I’d get him out of here.
I nod. “That’s all?”
He scratches the back of his neck, something still lingering on his tongue. “Tell her to organize a lawyer to get me out of here.”
I lean back, studying him. “That’s okay, kid. I’ve got you covered.”
His eyes narrow slightly, cautious. “What do you mean?”
“My lawyer’s coming to see you tomorrow.” I crack a small, knowing smirk. “You’ll be out in no time.”
Clay blinks at me, completely still, like his brain needs a minute to catch up. “You serious?”
“Dead serious. But give me your sister’s address, and I’ll swing by on my way home.” I stand, ready to walk this time. “Anything I need to know? Like killer dogs behind the front gate?”
He shakes his head, relief flooding his features. “No. Just, obviously, knock.”
I look at him like he’s grown two heads and give him a slight shake of my head. “Geez, kid, what did you think I’d be doing? Opening the front door and just walking right in?”
“My sister’s a bit anxious. You’ll have to convince her that I sent you,” he says.
The task of paying Clay’s sister a visit is getting more arduous by the minute; I’m already second-guessing the promise I’ve made him when he tells me they have a secret code word. If she’s anywhere near as odd as her brother, I’m going to end up with a migraine before my head hits my pillow tonight.
“Kewpie,” Clay mutters, and my eyebrows shoot up so fast I swear they almost leave my face.
“Kewpie?” I echo, the word tasting ridiculous in my mouth. “That’s your code word?”
He must catch the disbelief written all over my face because his ears turn red, and he drops his head, suddenly fascinated with the table in front of him.
The thing is, despite the ridiculous nature of the conversation, I can’t help but think that if I’d had kids, I would have wanted them to be comfortable enough with each other that they’d share code words. I don’t know that Mia and her sisters ever had such a bond, despite Mia acting like a mother hen around them. In a way, it’s endearing.
“I’ll give her the message,” I assure him, before I nod once and turn to leave.
His thank you reaches me even as I walk away, reluctant to turn back to see more of that sadness on his face.
I should be thinking about my own freedom right now, about getting the hell out of here and never looking back. But as I walk away, something about Clay’s request lingers, burrowing under my skin like a splinter that refuses to be ignored.
David knows she’s here. And she needs to be careful.
Yeah. I might be out of this place soon.
But something tells me I’m not done with Clay Monroe just yet.
There are two cars waiting when I step through the prison gates, the late afternoon sun glaring down on me like an interrogation light. The world outside feels too open, too exposed after days locked away, but I push past the sensation, rolling my shoulders as I take in the scene.
Jayson Caluna leans against the driver’s side door of one of the cars, arms folded across his chest, feet crossed at the ankles. He’s too relaxed, too casual, but that’s Jayson for you. My right-hand man. Indispensable. Ever since he turned on Frank Falcone and helped us get Mia back, he’s been a mainstay in my life. In my family’s life.
He straightens as I approach, tapping me on the back in a half-hug. “How was your holiday?”
Cheeky bastard. Only Jayson could get away with acting like that. We call him the Maltese Falcon—not just because Falcone stole him from the Maltese mafia, but because he towers over the rest of us like some kind of predatory bird, always watching, calculating. Yeah, when we stole him from Falcone, we knew exactly what we were doing.
“Where to, boss?” he asks, taking the small duffel from my hand like I’ve been on a business trip instead of locked in a goddamn cell.
I stop walking.
My promise to Clay tugs at me, the weight of it unexpected. I’m not bastard enough to turn my back on the kid, but I also don’t need my men seeing that I’m growing soft.
“Actually,” I say, flicking my gaze toward the second car where Enzo and Lupe are waiting. “I need to make a stop. Mind catching a ride back with the boys?”
Jayson frowns, the confusion flashing in his eyes before he smooths his expression. “I can drive you anywhere you want to go, boss.”
I shake my head. “I have to do this on my own. You go ahead—I’ll meet you back at the office tonight.”
He studies me for a long second, then tips his head in silent agreement. “Don’t get yourself into trouble,” he mutters before walking toward the other car. “I don’t want to have to bail you out of jail a second time.”
The only one, I tell you.
I climb into the Audi, turn the key, and peel away from the curb, my foot pressing down hard on the gas as I speed past them.