Chapter 38
Sophia
For the past six months, I’d had to deal with Sebby whining and telling Cameron to stop enabling Mason’s bratty behavior. She was too defiant, too stubborn, and he had no idea how to handle it—but if Cameron was a brat enabler, Sebastian was a brat maker.
After Mason ran off and ruined our breakfast, Sebastian didn’t punish her. She didn’t end up over his knee, crawling on all fours like the bitch she was being. No. He snuck her out of the house.
Cam called to ask where they were, and Sebastian took her to breakfast—just the two of them—then to buy books, then clothes.Which made sense because, according to Lucian’s anxious ramblings last night, Mason was pregnant again. And, I assumed she’d told everyone except for me.
Not that she really had a chance.
After the whole murder-is-bad, blah blah blah, she still hadn’t spoken a single word to me. No, seriously, after setting her little “ground rules,” if I entered a room, she left it.
But I could be patient.
So, when the men and Sebastian took the kids to the trampoline park and Mason settled in for a nap, I saw my chance—and took it.
She’d passed out in Sebby’s bed, not even under the covers. Just sprawled on top of his navy comforter, her silver dress pooled unevenly around her thighs, her hair fanned across his pillow, and one hand resting protectively over her stomach.
The curtains were cracked open just enough for sunlight to spill in, swallowing her whole. She looked like a kitten basking in the light. So sweet, it made my teeth hurt.
And while I wanted to wake her up, shake her around, and ask her what the hell was going on, I restrained myself.
I settled beside her, close enough to feel her breath brush my wrist.
Then, as if an internal alarm went off, her head jerked up.
Her lashes fluttered. Her eyes were unfocused, glassy with sleep, until they landed on me. Mason’s chest hitched with a sharp gasp, pupils snapping into pinpricks as her whole body went taut.
I reached out, smoothing a few freshly dyed silver strands from her cheek.
“Good morning, Honeybee.”I paused. The nickname no longer felt right.
Honeybees were harmless little workers, buzzing around, making life sweeter. Mason had been that once—soft, loyal, endlessly giving. But that wasn’t her role anymore. Not really.
Now, she was more of a bunny. Wide-eyed, skittish, and endlessly fertile.Rabbits didn’t make honey. They filled nests. They multiplied.And that was exactly what the boys had turned her into.
My thumb grazed the warm skin of her cheek. She flinched, just enough to be satisfying. She didn’t even realize she was already in the cage.
“You look tense, Little Rabbit,” I hummed, savoring the way the words fell from my lips.
They felt right. Especially because I didn’t take kindly to secrets—or being left out of the loop.
And while I’d never tell her, we had enough cum in this house to keep my Little Rabbit pregnant for years.
Mason was fast. When she set her mind to it, she could run. I hated that.But if we kept her belly swollen and her body heavy, it became exponentially harder for her to bolt.
Plus, she was such a good little mommy.
“You’re touching my stomach, and it hurts a little,” she mumbled.
My gaze flicked down, she was right. It hadn’t been intentional, and I wasn’t being rough, but I moved my hand anyway.
“Sorry. I just wanted to be closer to the baby,” I cooed.
Mason’s breath hitched as the last of her sleep disappeared. She pushed herself onto her elbows and looked at me.
I smiled.She looked away.
“I…” she started, slowly inching away.
“You what?” I asked softly, tilting my head like I was coaxing a confession from a child. “And don’t lie to me, Little Rabbit. A very bad dog let everything slip last night.”
Lucian, loose-lipped and guilt-ridden after their little heart-to-heart, had told me everything. How he’d poked holes in every single condom, hidden her birth control, and wanted to get her pregnant just to keep her here.
That’s why I made him take the kids to the trampoline park. Nothing like physical exhaustion, screaming toddlers, and sticky air to speed up withdrawal symptoms.
Now, it was just me and Mason.Sunlight warming her skin.My words hanging in the air like a noose she hadn’t noticed yet.
“I was going to tell you,” she mumbled, eyes still averted.
I reached forward, cupped her chin, and dragged her gaze back to me. “Were you?”
I didn’t believe her. But Mason nodded.
“I planned on it, I promise. It’s just—”She paused, eyes squeezing shut, breath catching as she choked on whatever words she couldn’t say.
“The homicide?” I offered.
She’d used the word murder a lot, and that didn’t quite fit. And if I called them what they really were—exterminations—she’d probably think I was a psycho.
Mason nodded.
“I just… Sebastian surprised me,” she said softly, then her eyes searched mine. “But you?”
I shrugged. “I’m more than willing to answer any questions. Just the two of us.”
She gnawed on her lip a moment, then tried to pull away. I slipped an arm around her waist.
“Do you know who Sebastian killed?” she asked.
I was a little jealous I wasn’t her first concern.
Not that I had anything scandalous to offer. Maybe if I played wingman for him, he’d do the same for me.
“No. But he and I worked for the same company before he quit to become a piercer. According to his file, outside of work obligations, he’s only killed one person.”
Honestly, that was probably the lowest number I’d ever seen in a S.H.A.D.E. file. Usually, we didn’t recruit people with fewer than three murders under their belt. We were seasoned professionals, after all.
Mason nodded. She didn’t press the issue, but I could see the gears turning behind her eyes.
“Who did you kill?”
I should’ve expected that question. But I hadn’t.
I figured she’d let it go, maybe assume it was self-defense or a misunderstanding.
Neither of which were true.
“I’ve killed eight people. Outside of work.”
She didn’t need to know the ins and outs of how I got away with it.
Nor that I was planning to make it nine once I figured out who Sebastian’s ex-boyfriend was.
“Did I know any of them?” she asked softly.
And that was the million-dollar question.
“You knew the first four.”
Honestly, if it weren’t for Mason, the first four might not have happened.
The first person I ever killed was the social worker who reunited Mason with her mom. There was no reason for her to go back to Holly’s house. Even at fourteen, I could see that.
And though I was scared, I figured no one would question it if her brakes just happened to stop working. She lived up the road, so one night I snuck out and pulled on everything I could reach under the car.
Car accidents were easy to stage.
The second? A cheerleader who thought it was funny to hide Mason’s clothes during gym, forcing her to walk around wrapped in a towel until she could find something in the lost and found.
Sports accidents were also easy to fake—especially when she was at the top of the pyramid.
One wobble during practice. That’s all it took.
The third was more for me, but I wouldn’t have known I had it in me without her. Our seedy sophomore history teacher tried to corner me for “extra credit,” so I put a little “magic” in his coffee. He got sicker and sicker, and eventually died of organ failure.
And finally—Holly Albright.
Her kicking Mason out when she was at her lowest? Diabolical.
It took a few years, but I got my revenge. I tracked down her dealer, paid him to spike her stash, and let her overdose.
Technically, I didn’t deliver the killing blow. But still. Mason didn’t need to know I killed her mom.
I couldn’t imagine that conversation going well in any lifetime.
“And did you have a reason?” Mason asked, her voice trembling.
I wondered what she was thinking—if she was afraid of me, or of what I might say.
So I just nodded. “They were the worst people I’ve ever met. And I wouldn’t have done it if I had any other choice.”
She seemed to accept that. Thank God.
Just as we were about to kiss and make up, my phone vibrated. I held up a finger and glanced at the screen.
My lips thinned. Momma.
I declined the call. Rude of her to interrupt me before I devoured my girlfriend’s pussy.
I placed my phone on Sebby’s nightstand and pressed Mason back into the mattress. She tensed, but the second my fingers grazed her collarbone, her eyes fluttered shut.
I hovered over her, kissed her neck, and reached for her dress.
My phone vibrated again.
My jaw tensed.
“Can I have just a moment?” I asked, forcing a smile that didn’t even feel convincing.
Mason nodded too fast—almost nervously. I doubted she cared about the call. She just wanted it over with.
I kissed her forehead, grabbed my phone, and slipped into the hallway.
The screen still read Momma. Not surprising.
“Hiiii, Momma,” I purred, closing Sebby’s door behind me. “This better be good.”
I tried to sugarcoat it, but the syrup didn’t quite cover the sour.
“Sophia. You have ten minutes to get to my house,” she said, clipped and cold as ice.
My stomach did a slow, ugly flip. “But you live half an hour away—”
“Nine minutes,” she corrected. “If you’re not here, I’ll pass your file to the local authorities and let you rot in prison instead of serving the rest of your time with the organization.”
My mouth fell open. That was a nuclear-level threat. Reserved for agents who crossed the line so far even execution wasn’t enough.
“What?” I hissed, pinching the phone between my palm and cheek. “I’m not disobeying you by not killing Sebby—you said—”
“Eight,” she cut me off, like she had an invisible stopwatch counting down to my demise. “Seven. Be here.”
The line went dead.
No bargaining. No time for my messy little manipulation tactics.And while a big part of me wanted to see what would happen if I ignored her…
Mason was still in the room behind me. Skittish. Maybe scared.
Police at the door wouldn’t help—even if handcuffs were kind of hot.
This wasn’t a game.S.H.A.D.E. could ruin my life.And Momma didn’t make exceptions. She made examples.
So, even if I didn’t want to go, my decision was already made.
The drive to my childhood home felt longer than usual—despite the fact I somehow made it in under seven minutes. I didn’t stop for a single red light, stop sign, or even a stray frog hopping across the road.
Momma’s car was parked in its usual spot, and I slid in beside it, killed the engine, and ran inside. No knocking required.
My stomach dropped the second I realized how quiet the house was.
Normally, my childhood home was loud enough to rival my found family. My youngest sister, Alice, was still in high school and constantly had friends over. Mom was always in the kitchen, fussing at her to clean up, do her homework, get off the phone, something.
But now?
The air was heavy with the scent of bleach, and the silence was so thick it felt wrong. Hostile.
My steps padded along the white tiles, echoing off tan walls lined with family portraits as I crept toward the back of the house.
“Momma?” I called.
No response.
I paused, my pulse pounding in my ears. The office door was slightly ajar at the end of the hall. Warm light spilled out, casting shadows across the walls. I reached out to steady myself, palm sliding along the cool beige paint as I crept forward like a burglar—not a daughter.
“Momma?” I tried again, softer this time.
My fingers trembled as I reached for the brass knob and slowly pushed the door open.
Relief washed through me when I saw her sitting at her desk.
For a second, everything felt normal. Papers sprawled across her desk in neat piles. Her favorite fountain pen resting on top. Her long black hair twisted into a tight bun. Her eyes locked on the monitor in front of her.
“Momma,” I exhaled, half laughing. “You scared me. Why’s the house so quiet? Where are Mom and Alice?”
She didn’t answer.
Her icy eyes—our eyes—lifted to mine like she’d been waiting for this moment. The air between us thickened, heavy and cold.
Finally, she spoke. “Sophia, have a seat.”
Her tone was flat. The same tone she’d used the night she recruited me. No emotion. Just disappointment etched deep into her face.
“You didn’t answer my question,” I said, my voice small. I shifted my weight, resisting the urge to bolt.
“Sit.” She snapped her fingers and pointed to the chair.
My heart jumped. I obeyed before my brain caught up.
She turned fully to face me, folding her hands on the desk. Her gaze cut through me like I was a criminal in a line up.
“Do you know why I summoned you?”
“Because you missed me?” I joked weakly.
She tilted her head. “That’s cute. Try again.”
I sucked air through my teeth, stalling. “Because you’re done waiting, and you want Sebastian’s severed head on a platter?”
That last part was a joke. Even if I had to kill Sebby, I had it planned out. I’d drug him first. Then smother his pretty little face with a silk pillow. Romantic.
To my surprise, Momma shook her head.
“When I recruited you to S.H.A.D.E., who did I say you were allowed to kill?”
Her words were laced with accusation.
“Uh… operatives who were out of line?” I offered. “And the occasional criminal?”
Momma nodded slowly. “So you understand that means you can’t just slaughter agents without orders, correct?”
I blinked. “Uh, what?”
“You’re not allowed to kill when the mood strikes.”
“No, no, pump the brakes. I get that. I haven’t. What the heck are you talking about?”
She stared at me like I was dumb. “Recently, I told you another operative was looking into Sebastian Castillo.”
“Yeah?”
“As of this morning, we have reason to believe she’s dead. And I find it more than suspicious that her death occurred after I informed you of her involvement.”
I barked out a high pitched laugh. “Wait–you think I killed her?”
Momma didn’t blink. She stared like she was studying a dead animal she wanted to dissect. “You’re protective of Castillo. This is exactly something you’d do.”
“Uh, yeah, if I knew who the agent was,” I snapped, crossing my arms. “Momma, do you even have a body?”
Silence.
“That’s what I thought.” I leaned back in the chair like I wasn’t about to sweat my tits off. “If you don’t have a body, how do you know she’s even dead?”
Momma tilted her head. “Do you know what I love about you, Sophia?”
Absolutely nothing. She’s told me as much.
“My charm?” I deadpanned.
“You always think you’re the smartest person in the room,” she said flatly.
“Uh, unless Sebby’s with me? I am,” I snorted.
For a second, I swore she smiled. Not one of her fake smiles to seem human, but something real.
Then she stood, smoothed her grapefruit-colored blouse, and walked over to me.
“Go home, Sophia,” she said, too calmly for someone who just accused me of murder. “And don’t make me call you back.”