Chapter 14 Mason
MASON
“Where have you been?” Kane demands when I finally make it back to The Barrel.
“Where have I been?” I plop down and sprawl out on the couch. “What, are you my mother, now?”
“Hugo’s been waiting for you.” Kane grins.
“The fuck now?” I throw out an arm. “I’ve had a busy night. Can’t you two knuckleheads take care of your own shit for one day?”
“Busy doing what exactly?” Kane presses, his brows furrowing. “You’ve been gone every night this week. Should I be worried?”
“Did you get a fresh batch of annoying from my father today? Back the fuck off,” I snap and throw the rugby ball at his face. He dodges it with a swift turn of the head.
“Is he here?” Hugo’s angry voice comes from upstairs as he storms down the stairs. I throw my head back and sigh. I’m far too knackered for one of Hugo’s rants. “Hey, dickhead.” He points at me. “Did you torch that fucker’s car at The Vault?”
“What car?” Kane looks between us, sniffing trouble like the watchdog he is.
“Some knob who pissed him off,” Hugo grunts. “You couldn’t have moved his car away from the fucking generator? You fried the fucking electrics, prick.”
They both stare at me like I give a fuck.
“Care to explain?” Kane cocks an eyebrow. “Is there a body to dispose of, or is James taking care of it already?”
“No one got hurt,” I scoff.
“Tell that to the blood on your split knuckles.” He motions toward my hand.
I give him a hard stare. “No one really got hurt.”
“Thank fuck for that.” Kane snorts, then points his thumb toward Hugo. “This one has done enough damage to last us weeks.”
“What?” Hugo groans. “That motherfucking Etheridge guard left Mase to die. What did you want me to do?”
“Not get him beaten up.” Kane shoots him a glare. “There are other ways to deal with this shit, idiots.”
“Yeah, we could send you to talk his ears off.” I lift a shoulder. “That will be equally torturing.”
Hugo barks a laugh as Kane scowls at me.
“I warned you,” he mutters, leaning forward. “You should have left the Etheridge girl alone.”
Hugo smirks, quietly considering grassing me up. Not that I care who knows I pay the princess a visit every night. But if I have to hear Kane’s nonsense for one more minute, I may have to nail him to the walls.
I had to tell Hugo when he caught me trying to mount my bike with a concussion the next night.
He didn’t ask questions, just drove me to her flat.
Of course, the next day, he traded his silence for taking over The Austin, the pub he can’t shut up about.
One he will lose, among other things, if he tries to cross me.
“I still think we should tell Reg…”
“I told you, I don’t want my father involved. Unlike you, I can handle my own shit.”
“This is bigger than you,” Kane drawls, throwing an arm in the air.
“It’s taken care of.” Hugo slaps Kane’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “Now, quit it before he breaks your head. Mum is going to get really mad if she has to stitch up another fucking skull in the middle of the night. And you,” he points at me, “the refurb is coming out of your share.”
Hugo grabs some snacks and a six-pack of beer, then strides to the recliners and settles in with his Xbox controller.
“You know you haven’t paid rent in three years,” I bark. He flips me off without taking his eyes off the television.
Kane watches Hugo’s game with disinterest, his brain churning, cooking up schemes.
“So, did you find out anything more about Jack Romney?” I ask Kane.
“Yes and no.” He lifts a shoulder.
“The fuck does that mean?” I rise from the couch.
“Yes, I did, and no, I’m not telling you.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“Because we have enough trouble with Daniel Etheridge poking around businesses in Fort. I don’t need your dramatics right now. You want to keep Reg out of it, fine. But I’m taking care of this my way. Just do your part.”
“Which is?”
“Stay away from the Etheridge girl,” he says, like he’s repeating himself for the thousandth time. He is. And I have no fucks to give.
“Do you see her tied to my bed?” I cock an eyebrow. She’s tied to hers. That’s different.
“Thankfully, you have a pretty busy bed.” Kane chuckles.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
I’m too tired for his fucking metaphors. So I ignore the squatters and drag myself up the stairs to my bedroom. The floorboards screech under my boots as I dig into my pocket and take out my phone.
What is Berkeley hiding?
Luka
***
Find the fuck out then.
I head to my bedroom on the eastern side of The Barrel, separated from Hugo and Kane’s by a long, creaking hallway. I step into the dimly lit room, hurl my gear onto the recliner, and pull off my T-shirt as I reach for the light switch.
“Fuck!” I shout.
My hands freeze in midair when I see a silver-blond sprawled across my bed in her lingerie—Charlotte Pike. Hugo’s sister.
“Jesus fucking Christ! What the fuck are you doing here, Lottie?” I put my shirt back on in one swift movement, before she gets a good look.
She sits up, chest heaving, flashing the black glittery fabric of her bra that barely covers her nipples.
“Come on, Mason,” she coos. “I’m swiping you before someone else gets their paws on you.” She lies down, propped on her elbows, and arches her back.
The fuck is wrong with these girls?
“You aren’t swiping anything, Lottie,” I fume, then grab her clothes from the floor and throw them at her. “Now, cover yourself up and get out of here before your brother sees you and puts me in the ground.” I point at my door.
She shrugs off her clothes, standing in her bra and panties with her hand on her hip.
For the record—nothing.
Not even a cock twitch. The only thing I feel is fucking annoyance.
“I know you dumped Hannah. What’s stopping you?”
“The fuck is Hannah?”
“Hannah Wickham. You ended it with her, right?” She crosses her arms over her chest. When was I with her? Her brows furrow at my confusion.“I’m not losing you to any other bitch. So, fuck me already.”
I run a hand over my face with a long groan.
“Does your head still hurt? Should I call Mum?”
“No,” I spit.
Beth is an Emergency Nurse Practitioner.
Our go-to person when one of us cracks open something.
Though treating injuries outside hospitals is not in her job description.
She did me a big favour and saved me some trouble with the doctors and likely coppers, which would have definitely gotten my father involved.
But with how much Lottie has been hanging around since then, I wish Hugo had just dumped me outside A&E.
“If you are worried about Dad or Hugo, I can handle them.” She takes a few steps toward me, swaying her hips, then juts her chin out. “I’m not a kid anymore.”
“I can see that.” I wave towards her. “In fact, I never thought I would see so much of my friend’s baby sister. Now, get dressed and get the fuck out, or I’m calling Hugo up here, right now.”
Her face pinches at my tone. She makes a face as she slides into her clothes. “Just so you know, I’m not giving up,” she chirps as she walks past me.
I hear the footsteps slither down the stairs, followed by the creak of the back door as it opens, then closes.
Only then do I let out a deep breath, exhaling the weight of what feels like more than fatigue, and collapse on my bed. The sheets stink of powerful, flowery perfume that strangles my lungs, but I’m too tired to drag myself off the mattress to change them.
The scar on my skull throbs. Beth did the best she could at short notice. Still, it’s been days, and my head still thumps, my brain a cloud of fog after a long night. The lack of sleep probably doesn’t help.
When I woke up the next day, I wanted to strangle her for betraying me, defying me, daring to push me away. Just for having the fucking audacity to think she could.
I returned to her room the next night…
She slept soundly in her bed, while my head still pounded.
But when I searched through her phone, I found nothing.
She didn’t call or text Jack. She rang her brother the next day, as she has been since she got here.
That piece of shit can’t be bothered to reply to his grieving sister, yet manages to send me a punch through his lapdogs.
He is at the top of my list now. Daniel Etheridge better hope I don’t see his face anytime soon. For his sake. And hers.
Two weeks ago, I wouldn’t have cared if she’d died in that accident. I would’ve raised a glass to the end of the Etheridge line. Might’ve bought the whole of Fort a round in celebration.
But she belongs to me now.
Mine from the first touch—irreversibly, irrevocably, mine. Even if she never asked to be.
And I’m not letting her go.