Chapter 18 Mason
MASON
I don’t know what changed. Nothing, as far as I can tell.
The earth didn’t tear open. The sky didn’t fall. A meteorite didn’t fucking hit us.
Then what the fuck changed so drastically in the last thirty seconds that has her pulse racing? Why are her eyes glistened? And why does she look like she’s not even here?
“Eva?” I call, yanking her chin toward me.
Her eyes meet mine, lips quivering. She blinks rapidly. A few tears fall and mark her beautiful face. The fucking nerve.
“Um…” She winces, her hand twisting in mine. I turn it over, and a muscle jumps in my jaw. She’s dug her nails deep enough to leave wounds.
I can’t fucking stand it.
“Can you please slow down?” she mumbles, her strangled voice cuts deep as realization hits me like a brick.
Fuck. The accident.
It’s a similar road—a lonely stretch of countryside. Narrow. Deserted, swallowed by hedgerows on either side.
My foot jerks off the accelerator, but I fight the urge to slam on the brakes, the impact from which would probably trigger her more. I hold steady until the car coasts. As we slow down, so do the beats in her wrist. Her breath finds its rhythm, warmth bleeding into her cheeks.
“Better?” I ask, not trusting her answer and already counting her pulse.
“Yeah, I just get a bit motion sick.” She swallows.
Of course. Heaven forbid she ever admits to having a weakness. And no—the irony is not lost on me. The difference is, I don’t bury my cracks and let them grow roots inside me. I wear them where I can see them. A reminder of what’s been splintered and soldered back together.
“How far away is it?”
“Fifteen minutes.”
It would have been seven, but since I can’t drive any faster, Kane is just going to have to wait.
“And where exactly are we going?” Her brows furrow. “Please tell me there won’t be any spiders.”
“Well, it’s in the forest, so there will be spiders, among other things.” I turn the wheel, gliding us down the narrow road threading through the woods.
She chews on her lips, eyes tracing the sky-high, thin trees closing us in on either side. Her fingers clutch mine tighter when the rustle of birds makes her flinch.
“Is this how I die?” she asks in a low voice.
I chuckle, pulling into the only lodge on this side of the lake. I ease the car to a stop a little farther down the road, just in case. Two Range Rovers and a Jeep are already parked outside the front door.
Fucking great! Nothing better than taking over from Kane’s half-arsed games.
“Is this it?” Her eyes skim the shimmering night lake and the double-story lodge that sits in the large clearing.
“Yes.” I kill the engine. “Now, what’s it going to cost me to get you to stay put?”
“Excuse me?”
“I need to take care of business.” I motion toward the lodge. “I can’t do that if I have to worry about you being a brat.”
Her teeth clench as she bites back whatever snarky retort was on the tip of her tongue. She stares at me with narrowed eyes before her beautiful blues sparkle.
“I can ask for… anything?”
“Within reason.”
She holds out her hand. “I want to borrow your phone.”
“Why?”
“So, I can snoop.” She shrugs. “You know, like how you go through my phone and laptop every night. It’s only fair.”
She could have asked for anything, and she wants my bloody phone.
“Go for it, Etheridge.” Her eyes grow wide as I enter the passcode and place my phone in her cold hand. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”
Keys in the ignition, I slide up the window and turn up the heating, then leave with a last warning look toward her.
The front door creaks open to reveal a suspiciously soundless lounge.
My eyes sweep across the eerie, shadowed corners.
This lodge has always had a gothic vibe.
Like most places Rob owned before Kane took over.
I walk into the silent room, where the fire is almost burned out.
Beer bottles and empty glasses lie on the tables, but not a soul is in sight.
“Where is he?” I shout. “Berkeley?”
“In here.” James’s deep voice echoes from the kitchen.
I head toward the dim room, the single ceiling shade throwing a harsh pool of light over the island.
James, Berkeley, and Luka stand with their backs to me.
It reeks of beer, smoke, and bleach. A man’s tied up on the floor—Owen.
One of the troublemaker rebels. He’s too ancient for any influence, in my opinion, but Kane thinks otherwise.
And in matters like this, I like to leave the thinking to him.
It’s a skill for men with endless patience.
I would rather bash their heads until they tell me what I need to know.
Efficient and effective. I don’t take pleasure in hearing bones crack.
But none of these fuckers are saints, so I have zero guilt about taking them down a few pegs.
Kane stands in the corner, leaning like a priest waiting for the confessions to begin. He turns to me, James and Luka parting, as I walk in.
“Where’s Pike?” Kane looks behind me, expecting Hugo to follow.
“Fixing his face.” I crack my knuckles.
Kane lets out a long exhale, but doesn’t press.
“And what do we have here?” My head tilts to stare at our broken-nosed guest.
“The fucker won’t talk,” James mutters impatiently. He is our fixer. If anything needs taking care of quietly, he does it. No questions asked.
“Is that so, Owen?” I raise my eyebrows. “What happened, mate? Cat got your tongue?”
“Have your fun all you want,” Owen grumbles. “We both know you’re not going to kill me.”
“Do we?” I hold my hand out. Luka hands me the bat from the dining table. “Or are you mistaking me for my father?”
His eyes twitch, teeth clacking. Faint signs, but enough.
I warm my shoulders and take a couple of practiced swings, the bat cutting through the air with a clean whoosh.
“Let’s see if I can find his tongue, shall we?” I aim a gust of wind that lashes Owen’s face. “What’s he supposed to tell us again?” I ask Kane.
Kane glowers at me, hating the theatrics, and shoves a tablet across the island. My fingers tighten on the bat as the screen lights up. Whatever shifts in my face makes Kane’s eyes narrow.
Photo after photo fills the display.
Eva. Her guard. Her friends. Faces snapped from across streets, through café windows, on pavements. Everywhere.
My head snaps to Owen. One full swing drives the bat into the side of his face. Blood spurts out of his nose, coughs spraying claret on the pristine white walls, before he drops to his side.
Kane slams his beer down, staring at me in disbelief.
“You forgot to ask the question, dick.” James snorts.
“He knows the fucking question,” I snarl, my voice menacing enough to make James and Luka twitch back. “And he knows how to stop me.”
I press my boot on the fucker’s knee until it breaks. He cries like it’s his last day on earth. Well, it just might be. Unless he tells me exactly what he’s doing, trailing my fucking girl. Then I might kill him another day.
“I don’t—” he starts.
A solid thud to his ribs cuts him off, choking him on his lies as he coughs up more blood. James glances at Kane, who remains still. He won’t stop me. Not in front of Owen.
“Tell him before he grabs the crowbar,” Kane warns.
Owen stares at me, his face already a smear of blood and spittle, calculating with whatever scraps of courage he has left. He didn’t know he’d been following what’s mine. That ignorance should count for something. It doesn’t.
I swing again, the wood driving into his gut. He doubles over, bent and heaving. More coughs. More blood. More cries. On the next lift, he shuffles away on one knee.
“Stop!” he cries. “I was just asked to track and trail. That’s all.”
“Whose orders?” Kane asks.
“Tommy. He thinks he can get a hefty ransom for her.”
“Ransom?” I snarl. This fucker thought he could take her?
The idea of her walking into that club alone—unprotected—dressed in red, had already pushed me close to the edge. But knowing someone could be watching her, waiting for the perfect moment to strike? God, it sends a violent, blinding rage through me.
“Not us,” Owen answers. “Tommy. He’s wired straight into the top tier. Berkeley knows.”
My eyes lift to Kane, hoping he can translate this fucker’s jargon before I truly lose it. But he just stands there with knitted brows and a blank face. Finally, he gives me a cautionary look before he turns to James.
“Take him away. He’s fucking useless.”
James moves to drag Owen out, but I cut in, tossing the bat aside. It clanks against the wall before it drops to the floor.
“You as much as look at her again,” I grab Owen’s collar, shredding the cotton under my fingers, "I’ll claw your fucking eyes out. You hear me?” The confused glances around me tense the air. “A Grant order is a Fort order,” I add, loud enough for the watchful eyes.
And because I can’t fucking take the sight of him anymore, I punch him across the face, crushing his bones and what’s left of my knuckles tonight.
James hauls him off the floor and shoves him out the back. Luka throws me a towel. I take my time wiping the blood off my face and knuckles, making sure I don’t miss any, in case she notices. Then I toss it in the sink and face Kane.
“The fuck was he talking about?”
“The more important question is, what the fuck did you smoke?” he seethes. “Was I not clear with my warning? I needed him to keep tracking her. How else are we going to find Tommy’s source?”
“Find another way,” I snap. “And don’t ask for my help if you can’t stomach it.”
“I’ve got his phone. I’ll find out what I can,” Luka cuts in.
“Find out. la tua fottuta vita dipende da questo”
Your fucking life depends on it.
I warn my cousin in the only language he understands. And I’m not talking about Italian.
“Ma almeno lasciami rinnovare la mia assicurazione sulla vita,” he huffs.
At least let me renew my life insurance.
“Vaffanculo,” I bark. Fuck you.
Luka barks a laugh and leaves, heading to the lounge. As soon as he is out of earshot, Kane’s on me again.
“That was completely unnecessary. We could have made him talk without turning my kitchen into a crime scene.”
“The fucker deserved what he got.”
“Fine.” He tosses a dismissive wave at me. “Go. Fuck off to your Poker and Pleasure. Clearly, you need more of that to do less of this.” His gaze drags across the chaos smeared across the room.
I snort a laugh. “You coming back to The Barrel?”
“Tomorrow,” Kane mutters.
My eyes drag to the closed door behind him. Trouble in the Berkeley household again, it seems. If I didn’t have her in the car, I would stay and help. But not tonight.
I step into the cool, misty night, placing my hands in my pockets as I make my way back, crunching burned-umber leaves into mulch under my boots. The moon shines through the narrow, split trees drawn in the dark sky, lighting my path back to her.
She must be waist-deep in my phone by now.
I can only imagine her expression while she fishes for dirt.
There isn’t much to find. Messages from my group chat in codes she won’t understand, and photos of her that she’s welcome to admire.
Though hopefully nothing to do with this part of my life.
It’s too soon. If she saw what I’m like mid-hunt, she’d fucking run.
The girl may have Elton’s DNA, but she’s through and through her Labour councilor father’s daughter. Ever the fucking morality police.
Not that she’ll make it far. I’ll chase her down and drag her back. But I’m trying to get her the right way. Even if she is making it as hard as fucking possible.
I reach the car and open the door slowly, my palm gripping the frame as the sight sinks in.
The passenger seat is a hollow imprint.
She’s gone.
She’s fucking gone.