Chapter 20 Mason
MASON
Watching Eva sleep is like watching a broken-winged dove teetering on the edge of the rooftop.
Ma caught one once, its feathers tied. It couldn’t fly, but wouldn’t let anyone save it either. Eva’s just like that fractured little bird. Leaping off the rooftops as if gravity doesn’t apply.
Too proud to fall. Too shattered to fly.
Her mourning, the muttered whispers, lips trembling with unspoken words, tears marking her beautiful face, it’s getting harder and harder to watch.
There is nothing I want more than to rip that broken piece from inside her and replace it with something stronger. Mine. One that’s warm and pulsing, that answers only to me.
I blow smoke out of the window, watching the clouds roll up the hill as she sleeps beside me, curled up on the passenger seat.
Eva dozed off on the quiet, long drive back, after Kane, the fucker, saw her with me.
But he is not the one I’m concerned about right now.
It’s what she said back at the lodge about Kane’s father.
On what planet would Eva ever cross paths with Robert Berkeley?
She must be mistaken. I want to follow that thread, ask her the questions.
I have a feeling the answers will lead me to whatever Kane’s hiding from me.
But that will have to wait. She zoned out watching random hedgerows hours ago.
Her memories are obviously a minefield. It’s not worth the risk.
After considering taking her back to her room, and then deciding to keep her with me a bit longer, I drove around Fort all night, stopping only at the town square to grab a few things, then brought her up here—my hilltop spot.
You can see the whole of Fort from here. Every inch of it. At five in the morning, the lights still glimmer, the dawn starting to eat up the dark sky. I often ride out to this spot to get away from the noise.
Eva’s head bumps against the headrest when she shifts, rolling onto her side beside me, slowly wrestling her way back into consciousness.
Her eyes flicker, but she doesn’t move. Not for a long minute.
She does that sometimes. Pretends to sleep, waiting to steal a peek at me when I look away.
If only she knew what she’s really like when she’s asleep, she’d know pretense is impossible.
“If you stare this hard, I’m going to have to start charging rent,” I quip, gazing out the windshield.
“Oh, really?” She smiles. Eyes open and instant brat. “Your fangirls stare at you all the time. They don’t get charged.” I love the bite in her voice when she’s jealous.
“Does that mean you are a fan now?” My head turns toward her. “And before you come up with some sass, I suggest you read the label on your dress.”
She looks down, red coating her cheeks, from embarrassment or anger, I’m not sure. Extending her arms and legs, she stretches out. A simple action that gives me a raging erection.
The cigarette twists between my fingers until the embers and ash split and melt over the dew of the morning grass, outside the car.
It’s maddening how deranged this woman makes me.
She unearths the monster inside me just by just fucking existing near me.
And she’s never looked more beautiful than she does tonight. Branded as mine. In that fucking dress.
Curb it, arsehole.
I barely manage to control myself when I bury her under her duvet up to her neck, but now that I have seen what she looks like beneath that dress, know what it feels like to touch her bare skin every-fucking-where, I’m not sure how much longer I can wait.
Her cheeks flush bright red as she catches me staring, then straightens her seat and collects herself.
“How long was I out?” she asks, with pursed lips.
“Not long enough,” I mutter and look away.
“Wow. It’s beautiful here,” she murmurs, taking in the hilltop view, raking her fingers through her messy, long hair.
I reach for the large white box on the back seat that’s been waiting for her and drop it into her lap.
Her jaw drops. “Is that from Maisy’s bakery?
” she chirps, practically drooling, then flips it open to find croissants, muffins, cinnamon rolls, and Danishes—her favorite.
She gets her friends to buy them for her.
Maisy can be blunt. And her family lost most of their ancestral lands to Elton, so I’m guessing Eva doesn’t have a pleasant experience there.
“What the hell? You got all this at five in the morning?”
“Being me has certain privileges.” I wave an arm. She smacks it away when it gets too close to her precious pastries.
“Thanks. I’m starving,” she says around her mouthful, chocolate dripping from her fingers, all the way down her arm. She stares at me, her eyes narrowed. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Since when do you ask permission?”
“How do you break into my flat?” she asks with curious eyes and I wonder how long her busy brain has spent trying to work this out. “I know it’s not the window.”
“Kings don’t climb through windows, princess.” I snort. “We barge through doors.”
“But how?”
“I have access to all surveillance, and I have a key to your flat.” I shrug.
She makes an annoyed face, thinking it over and slowly answering her question, before her eyes turn wild.
“You stole my keys?” she roars and points a chocolate coated finger at me. “I knew I didn’t lose them. Thea’s still on my arse about that.”
“As she should. You’re careless as fuck. It wasn’t even a challenge. You should be thankful it was me who took them.”
“Fuck you very much,” she spits.
“Gladly.” I smirk and pat my thigh. Her face pinches, ocean eyes trying to burn me with that glare. She has no idea how close she gets to being fucked when she does that. “On my lap,” I order.
Her lips part, caught somewhere between shock and disbelief.
“I didn’t mean to say…” she murmurs, pastry paused mid-bite, a glossy thread of brown sliding down her wrist in slow-motion.
“I don’t care. Climb up here. Now.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so,” I drawl. “Come, or I’ll make you.”
She chews on her lip, a quiet war playing out behind her eyes.
Then, with a small exhale, she drops her breakfast in the box and rises slowly.
Her hands find the line of my shoulders hesitantly, testing the weight of the decision.
My fingers curve around her waist and lower her down to my thighs.
The short dress climbs up to her hips as she straddles me.
Her lower lip juts out in an adorable pout, not sure what to expect. And that makes me want to fuck with her so bad. My tongue darts out and licks the brown off her plump little mouth, just to get a taste.
“Maisy is good, isn’t she?” I ask, then suck her lip for a cleaner taste of her.
She whimpers softly as my erection grows between her legs. She’s not fooling anyone, either. Her panties are so soaked, they’re wetting my jeans.
I ignore all that and take a tube out of my jacket.
One I bought from the twenty-four-hour pharmacy while Maisy was baking.
Her nails dig into my jacket when I lift her dress up and pull down the strap of her panties.
Slowly, I rub the gel over the blue bruise on her hipbone.
Her breath hitches with every circle my thumb draws.
I fucking love the effect my touch has on her, and the blush that floods her cheeks instantly.
“You’ve been hiding this from me,” I mutter, accusation clear in my voice.
“If I knew it would get Hugo beaten up, I would have told you sooner.”
“He’s lucky to get away with that.”
Only because she was standing there. This mark on her felt like a hot whip against my ribs. He said he was just scaring her. The fucking nerve. I could have killed him tonight.
“It’s not that bad,” she mumbles.
“Then why does it hurt?” I ask since she continues to wince at the touch. I cap the tube and toss it toward her purse. It bounces off and lands next to her shoes. She shifts, starting to peel herself off me, but I seize her waist and pull her back down.
“Did I say you could move?”
“You have to be so crass all the time?” She throws a hand in the air. “Can’t you ask nicely?”
“Not all of us were raised in castles, princess.” I tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. “Some of us learned to get what we wanted the hard way.”
“I wasn’t raised in a castle,” she mutters. “Just visited it a few weeks a year. That’s as long as Dad can stand Grandpa.”
“Your dad wasn’t a fan of Elton? He and I would have something in common.”
“Only that.” She rolls her eyes. “You’re too morally corrupt for my dad. He lives by strict codes. Black-and-white. No grays. Ever.”
Lives.
Present tense. Always the present tense.
She talks about her parents like they’re still alive.
I had noticed that in her texts and emails and assumed it was a typo.
But she doesn’t realize she’s doing it. Like her mind hasn’t caught up with the truth.
Or maybe it has, and she’s just refusing to let it in.
Either way, she’s bleeding from the inside and too fucking stubborn to notice.
“What?” she asks, taking in my expression.
I shake my head. “You are a strange one, princess.”
“I am strange?” She laughs.
The sound cuts off mid-beat when her hand brushes the hard metal under my leather. Deliberately, her index finger traces the rim of the gun over my jacket. Then her face pinches. I’m about to offer to put it away, when—
“Can you teach me how to shoot?” she asks out of fucking nowhere.
“Teach you?” My eyebrow cocks. “The girl who can’t use a panic button to save her life?”
“I know how to use it,” she whines. “It just slipped out of my hands.”
“You know what happens when a loaded gun slips out of your hands?” I point out. She rolls her eyes. “Why do you need to learn to shoot anyway?”
Or rather, who? All I need is a name.
“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “Some psycho stalker keeps breaking into my room.”
I chuckle.
A pistol whipped into my skull didn’t stop me, little dove. One to my fucking face won’t, either. Nothing will.