Chapter 23—
Em
I stand in the guys’ kitchen, clutching the jingling bundle Mason tossed me with both hands. “My keys!”
Even without being able to see, I knew the trunk they stuffed me in was way too large to be my compact’s.
“We put you in the trunk of ours,” Ash supplies. “Mason drove yours. We didn’t want you thinking you were forced to rely on us to take you home. And it’s not like you can take the bus in your PJs,” he adds with a wink, popping another bite of bacon into his mouth.
PJs, which I’m waiting for the dryer to finish after Mason ran them through the laundry. I’m currently wearing one of Ash’s T-shirts, feeling the breeze around my business.
“You mean after you dragged me out of bed in the middle of the night?” I point out, watching his grin stretch with glee. “How thoughtful.”
And it really is. The guys even woke me with breakfast, despite it being four in the afternoon. In front of me on the kitchen counter is a homemade spread of scrambled eggs, pancakes, and, of course, bacon .
I crane my neck to look out of the window over Mason’s shoulder as he leans back against the sink, sipping his coffee, gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips. “Which one’s your car?”
“The Impala out front,” Ash mumbles around his food.
“Nice. I expected something else, considering the flashy bikes.”
He lets out a laugh. “I like the trunk space,” he says with a wink.
Taking a seat at the counter beside him, I scan over Mason’s tattoos for the first time in daylight.
The theme and style of his ink are the same as his brother’s, but I see now the skulls are in different positions and depicted from alternate angles.
I totally missed that the night the guys pulled the switch on me.
Bastards!
I finish a plate of scramble and two pancakes, plus my own mug of coffee, but it doesn’t do much to increase my energy. I can’t keep my eyes open.
I know it might have something to do with the two guys who broke into my apartment at 4 a.m. to kidnap me and haven’t let me sleep all day—not to mention the physical ache of what they put me through.
Okay, I’m not really complaining about that, but I still feel drained. How am I supposed to make it through my shift?
“Call in sick,” Ash suggests, reading my mind when I drop my face into my hands on the counter. “Stay another night.”
“I can’t.” Brushing my hair out of my face, I straighten on my stool with a sigh. “I’ve never called in sick before. And I need the money. I can barely get enough together for rent as it is.”
“Then they’re overcharging you,” Mason chimes in. “That place is a shithole, and you know it.”
“But it’s all I can afford at the moment. I’ve applied to twenty-nine different companies. No one’s hiring.” At least not me. They want someone with experience in PR or marketing. Something I lack because nobody is willing to give me a chance.
“You should move in with us until you find a new job.”
“Right,” I scoff and meet Mason’s level stare with a note of humor. “And whose bed would I be sharing?”
“Mine,” they both reply in one voice.
I laugh. “That’s what I thought.”
“Fine,” Ash groans, setting his elbow on the counter to prop his chin up with his fist. “You choose. We’ll take turns.”
“Sure you will.”
“You don’t have to share a bed with either of us if you don’t want to,” Mason assures me. “You’ll have the basement to yourself. The couch is pretty comfy.”
Ash tips his head to one side. “How about going into sales? You have people skills, don’t you? Being a waitress and all.”
“She has a college degree. She’s not gonna want to work at our shop,” Mason argues, raising his mug then adds, “She’d have to deal with your ass all day,” under his breath.
I stifle a grin at the jibe. It’s the first time Mason has shown a slice of humor.
I like it .
Pushing off the stool, I let out another sigh. “I’ll think about it. But I’m not calling in sick. I’ll manage somehow.”
—
“Meanwhile, women across the city fear for their lives as the killer remains at large,” the blonde reporter stresses with a note of disappointment into her mic.
The case of the strangler continues to dominate every news channel as still no arrest has been made. I can’t blame her for being angry at the poor results of the investigation.
I watch the screen of Drew’s TV switch back from the on-screen reporter at the police station to the crew at the studio, then turn to discard my apron.
“That cute boyfriend of yours walking you home tonight?” Laura asks.
“No. He cancelled.” Ash texted that something came up. I’m low-key glad. I need a break from all their attention .
“But it’s alright,” I assure her, clocking out. “I swear I won’t dilly-dally or talk to any strangers.” I wink and give her a grin over my shoulder before I push through the back door into the alley.
15 minutes later, I slide my key into the fixed lock of the building’s entrance, and another 45 seconds after that, I shut myself up inside my apartment.
I sag against the door for a moment, sighing heavily as I take inventory of my body’s aches. I wish I had a tub to soak in. My legs feel like cooked spaghetti.
The conversation in the guys’ kitchen this afternoon has been playing in my mind on a loop. After Ash made that first comment about my apartment being unsafe, Mason must’ve felt compelled to prove his point by breaking in.
Or perhaps he simply enjoys scaring the shit out of me.
I know they aren’t wrong. The building is old, has rusty pipes, drafty windows, and sketchy wiring, but it isn’t as dilapidated as they make it sound. Power has only gone out here once since I moved in.
It was so easy for him to gain access, though.
A chill of dread prickles over my skin. What if it had been someone else?
Like the one who’s been strangling the women… I shudder.
Yeah, I need a better job, and then I need to get out of here, I determine.
I push away from the door and wobble into my bedroom, ignoring the latest rejection letter I received in the mail lying on my nightstand when I drop my keys there.
Despite the mattress calling my name, I want to take a shower first to get the diner stink off me.
Stepping under the lukewarm spray, I remind myself that I made the choice to leave an easy ride behind. That I’m here because I wanted to be independent and not rely on others as a crutch.
Ash’s offer is not a handout, though; even if it’s not exactly what I’m looking for. It’s still a job. A better one. With a job at the auto shop, I wouldn’t have to work nights anymore. That would be nice.
But moving in with them?
How could I not feel like I’m prostituting myself for a safe roof over my head? For a heater that works consistently? For a hot shower with water pressure? For a fucking bathtub ?
Right! I’d much rather give it up for free. Gotta keep your pride, girl.
Dropping my forehead against the tile, I let the soft drizzle from above wash away the tears that threaten to well up.
It’s not until I open my eyes again, that I notice I’m standing in the dark.
A growl builds in my throat. “Great! Just. Fucking. Great. ”
I shake my head and shut off the water before snatching the towel from the hook.
At least I already rinsed my hair out.
I give myself a quick pat down to dry most of the water dripping from me, then secure the towel around my chest. With my wet hair hanging in messy streaks down my back, I feel my way into the kitchen where I keep a flashlight and candles.
The hallway is pitch black. I clutch the towel tighter to my body, and my heart rate picks up a notch. I can’t see my own hand as my fingertips brush the wall to my right for guidance.
The floor gives a creak under my bare feet.
As I come up to the corner, faint light penetrates the kitchen curtains from the street lamp outside.
I try one of the switches, hoping they might run on a different circuit that isn’t affected, but nothing happens. The apartment remains dark.
Another creak from the hallway has me spinning around to face the door I just came through.
Someone’s in my apartment.
A freezing cold rushes my skin as I realize I might have walked right past him in the hall without knowing .
I stare at the dark void beyond the door frame, my voice trembling with a flicker of hope. “Mason?”
Oh God, please let it be him.
But I don’t get an answer, and when I creep a silent step closer on my toes to peer around the corner, I can’t see a thing.
But I hear him breathing.
His gravelly chuckle travels through the darkness directly to my core. “I never said I was going to play fair.”
My pulse punches up my throat at the sound of his gruff voice.
The fear is irrational. I know nothing bad is going to happen when he catches me. Just like in the alley. Of course, I remembered his threat. It was all I’d been thinking about since he left my bedroom that night.
Perhaps I was taunting him by walking home alone after work.
And yet I’m so fucking scared.
Mason terrifies me in a way that arouses me. He takes control, and I have no idea what he will do next. His play leaves me an aching, whimpering mess.
“You feel that, baby girl? The hand around your throat stealing your breath… your heart racing?” he taunts. “That’s me.”
My clit answers with a pulse, and my nipples harden in our standoff. With the rough terry cloth shifting against my skin, I recall the feel of the brick wall in the alley chafing through my T-shirt as he pinned me.
Mason dominates the darkness of the hallway. There’s no escaping him.
And I want him to catch me .
Clutching the towel, I lift my chin and step into the hallway—the devil’s domain.
Another wicked chuckle commends my courage, rippling through me like all the other times he praised me.
Through the whisper of his clothes under light motion, I recognize the unmistakable flick of his knife, but I don’t see his hands. I think he’s wearing his black motorcycle gloves.
Then I catch a glint of the blade from who knows where. He wags it in a beckoning gesture.