25. Mallory
MALLORY
Iwas still replaying last night in my head when something dropped onto the desk in front of me.
A drink.
I blinked, pulled abruptly from the memory of Maddox’s hands on my skin, his mouth against my throat, and the way he’d looked at me in the dark to stare at my favorite iced matcha from Daily Dose.
Maddox slumped into the seat beside me, leaning back in the chair with lazy confidence.
His hair was still slightly damp at the ends where water clung to the strands.
He’d showered and changed since I last saw him, and he was wearing a shirt.
I preferred him without one. “I thought you could use this,” he said, pushing the drink toward me.
I told myself it was nothing. Just a drink. It had no meaning, other than Maddox was capable of doing nice gestures, of thinking of someone other than himself. “Thanks.” I grinned. “I wasn’t actually sure you’d make it to class.”
“Me neither.” He smirked, one corner of his mouth lifting. “How did you sleep?”
My cheeks warmed slightly, heat creeping up my neck at the implication behind his question. Thank God for the cold drink. I took a sip before I replied. “Um, good. I think. Thanks for staying, and I’m sorry about my mom.”
“Your mom seems cool. At least she didn’t throw a pan at me or call the cops.”
I shot him a playful glare. “Why do I get the feeling you’re speaking from experience?”
He cocked a dark eyebrow. “You ever been hit by a pan? I don’t recommend.”
Amusement tugged at my lips as I took another sip, the cold sweetness hitting my tongue and sliding down my throat. The second dose of caffeine would help once it kicked in. I’d been dragging ass most of the morning. “What did you do with it?”
Confusion descended into his light-green eyes. “With what, Hales?”
My stomach cartwheeled at him insistently calling me by my last name. “You know what,” I said, dropping my voice. “The thing from last night.”
The knife.
The playfulness in his expression drained away, replaced by a cold glint. “I took care of it.”
“You got rid of it?” I leaned closer, needing to understand what that meant.
He gave a one-shoulder shrug. “What did you expect me to do with it? Frame it? Hang it on your bedroom wall?”
I rolled my eyes, but the knot in my shoulders loosened fractionally. “So it’s gone?”
“Did something happen?” he asked, his body angling slightly toward me, those green eyes flaring. “Did you get another note?”
I shook my head, my ponytail swishing with the movement. “No.”
“And your mom will be home after school?”
“Yeah. As far as I know.” I fiddled with the straw, rolling it between my fingers.
“Did she say anything about this morning?”
I smiled despite myself, remembering the conversation we’d had after Maddox left. “She said you were cute.”
His mouth tilted upward immediately, a full grin breaking across his face, genuine, unguarded, and so different from his usual careful expressions. “Well,” he said, leaning back with exaggerated satisfaction, “at least she has good taste.”
I snorted inelegantly. “Funny. She said the same thing about me.”
“That’s because she’s clearly brilliant.” He reached over and flicked the spine of my notebook, the paper rustling.
“She’s not like most moms.”
His smile faded slightly, a seriousness settling over his features. “You’re lucky. I’d give anything to have my mom back in my life.”
The grief barely contained beneath the surface of his tone made my chest ache painfully. “It must have been hard,” I said gently, my hand moving without conscious thought to rest on his forearm. “Losing her.”
I knew the basics of what happened to Willow Corvo. A quick Google search had told me enough to understand the shape of the story. She’d been shot, a tragedy wrapped in headlines and speculation and questions that had never been fully answered. Death was something I was all too familiar with.
“Yeah,” he said quietly, his eyes still fixed on the desk. “It was.”
Three little words carrying the burden of years. But the way his shoulders turned slightly inward, creating a barrier, told me the rest of the story wasn’t coming anytime soon.
Maybe not ever.
And I understood that. Understood the need to keep some pain locked away where it couldn’t touch you in vulnerable moments.
Still, I wanted him to know the door was open.
That he didn’t have to carry everything alone, didn’t have to maintain that careful facade of strength and control every second.
That if he ever wanted to talk about it, the good memories, the bad ones, and the ugly aftermath no one ever prepared you for, I would listen.
My thumb stroked once across his forearm before I pulled my hand back, giving him space.
Mr. Gifford clapped his hands at the front of the room loud enough to make several people jump. “All right, settle down. Let’s talk about your project proposals. I want to see real thought put into these, not something you threw together last night.”
Several guilty looks were exchanged around the room, along with a chorus of groans.
Maddox leaned back slightly beside me, his leg pressing against mine under the desk, and lifted his brow at me. At the rate we were going in this class, neither one of us was going to pull an A.
The final bell rang, releasing the school into its usual chaos of slamming lockers and rushing bodies.
I lingered at mine, turning the dial slowly, right past my number once, then back, the mechanism clicking beneath my fingers.
The locker door creaked open, and I grabbed my books, shoving them into my bag.
As I turned to meet Atlas and Paisley in the parking lot, a hand clamped around my elbow, hijacking me.
“Hey—what the—” I protested but to no avail.
Mason Corvo hauled me down the hallway. “We need to talk, Freckles,” he murmured near my ear, making it clear this wasn’t a request.
My feet scrambled to keep up, sneakers squeaking against polished linoleum as he pulled me along. My bag slid down my shoulder, the strap catching in the crook of my elbow. “Where the hell are we going?”
“Somewhere we won’t be disturbed.” He yanked open a door with his free hand and dragged me inside, the momentum carrying us into the boys’ locker room.
Oh. God.
It wasn’t empty. At least four football players were in the room, including a very naked Levi. They were all in various degrees of undress, shirtless torsos on display, muscles flexing as they pulled on shoulder pads, strapped protective gear into place, and tugged jerseys over their heads.
So much for privacy.
Several heads turned toward us. A whistle went up from near the showers.
Heat flooded my face, burning from my chest up my neck and across my cheeks. I tried to pull my arm from Mason’s grip, but he held firm.
“Mas, you brought us a treat?” This was accompanied by a grin that suggested the opposite. “God knows I could use something sweet,” Torin said, leaning a hand against the lockers.
“Unless your last name is Corvo, don’t touch her. Now, everyone get the fuck out!” Mason barked.
Grumbling followed, lockers slammed shut, and legs hopped into football leggings halfway on, but they shuffled out, one by one.
A few lingering looks were thrown my way, and I hated the implication that there was anything between Mason and me.
I was sure tomorrow rumors would be swirling about us alone in the locker room, none of them fucking true, and it burned my blood.
“And make sure no one comes in,” he snapped behind them.
Silence settled over the room with just the sound of the distant dripping shower as I waited for Mason to tell me what the hell this was about. He turned to face me fully, finally releasing my elbow. I rubbed at the skin throbbing faintly where his fingers had been.
He leaned back against a locker casually, dimples threatening to appear at the corners of his mouth. “It’s time we had a little catch-up, Freckles.”
I didn’t like the look in his eyes.
Not one bit.
“My brother didn’t come home last night,” he said, and his tone made my stomach clench.
“Okay, how is that my problem?”
“Did you have sex with him?” he asked bluntly, getting straight to the question, which I appreciated, but that was all I appreciated about Mason.
“Why is that any of your business?” I shot back, my anger flaring. If I didn’t leave here, I’d be walking home. Paisley wouldn’t wait forever, and I probably had more than a few missed texts from her.
“He hooks up, but he never stays the night.” Mason backed me against the lockers. “It’s one of our rules. We fuck girls; we don’t sleep with them.”
A threat of warmth unraveled in my chest knowing Maddox had broken one of his rules for me. “And you assume he was with me?” I challenged, even though we both knew the answer.
His brows lifted deliberately as he flattened a hand near the side of my face. “Am I wrong?” When the denial didn’t immediately come out of my mouth, his grin widened with satisfaction. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“So what if he was?” I snapped, my chin lifting. Fuck him and his intimidation tactics. Mason Corvo didn’t know who he was screwing with. “I don’t care about your rules.”
“Glad to see you’re holding up your end of the bargain, Freckles.” He kissed the tip of my nose, and I contemplated bringing my knee up to meet his junk.
My eyes narrowed. “We don’t have a bargain.” I squared my shoulders, pulling myself up to my full height even though he still towered over me. I held his gaze. “I didn’t sleep with your brother.”
“Maybe not yet,” he added smoothly, his dimples appearing fully now, flashing those stupid, unfair genetic advantages like weapons.
He leaned in so our mouths were too damn close.
I thought he might kiss me, and if he did, my reaction would be swift, and he would be groaning on the locker room floor.
That was a promise. I stood my ground, not giving him the satisfaction of bothering me, but something fluttered loose from the pocket of his jeans.
A folded piece of paper.
It drifted to the floor, stealing my attention, and my stomach dropped, plummeting somewhere below the floor.
It looked…familiar.
Too familiar.
The size. The way it was folded, forming a perfect square. Just like the notes I’d been receiving.
I bent to pick it up, my hand reaching out, fingers extending, but Mason was faster. His hand shot down, snatching it before I could. He straightened in one smooth motion, tucking it back into his pocket.
Our eyes met.
Held.
Mason frowned, something I’d rarely seen him do. “Hasn’t anyone told you not to touch what doesn’t belong to you?”
“Hasn’t anyone taught you not to accost girls in locker rooms?” I fired back. “Pretty sure that’s frowned upon in most civilized societies.”
Mason’s gaze hardened, the easy charm vanishing to reveal a darkness underneath that I bet he rarely let people see.
It reminded me he was a Corvo, and he carried the same potential for violence his brothers did, even if he hid it better behind dimples and jokes.
“Just make sure my brother loses all interest in Kaylor. Or you’ll see what the Corvo name really means. ”
Something inside me snapped.
I stepped closer instead of backing away, refusing to be pushed around by him. “I’m the last person you want to threaten, Mason.”
Surprise flickered across his features.
I was done with this conversation, done with his shit. Shoving past him, I stormed out of the locker room, the door swinging shut behind me. I didn’t look back and didn’t slow down until I was halfway down the hallway, my breathing coming fast and ragged.
My heart was racing, adrenaline singing through my veins. One thought kept repeating louder and louder in my head, drowning out everything else.
The note.
Why the fuck does Mason have a note that looks exactly like the ones my stalker has been leaving?