11. The Mason Experience #2
“Stay vigilant,” Carter says. “Be aware of your surroundings and keep your kids close—if he’s watching you, chances are, he’s watching them too.”
The warning lands heavy in my chest. As we leave, Matt’s hand finds mine. I squeeze, my heartbeat steadying just a little.
***
Outside, the air feels thick, like the weight of the morning hasn’t lifted. I’m still running through everything in my head—Miller’s apathy, Carter’s caution, the grainy footage of the man who’s watching me.
Then Steele stretches, exhaling dramatically. “Well, that was fun. Where are we going for lunch?”
I blink. “Lunch?”
“You serious?” Matt says, throwing him a look.
"Dead serious," Steele replies, feigning exhaustion. “I just endured an hour of cop talk and bureaucratic bullshit… I’m wasting away over here.”
“You had breakfast.” Matt counters.
Steele sighs. “And now it’s lunchtime. Years of MREs, my metabolism never recovered. You wouldn’t get it, Mason.”
Matt gives him a flat look. “Pretty sure I ate the same MREs you did.”
“Exactly. You should understand the need to consume real food whenever possible.”
I laugh. “Sounds like an excuse to eat like a linebacker.”
“See? She gets it,” Steele remarks, pointing at me.
Matt exhales, shaking his head. “Fine. But you’re buying.”
“That’s adorable,” Steele says. “You think I brought my wallet.”
We end up at a hole-in-the-wall barbecue joint—the kind with plastic trays, checkered paper liners, and a smoky scent that clings to your hair. Steele beelines for the counter, rattling off his order like a man who just spent a week in the wilderness. Matt and I exchange a look.
“Does he always eat like this?”
“Unfortunately.” Matt sighs.
“Must be expensive keeping him around.”
“You have no idea.”
By the time we sit down, Steele’s tray looks obscene—brisket, sausage, mac and cheese, cornbread, even fried okra.
Matt takes a slow sip of his drink. “You planning on sharing with the table, or…?”
Steele points his fork at him. “If you wanted more food, you should’ve ordered more food.”
I shake my head as I pick at my plate. For a few minutes, it feels normal—like lunch with friends instead of a strategy session in the middle of a storm.
Eventually, the conversation sobers. Steele wipes his hands on a napkin and leans back in his chair. “Alright. So, what’s next?”
Matt exhales. “Carter will do what he can, but let’s be real—this is on us.”
“Agreed.” Steele nods. “I’ll continue digging. The burner, the rental. He slipped somewhere. It’s just a matter of finding it.”
The weight settles into my chest again. “And until then?”
“We keep you safe,” Matt says, eyes locking on mine.
Simple. Firm. No room for argument.
“I’ll get monitoring set up at your place,” Steele adds, leaning forward. “Your current security isn’t cutting it. We mix up your routines, no predictable patterns.”
As the tension eases, Steele stretches and shoots a glance at Matt. “So, Mason’s the new guy at Aegis. Been with us, what—six weeks?”
“Eight,” Matt corrects.
I tilt my head. “Did you guys know each other before Aegis?”
“Not well.” Steele smirks. “Our paths crossed a couple times when we were still serving.”
“Did you ever work together on missions?” I ask.
Matt shrugs. “Not exactly. But different branches cross paths more than you might think.”
“Especially in places where no one’s technically supposed to be,” Steele adds.
“That sounds… ominous.”
“It was.” Steele’s smile is wicked.
Matt rolls his eyes. “Jesus, don’t encourage him.”
“How many deployments have you been on since joining Aegis?”
“A few,” Matt answers. His tone is clipped, like he doesn’t care to elaborate. “Only one overseas op that really mattered.”
Steele’s smirk kicks up. “Yeah, the one where Mason got himself shot. Heard you patched him up.”
“Yup,” I say, deadpan. “He was bleeding all over my floors.”
Steele leans in, lowering his voice just enough to make it teasing. “You know, I’m not sure if Mason here mentioned it, but I got banged up on that mission too.”
“Oh yeah?” I arch a brow.
“Yeah. So if you’re looking to play nurse again, I’d be more than obliged, sweetheart.”
Matt’s head snaps toward him, eyes narrowing.
Oh, he does not like that.
Steele’s expression twists into a sly grin, as if poking the bear is his favorite hobby. “So, Melina, how exactly did you two meet?”
Matt doesn’t look up. “You already know this.”
“I wanna hear her tell it.”
Matt shakes his head, but I decide to play along. “Well, it all started with a flat.”
Steele lets out a mock gasp. “No way. Mason? Playing hero? Shocking.”
“It’s true,” I start. “Changed my tire, saved me from an intruder, then appointed himself my personal bodyguard. I basically haven’t been able to shake him since.”
“That isn't how it happened,” Matt mutters into his drink.
Steele looks at me. “You do realize most people say, ‘Nice to meet you,’ and move on, right?”
“Yeah, well,” I say, my tone laced with sarcasm, “that’s not really his thing.”
“No. No, it is not.” Steele teases, glancing at Matt. “You ever consider just exchanging numbers like a normal human being?”
Matt shoots him a glare. “You ever consider shutting the hell up?”
Steele snorts. “Ah, there it is. The Mason Experience.”
“The what now?” I scoff.
Steele sets down his drink and leans in like he’s about to give a TED Talk. “Oh, you haven’t heard? Mason has exactly two modes: quiet and lethal.”
Matt drags a hand down his jaw. “Jesus Christ.”
“See that face?” Steele starts, “That’s his entire personality. Broody. Overprotective. Thinks he’s mysterious.”
“And what else?” I prompt.
Steele’s smirk turns sly. “He’s also the most stubborn, relentless motherfucker I’ve ever met. Once he decides something? Game over.” He moves closer, voice dropping like he’s letting me in on a secret. “And sweetheart… he’s already decided on you.”
Matt sits back in his chair, pausing mid-bite. “Keep calling her that, and I’ll break your fucking jaw.”
Unfazed, Steele grins wider. “Relax, Mason. You know I’d never.”
Matt stares for a beat longer, then picks up his fork again. “Damn right.”
“Yeah,” Steele chuckles, clearly proud of himself. “That’s what I thought.”
Something hot and heavy curls in my stomach. I glance at Matt, but he’s not looking at me, just stabbing at his brisket like it personally offended him.
For a brief moment, I forget about the stalker. The stress, the fear—the weight of everything pressing down. It’s normal, and I have these two to thank for that.