2. Mason
Mason
The wind screams outside like a living thing trying to claw its way into the cabin.
Snow lashes against the windows in thick white sheets, piling up fast against the logs.
I move through the small space with purpose, boarding up the last window with heavy planks while the wood stove crackles loudly in the corner, throwing off waves of dry heat that mix with the scent of pine resin and burning oak.
My boots thud heavily against the wooden floor as I work, muscles tight from the long drive up the Steel Mountains.
Riley stands near the kitchen counter, small and out of place in my rugged space.
She still wears that flour-dusted jacket from her bakery life, her dark hair damp and tangled from the snow.
Even exhausted and scared, she looks soft.
Too damn soft for the danger chasing her.
Her cheeks are flushed pink from the cold and the warmth of the stove, and every time she moves I catch another whiff of vanilla and sugar clinging to her skin. It does dangerous things to my focus.
I haven’t wanted a woman this badly in years.
Not like this. Something about her innocent eyes and the way she tries to keep that cute spark alive even while terrified pulls at the darkest parts of me.
I want to pin her down on that one bed and show her exactly how a man like me takes care of what’s his.
But I keep it locked down. She’s not mine, and I need to remember that.
“Storm’s going to be brutal,” I say, voice gritty as I test the last board. “We’re sealed in tight. Wood’s stocked. Food is good for weeks if we need it.”
Riley turns toward me, hugging her arms around herself. Her eyes are wide and bright, that sparkle still fighting through the fear. “Weeks? In here? With just… one bed?”
The way she says it, all soft and breathy, makes my cock twitch against my zipper. I grip the hammer tighter and force my mind back to the job. “One bed. One couch. You take the bed. I’ll be fine.”
She bites her lip, and I have to look away before I do something stupid like cross the room and taste that mouth myself.
I pull out my satellite phone and dial the office. The line crackles once before connecting. “Cole here. I’ve got Riley Thompson secured at the cabin. Storm’s closing us in hard.”
Jax’s voice comes through first, sharp and steady. “Status?”
“Stable for now,” I reply, watching Riley as she carefully folds a blanket on the couch. Her fingers are delicate, small enough to wrap around my cock just right. Fuck. “She’s shaken but holding up. No signs of trackers yet.”
Kane jumps in next, his tone darker. “We’ve confirmed the hit was tied to the Moretti family. They know she saw their top enforcer pull the trigger. Trial is set for six weeks if we can keep her alive that long.”
Colt’s gravelly voice cuts through. “Blizzard should buy us time. No one is getting up those roads for days. After the storm clears, we move her into full WITSEC. New identity. New location. You escorting her the whole way, Mason?”
I glance at Riley again. She’s watching me now, those pretty eyes full of questions and something warmer. My chest tightens. Six weeks of her in my space. Six weeks of fighting the urge to claim her. “Yeah. I’ve got her.”
Brock laughs low on the line. “Heard she’s a cute little baker. Try not to scare her off with that growly shit you do.”
Ryker’s calm voice comes last. “Stay sharp, brother. These guys do not play. If they find the cabin, you know what to do.”
“Understood,” I growl. “I’ll check in when the storm breaks. Keep the pressure on the Morettis from your end.”
I hang up, and place the phone on the counter. The cabin feels smaller now, the heat from the stove making the air thick. Riley steps closer, her sneakers quiet on the floor. She smells like vanilla and woman and the faint trace of fear-sweat that makes every protective instinct in me roar to life.
“They’re really coming after me, aren’t they?” she asks softly, her voice carrying that cute, hopeful lilt even now.
I nod once, moving to check the door locks again. The metal is cold under my fingers. “They are. But they won’t get to you. Not while I’m breathing.”
She watches me with those big eyes, and I feel the pull stronger than before.
I want to back her against the wall and show her exactly how protected she is with me.
Want to hear her call me something filthy while I bury myself deep inside her.
Instead I grab a couple of MREs from the supply shelf and toss one her way.
“Eat. Then you should try to sleep. Storm’s only getting worse.”
Riley catches the packet. She smiles shyly, that sparkle breaking through again. “Thank you, Mason. For coming to get me. For all of this.”
I grunt and turn away before she sees how badly I want her. The wind howls louder outside, rattling the boarded windows. Snow piles higher against the glass. We’re completely cut off. Just her, me, one bed, and six weeks of waiting until WITSEC takes her away for good.
I already hate the thought of letting her go.
The night stretches long as the storm rages.
Riley curls up on the bed eventually, wrapped in my heavy quilts, looking far too small and innocent in my space.
I take the couch, but sleep doesn’t come easy.
Every soft sound she makes, every shift of her body under the blankets, keeps me hard and restless.
This assignment is going to test every ounce of control I have left.
And something tells me Riley Thompson is going to break right through it.