CHAPTER TWENTY
MASON
“More.” I yell at the bartender over the loud music. Saint hasn’t returned to the club since I left him outside.
She gives me a look, holding the tequila bottle over the shot. She passes the shot glass to me, and I take another sip, clearing my throat as the burning liquid slides down.
I look at my phone. It’s been over an hour since I sent Vincent the message. He’s seen it, but he hasn’t responded. I hope this is it. I hope this is enough to get me away from all of this. I hope this is the fucking end.
My gaze rests on the screen as I watch the message. A heavy weight settles on my shoulders as I remember that night. He’d killed that assassin effortlessly. He’d taken his life the same way he’ll take mine if I fail him.
Every part of me prayed that this was it. That this is the end. Even though I feel something else. Guilt? Anger? I don’t know.
All I knew was that Saint’s voice still lingers at the back of my mind. And the heaviness of what I’d just done sits like a fresh wound on my chest.
There’ll be consequences for this. Consequences that might ruin his entire family.
Consequences I contributed to. I place both of my hands on the counter, a trembling sigh escaping my lips.
My fingers clench and unclench as I try to shove it all away.
That’s what I do. I put it all in a box and move on.
And I deserve to move on.
From all this chaos.
From my uncle and every darkness he incurred for himself.
From Saint. Him most especially, because I can’t stomach his acknowledgment of this thing inside me.
This anger and rage. The monster that thirsts for violence. A monster I’ve kept chained away while living my life. I’ve never told anyone about the things that created this part of me. I have never wanted to share it with anyone. But somehow Saint sees it in me. He sees the monster so effortlessly.
And he calls me a devil.
Devil.
Maybe that’s what I am. That’s who I am. Because all my life, darkness is all I have attracted. Childhood trauma. Nightmares. Near-death situations. All of it lingering like a shadow in my fucking life.
If my parents were here, I would have had a different future. They wouldn’t have let any of this happen to me. Maybe I should have died with them. If I had, none of this would have happened.
I wouldn’t have fought my uncle, so I could escape the cage he kept me in.
I wouldn’t have ended up in a clinic with a knife lodged into my stomach.
I wouldn’t have carried the scar he gave me that night for the past seven years.
Not just the physical scar, but the ones that made me look over my shoulders for years.
The ones that made me hypervigilant. The ones that woke me up in the dead of the night because I had had nightmares for six months.
And all of a sudden, after all these years of keeping this part of me locked away, of trying to move on from everything that happened. It all falls apart.
And a man I shouldn’t even give a fuck about sees it all so easily.
I fucking hate that.
I fucking hate that he sees it all.
He sees it in my eyes.
And I hate him for it, too.
Hands rest around my shoulders, and I jerk up, getting off the stool and looking at the three men around me. Then my eyes rest on the man whose tongue Saint cut off. He’s brought his soldiers to fight for him.
“That’s him?”
He nods with a whimper.
The three men don’t hesitate. Before my mind registers what’s happening, their large hands circle my arms, and they drag me away from the chaos of the party.
My boots scuff the floor as we head toward the elevator.
They shove me into the enclosed space, and my back hits the steel wall, a grunt tearing through my vocal cords.
As the elevator ascends to the next floor, I fucking realize that I’m in deep trouble.
SAINT
I slam the car door as I get into the dim space. I grip the steering wheel to support myself. I shut my eyes and lean backward, hoping that everything that happened a few minutes ago was in my head, that I said none of those things to him. That I didn’t break in front of him.
I hate what you do to me. Because no man has ever done that to me. And I have never felt this way with any man. And I hate myself for it. I hate that I’m weak. I hate that I’m sick.
My mind replays every brutal sentence. Word after word. Breath after breath. The look in his eyes. The way his heart beat in sync with mine.
Mason does something to me.
Mason makes me feel alive again.
I hate feeling alive. Feeling alive made my father break my spirit. Feeling alive made me lose my father shortly after my mother passed away. Feeling alive has broken me time and time again.
I’m better off dead. I’m better off as a soldier. I’m better off as my father’s successor.
Putting my family’s legacy first should matter most to me. Not some man who stumbled into my life. Not some man who has made me question everything that I pretended didn’t exist for the past twenty years.
Not the man who held me in that elevator, even when I broke into pieces.
He never looked at me differently.
He never laughed in my face for falling apart.
He held me together.
Even when I’ve been nothing but an asshole to him.
Why now? Now of all times. Now I’m so close to having it all. Of having an empire made for me. Of stepping into my legacy.
My focus should be on closing deals and fishing out the culprits trying to ruin my family. Not this. Not fucking him. But he’s all that’s in my head.
And I’m not supposed to want anything other than what I’m told to want.
I’m not supposed to want a man. I’m not supposed to want anything beyond taking what I need, beyond satisfying my homoerotic cravings.
That’s all it has always been about. The next fuck. The next man to bend over and consume.
But I can’t consume Mason. Because consuming him means I have to face this attraction I have for him.
And the entirety of consumption doesn’t make sense if you feel.
And he makes me feel. God, he makes me feel.
I hate myself for feeling.
I have never felt.
But he makes me feel.
For twenty years, I buried myself in a coffin, but he materialized out of nowhere, chipping away at my confinement with every strike of his hammer. Letting light reach me in the darkness.
I unlock the car door, stomping to the club. As I appear inside the space, the club comes alive with the frenetic crowd moving in sync with the music. I expect to find him at the bar, but he’s not there. “Do you have any idea where the young man I was with went?”
“Some of the security men took him up to meet the boss.”
“Thank you.” I nod at her and move straight to the elevator. I pace the enclosed space, hands in pocket. The elevator ascends to the third and last floor of the building, and I step into the dark hallway.
Mason’s scream split through the silence. I reach for my gun and pull it out, holding it forward as I stalk toward the door where his tortured voice comes. I don’t bother knocking. I kick the door in, and it comes off its hinges.
“This is a private room.” The security guard beside the door tries to apprehend me, but I slam my gun into his nose. The man staggers backward, almost losing his balance. He barely recovers on both feet.
Prince stands behind Mason, knife in hand. Beside him is the motherfucker who had Mason pinned against the wall. Two of Prince’s security men hold down Mason, twisting his arms backward. They’ve torn through his shirt, leaving him with knife scars on his back.
“Let him go.” I growl.
“He’s with you?” Prince asks.
“Did the rat tell you what he did?” I point the gun at the other man, and he flinches, eyes widening with fear.
“He did.” Prince pressed the knife into Mason’s back. My eyes drop to Mason. He doesn’t move. He remains menacingly still.
“What did you say?” I demand. “Fucking talk! Oh, I forgot, you can’t speak because I cut off your tongue.
” Prince’s features twist with a shocking surprise.
He steps back and looks at the man standing next to him.
“Tried to get all handsy with my friend here, so I put him in his place.” Prince sighs, shaking his head with regret.
“You lied to me.” He says quietly, and the man shakes his head fearfully. “Let him go. We’ll deal with this later.”
The two security men drop Mason’s hand, but he remains there on the floor.
I move toward him and help him up to his feet, but he doesn’t look at me.
I snake my hand around his shoulder, help him up to his feet and lead him out of the room.
“Our deal’s off, Prince.” As I cross the threshold, my cold gaze settles on him.
He doesn’t utter a word. He just let me walk away.
I expect Mason to fight me off, but he lets me hold him.
I’m not even supposed to lay my hands on him.
Because touching him sets every part of me on fire.
He doesn’t speak.
It takes everything in me to hold him this close to myself. To keep him still. To stay with the comfort of having him in my arms.
We appear outside the building, and I march straight to the parking lot. “You’ll be okay,” I promise, voice shaking with restraint. I put his weight on one arm and open the car door, tucking him inside carefully.
I shut the door, circle the bonnet, and get into the driver’s seat. As I turn on the engine, I reverse out of the parking lot, leaving the hedonistic chaos behind me.
The entire drive home, I don’t think of the business deal I called off or the people behind my missing cargo. It’s Mason who preoccupies my mind. He’s right beside me. Fast asleep. Whimpering from the pain of his scars. Back pressed against the leather seat.
He has gotten under my skin and left an ache. A mark I can’t ignore. A truth branded into my skin.
I see the monster in him.
The subtle way his eyes darken whenever he sees blood on me.
The delight in his eyes when he held that knife against my throat.
The monster in me calls for the monster in him.
My hands flex around the steering wheel as the chaotic city blurs behind me. I don’t know whether I should crave a mindless touch, an empty heat, or drown myself in bodies that gave me meaningless sex.
Hell, I don’t know if taking a chance on this man is the right decision.
I’ve never questioned a decision in my life. I know what’s right, and I do it.
But Mason has made me come alive, and that terrifies me more than any enemy has. He’s put me in a war with my mind and body, and I’m losing. I’m coming apart.