Summer
Exactly thirty-five minutes pass, each second counted, before I serve the farro mafaldine with black truffle butter and mushrooms, dreading that I’m not serving poison instead.
Taking my place next to Atlas, I stay silent, fisting my hands under the table, restraining myself from murdering Mason in a dozen different ways.
My thoughts keep drifting to Bear, no matter how hard I try to follow the conversation led by that monster.
He only asks personal stuff, nothing to hint at malicious intent, but superiority seeps through his simple words. Like he owns us. All of us.
I ignore his praise for my cooking. For the first time in my life, I’d only consider my food good if the man consuming it choked on it and died.
“You’re not a natural redhead, are you?” Mason asks, and it’s only the subject of the question that makes awareness trickle in that it’s pointed at me.
“No, I’m not,” I answer in a tone like I own him. How I summon this bravado, I have no idea, but it feels good to be brave in the face of that man.
“I wouldn’t want ginger grandchildren,” he says, not taking his eyes off me, goading a reaction.
“Father!” The reaction comes from Atlas instead, in the form of a bark, anger curling his hands into fists.
“What?” Mason says unbothered. Another bite goes into his mouth, as he continues before he’s even swallowed it. “I’d like a second chance at cultivating real men in the family, since I failed the first time around.”
“Don’t you fucking talk to him like that!” My words slip out as a threat before my brain registers how reckless that is.
On second thought, there’s no way I’d let him insult Atlas, so I take a steadying breath, savoring Mason’s stupefied expression. That’s right, asshole! I’m no demure girl. I’ve got claws, and I’ll show you exactly how deep I can cut.
“Ha!” He leans on the table, steepling his fingers. His eyes narrow, trying to intimidate me under his scrutinizing gaze, but I hold steady, unrattled, keeping my hatred bottled, ready to unleash it on him.
“I’m dying for some cake.”
Atlas squeezes my knee, dragging my focus away from Mason.
Fear. For me. That’s all I see in my boyfriend’s eyes.
I school my features into a forced smile, but I probably look like I’m one stiff drink away from a full-blown personality disorder.
Getting up, I spare a single venomous glare at Mason, but his expression sharpens with excitement.
“I’ll help you.” Atlas grabs my hand, walking alongside me.
“Excuse yourself, and sneak out through the back entrance. Carter’s old Escalade is parked there.
The keys are above the left back tire,” Atlas whispers in my ear once we’re at the kitchen island.
A shake of my head makes the concern grow deeper between his brows.
“I don’t have my gun. It’s upstairs. I don’t know if any of the guys are armed.
I had a Glock taped under the table, but it’s gone.
I can’t let anything happen to you!” His voice cracks. “You have to leave. Now!”
My silence says it all. I’m not running and leaving them behind for whatever’s coming.
“I’ll take care of the situation here, but I need to know you’re safe. Summer, please!” he begs. “Go!”
“We’ll take care of it together. I can handle myself,” I say, passing him the dessert plates.
Atlas’s hand grips my arm, his face torn between fear and love.
“You know, it’s a waste of talent to be cooking only for those boys,” Mason says, pinning his stare on us. No more words are needed to make my boyfriend get back to the table. And he does. Not for Mason, but for me.
I look at the chocolate ganache cake with berries on top, which I had prepared last night, unaware I’d be contemplating my next life-or-death move over it. How insane am I to do what I’m about to do? I’ll be either insane or dead, it seems, so the former sounds better.
“Tell me, Summer, do you love my son?” Mason’s words come out of the blue, before I’ve reached the table with the cake in hand.
It’s not a question that needs contemplation or hesitation to answer.
“I do.”
Setting the plate down, I pick up the knife, careful about how I cut those pieces, for more than just the fact that I’d love nothing more than for my hand to slip and drive the blade straight through Mason’s chest.
Once his slice is positioned in front of him, I sit back, waiting for him to take the first bite.
I lean forward, watching, observing, dreaming of what this evening could end up like if only I hadn’t made a certain promise to Atlas.
But it won’t be just my oath that will keep my hands free from Mason’s blood.
While my promise is a border I could never cross, my conscience on the matter of killing the father of the man I love now feels like an electric fence surrounded by miles of minefields.
“What would you do for him?” Mason asks halfway through his cake.
Not kill you, even when every fiber of my being screams for it.
Not kill you, even when I might die by your hands any minute now.
Not kill you because that’s what Atlas asks of me.
“I would serve food to the man who killed my dog.”
The room goes still, not even a single fork daring to clink against the porcelain plates, while Atlas’s palm squeezes my thigh in another warning. A warning I’ll ignore.
Mason’s eyes crinkle in amusement.
“That’s not what you’d do for him. That’s called knowing your place.”
The periphery of my vision catches Link cutting himself one more piece of the cake. Even the fact that the room reeks of tension couldn’t make him keep his hands away from that dessert.
“Would you kill for him?” Mason continues, eating the rest of the cake, asking that question in a casual manner.
Staring straight into that monster’s eyes, I note the exact moment all reason packs its bags and leaves me charging headfirst into a suicide quest.
“You—in an instant!”
The clatter of Jacob’s fork is a sign my threat lit the fuse of a bomb, and now shit really is about to hit the fan. Dead silence returns to the room, only for Mason’s maniacal laughter to rip through it, sending a shudder through me as the sound slices straight through my bones.
I draw an under-the-radar deep breath, trying to pull myself together.
“I like her.”
Mason glances back at Atlas with those words. Then he sets his fork down and pushes the plate forward, with barely any cake left in it.
“When I met your mother, I used to look at her the same way you drink up your girlfriend here. My father was the one who told me that’s a sign of weakness.
A living and breathing weakness. I never stopped loving my wife, but I had to change the way I looked at her in front of people. You should, too, son.”
His fingers push against his temple, a pause loaded with nothing good to come.
“Let me tell you the three pieces of advice your grandfather offered me before I married your mother.”
He talks to Atlas like the rest of us aren’t there, not sparing a single glance our way.
“Your woman should be beautiful, because beauty on your arm signals power.” His attention shifts to me for a moment. “You’ve outdone yourself in that department.”
Then it’s back on Atlas.
“Your woman should be smart, because at the end of the day, you’ll want someone you can talk to. Threatening me is not what a smart girl would do.”
“She’s the one behind all those new ideas we implemented, which raised our profits significantly. She’s brilliant.” Atlas looks back at me. “Sometimes, too brave for her own good.”
“Too brave gets you to an early grave, Summer,” Mason says to my face, and my stoic mask slips for a moment, showing him a glimpse of my hatred.
Just a moment, before I rein myself in, leaving him gloating with satisfaction, believing he’s breaking my will with his threats.
Then his attention shifts back to Atlas.
“Finally, she shouldn’t be ruthless, because such a woman can easily decide she doesn’t need you and run your empire alone. ”
I expect him to ask Atlas if I’m ruthless, but that’s not what comes out of Mason’s mouth.
“He was wrong about that last part. She has to be ruthless. That’s a requirement in our world.
Your mother saw it in me, and piece by piece her love vanished.
Until I woke up one day, to find out the woman I still loved like the very day I had married her, was planning on leaving me, running away with my children.
” Mason halts abruptly, aware he slipped by answering a question no one would’ve dared to ask.
If he knew his wife was going to leave, he wouldn’t have let her, which heavily implies I was right in assuming he was behind her death, and Noah was an unexpected collateral.
“I’m not going to let you repeat my mistake, son. ”
He takes a gun out of the holster beneath his jacket.
Was this it for me?
My focus drifts to the windows, catching the last sun rays sliding across the dark wooden floor. Is this my last sunset reduced to a few stray beams waving goodbye?
If that’s all I get, I’d rather look at him. The man beside me putting himself between me and the monster across the table. The one who loves me for all the messed-up freak that I am. The same one who treats me like I’m his whole world.
Fuck the sunset. He’s my sun, and I don’t need anything else to look at.
When my attention shifts back to the table, all guys on their feet, ready to go at Mason.
For me?
I’m not alone.
That’s all I need for the spark of fearlessness and a perfect amount of insidiousness to start coursing through my veins as my battle armor is back on.
Guess dinner and a murder were both on the menu tonight.
Let’s see who bleeds first.