Page 19 of No Control

I lift my head, using my sleeve to wipe the tears from my cheeks. Nervously, I dig it out of my pocket and stare at the message from Emma.

Have you made a decision about the contract?

I sigh, knowing I have to do something about Henry. It’s not professional to leave him waiting—the man flew in just to meet me for the job. I swallow hard, wondering if I should call him or text him…

Maybe I could work something out with him. I could write it from a distance, and then I wouldn’t have to deal with the way he intimidates me.

It’s worth a shot.

I might need the money for a freaking lawyer, anyway. I navigate to the text thread and type out a message.

I might be willing to take the job if you're open to discussing some of the terms.

Three dots appear immediately.

Sure. I’d prefer to discuss them in person. It’s easier than texting.

I let out a sharp breath. Of course, he wants to discuss them in person. Why not torture me a little more? But then again, it would get me out of the house and away from Mason for a while.

I’ll meet you at the coffee shop in an hour and a half.

That’s plenty of time for me to get ready and make it to the city. I’ll call Emma or my mom on the way. Someone needs to know what happened this morning.

Give me three hours.

I frown. What could he possibly have to do this morning? I push the thought away. It doesn’t matter. I send him a quick reply and then leave my phone on the coffee table. Regardless of Henry being busy, I won’t be hanging around here. I can find something to do away from the house.

And I’ll take Duke, too.

Just in case Mason comes creeping around the house again.

eight

Henry

What are you doing, Mason?

I sigh, watching his truck as he turns around at the highway and heads back toward Lydia’s house. He’s already signed his death warrant with that stunt he pulled earlier, which is why I left Lydia’s to follow the prick. Before he even lunged at Lydia, I knew something would have to be done with him, but he just made the decision much easier. Lydia is no longer his to touch—or berate, for that matter.

As much as I was rooting for Lydia to shoot the fucker, I’m glad I get to be the one who takes care of him. It would’ve been a shame to have to drop in and surprise her anyway. There’d have been no way to explain myself.

Of course, me calling her in the middle could’ve led her to assume things. However, I don’t think it did. I don’t think she thought about it at all—though I do know she checked her phone in the middle of their tense conversation.

My thoughts are drawn back as Mason’s truck speeds up.

I’ll have to stop him close to her house. Really close.

And that's inconvenient. It’ll put me right out in the open, which is never good a place to be. But the risk is worth the peace it’ll bring Lydia. I smash the gas on the Tahoe and fly by Lydia’s house, hoping that she’s too traumatized to look out the window. I unclick my seatbelt and grab my handgun from the console. Glancing up at my new target, I know this might get a little loud.

And based on the speed Mason’s travelling, he’s still very pissed off.

I just hope he’s sober enough to hit the brakes in time. I jerk the wheel of the Tahoe, and park across the gravel road, preventing Mason from going around me. There’re thick woods on both sides, leaving little to no shoulder. It’s a good spot to block him.

Mason’s truck skids to a stop as his hands fly up in the air. He’s irate now, slinging open the driver’s side door. I count to five in my head, take a deep breath, and open my door. The Tahoe separates us, but it won’t for long. This guy is on a fucking rampage…

But he has no idea who he’s up against.

Mason, his dress shirt unbuttoned about halfway down, comes stalking toward me. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You can’t just block the road. Move your mom car out of the way.”

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