Page 44 of Mason

I squeeze my eyes shut, shielding myself from what’s to come. If he’s going to hit me, I’d rather it be a surprise.

“What other names did he say, Emily?” His voice dips, coaxing for answers I don’t have.

“None. I swear.” I wish I had the pieces he needs to let me go. To let me go back to a world where I’m in my bubble, blissfully ignorant of this part of Papa’s life. I don’t want to live in a world where bad things happen to good people.

His fingertips trace my cheek, outlining the bruise from Papa’s hand. “Who hit you?”

I keep my eyes closed, forcing down the knot in my throat. “My father.”

Circling the tender flesh, his skin warms mine. “Why?”

I ignore the stinging behind my closed lids, the warning that tears are on the horizon. “I got mouthy in front of one of his men.”

A husky laugh rumbles through him. “Imagine that.”

Hot. Cold. Hot. Cold. This man is a thermostat on the fritz, and I want no parts of it.

“I’ve seen men killed for hitting a girl.” His weight shifts, easing off of my hips. He leans into the mattress, his upper body hovering over mine. Heat comes off him like a furnace, penetrating the blanket and sleeping bag between us. “Tell me about Oscar.”

This new position feels dirty rather than scary, and despite the yo-yoing of his mood, I don’t mind it at all. I like the hum that buzzes through me. The sudden spike of electricity between my legs. It’s a reminder that I’m alive. Still breathing. Still fighting. “He’s some guy that works the door at Down Under—Rachel’s flavor of the week. Nice guy. Freckles.”

His fingers find my hair, sinking in the waves. “Did you know him before that night?”

“No.” I keep my eyes closed, leaning into his touch. If I don’t look, I can pretend this isn’t absolutely fucking insane. I can pretend he’s someone else and enjoy this closeness. The conversation. “I didn’t see him other than at the door.”

His hands drop from my hair to the buttons of my shirt. His shirt.

My heart practically beats out of my chest, and I know if he unhooks a button, I’m done for. I’ll let him touch me and hate myself forever. But I want him to. I want him to make me feel alive.

He thumbs the button for a moment before rolling off of me, taking his heat with him. “It’s a goddamn shame you’re a Giambelli.”

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