Page 58 of Mason

Inside, a man lays in a lump of straw on the floor, his bloodied hands clutching at his abdomen. His red hair drips with sweat despite the November air, his face so smeared with blood that I almost miss the freckles. A lot of fucking freckles. On his nose. His cheeks. His forehead. Even his ears.

He screams when he sees us. Screams like we’re coming to finish him with an ax. “Please, sir! I told you! I don’t know where she is!”

Fuck. Dixon didn’t have to do this. This kid is harmless. He’s short. Thin. Barely twenty-five by the looks of him. I can’t take much more of this shit. This isn’t how we operate.

“Who the fuck is this?” I cock my head, keeping my distance so the redhead doesn’t leak on me.

Dixon nods his okay, and the man’s lips tremble before he speaks, his breathing strained. “Oscar.”

I ignore the heat in the pit of my stomach and the instinct to put this poor son of a bitch out of his misery. “The Oscar from Down Under?” The one who disappeared with Rachel after Spencer’s funeral. The one Dixon thought someone kidnapped. Well, here he is. Bleeding. Dying. Lost and found.

“I didn’t hurt her. I swear. I told Anthony everything. She vanished. Rachel and I…” He shatters, dissolving into high-pitched sobs. “You didn’t have to hurt Rachel.”

I look to Dixon, who’s propped himself against the wall of the barn, frowning. “What the fuck is he talking about?”

“Rachel. Emily’s friend. He says someone killed her.”

The news sinks into my chest like a blade. The friend Emily asked me about. The one I insisted was safe. She’s dead.

“He killed her!” Oscar accuses, pointing his blood-soaked finger at me. “Shot her in the head and threw her in the garbage like trash!”

“I didn’t fucking kill her!” I take a step toward the bloody bastard, furious he’d lie on his deathbed. Did no one have honor anymore?

Oscar’s not done, clutching his side and hollering like it’ll make the words he says come true. “You shot me like you shot her!”

Dixon pushes off the wall and stops me before I can grab the bastard and give him a shake. “Where’s Grady?”

Fuck Grady. He doesn’t matter. All I can focus on is Emily finding out her friend is dead when I said she was fine. I can’t tell her. It’ll destroy her.

I cross my arms, suppressing the urge to shove Dix aside and punch the lying motherfucker in the mouth. No wonder someone shot him. “He was at the docks the last I saw him. I left him there this morning and went to check on Emily. I was on my way back into town when you called.”

Never mind the part where I shoved my tongue in her mouth and felt her pussy rubbing on my cock. Or that I was fully prepared to fuck her on the cabin floor if it weren’t for her handcuffs.

“She’s alive?” Oscar chokes out, looking over at me with wide eyes.

Oops. The guy is halfway to death, anyway, so I nod. Might as well answer his dying questions.

“Grady shot him,” Dixon informs, flicking his head toward Oscar. “Dumped on Giambelli turf. I got a call and picked him up with the girl’s body before Anthony got to them, and you’re fucking lucky I did. Grady is out of line, Mason. Explain, or shit is going to get ugly. I trusted you.”

I stare at Oscar; the life draining out of him with every breath. Grady did this? “Why would Grady shoot him?” If he was a Giambelli crew member, I’d understand, but he’s a little redhead. A bouncer at a bar. And Rachel… I can’t fathom that. Grady wouldn’t kill a woman.

“You tell me,” Dixon pushes. He isn’t fucking around. Grady really shot this kid. He shot the girl. He dumped them both on Giambelli turf. And I don’t know why.

“We need to take him to a hospital.” I swallow the shame, studying the man who’s nearly dead because of my brother. The person I’m supposed to know better than anyone. “I didn’t know about this. I swear, Dixon.”

Dixon shakes his head, and I meet hard eyes. The ones everyone else sees. “Oscar’s a dead man there, Mason. Just like, what did you call her? Emily? What’d you do? Choke the life out of her today after sweetening her up and getting chatty? Was this your plan all along? Or has she been dead this entire fucking time?”

“She’s at the cabin. I brought her chicken piccata and firewood.” It sounds stupid when I say it out loud, but it’s the truth.

The bizarre answer throws Dix off, who shakes his head. “What? Why?”

“That’s a headache we can talk about over a beer another time.” It’s not important given his update. Hell, she could be pregnant with my kid and it wouldn’t stack up against this shit. “Why would Grady shoot them?”

Grady isn’t someone that runs around collecting bodies. He collects bottles of booze and notches in his belt. The junkie was one thing; he claimed he was babbling about Spencer and the Giambellis.

“He’s your brother! You’re supposed to know him!” Dixon runs an exasperated hand through his hair, the tumble of darkness standing every which way.

“He wants to know where Emily is,” Oscar grunts, his breaths coming in short, pained bursts. “He was so damn mad that we didn’t know.”

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