Page 59 of Mason

“He wants Anthony’s reward,” I say, the truth dawning on me.

Two million dollars.

Two million reasons to shoot this kid.

Two million reasons to kill Rachel. A woman. An innocent.

He’s said it himself. Said it in front of our men. Practically shouted it from the rooftops, and I didn’t listen. This isn’t about Spencer. He sees a payout. A parachute to a life of drinking and fucking with Giambelli footing the bill. No wonder he doesn’t care about fucking up at the docks. He knows he won’t be around to clean it up.

“He kept asking who tipped her off,” Oscar rasps, rolling his head back against the ground in agony.

My blood runs cold. “Tipped who off?”

“Emily!” Oscar spits out, gritting his teeth. “A guard was supposed to kill her at the house, but she snuck out that night to Down Under.”

And saved her life in the process. Emily Giambelli’s got more than nine lives. That little spitfire cheats death better than anyone I know. And right now, I feel like a stranger to everyone.

“How do you know all this?” I’ll put a bullet in his head if he was part of it. I’m done fucking around. This isn’t a game.

“Giambelli’s guy was there when your brother shot me!” Oscar lingers over brother like I’m full of shit. “Beat the shit out of us all week till your brother killed Rachel and shot me. I had to play dead with my girl’s corpse, man.”

What if one of my fuckhead sons took matters into his own hands without having all the facts first? Dad was right. He just had the wrong son in accusing me.

Dixon takes a deep breath before looking at me again. “Where’s Grady now?”

I glance at my watch. It’s five-thirty, and he isn’t hard to pin down. “At the docks or at a bar.”

“Either you and Thomas handle him,” Dixon begins, stuffing a hand in his pocket for his phone. “Or I do.”

Handle him. He might as well say it. We’re all thinking it. You don’t kill an innocent. And definitely not a woman. The rules are clear. So is the punishment.

I push aside the waterfall of questions. The ones demanding to know why. How I missed any of this. There isn’t time to play.

“I’ll head to the house to meet with Dad,” I say, the hollowness to my voice matching the void in my chest. Hopefully, Dad’s sober for once. “Can you call in a doctor for Oscar?”

The kid shouldn’t die. Marked or not, he has a right to live.

Dixon steps toward the door. “One is headed here now. You better get going.”

The sun is gone as we head back out onto the gravel, the rural setting leaving the surrounding hilled pasture pitch black. The wind provides a gentle reminder of what’s out there with a hefty wafting of cow shit.

“So you’ll retire out here?” I ask, taking in the serenity. The quiet. The calm. It’s a lot like the Dixon I know when he’s not slitting throats. It’s a fitting place for him to hang up his gun. He’s earned it, taking care of everyone else’s dirty work for the past few years.

“Soon.” He sets a hand on my shoulder, giving a comforting squeeze. “You and Mom will always be welcome.”

“I might take you up on that.”

“Mason…” He releases my shoulder, rushing toward my SUV. I can barely make him out in the glow from the barn, but the gravel crunches as if he’s kicking around. “You have a fucking tracking device on your car.”

I pull my phone from my pocket, flipping the flashlight on. The beam hits Dixon, who’s crouching by the passenger wheel well, his arm extended inside. He slips it free after rifling around, a small black device clutched in his fingers. A red blinking light peeks between his thumb and index finger. “The light reflected off your rim. Where did you park before coming here?”

“I came straight from the cabin. Someone must’ve placed it at the docks.” That someone is Grady. I know it in my bones. My feet carry me in a haze to the driver’s side of my vehicle. It’s automatic. My body knows where it's going. Instinct kicks in. Protect what’s mine.

Dixon does, too. “Get there, now. I’ll be on my way behind you once the doctor grabs Oscar. He isn’t safe here.” He throws the device to the gravel and yanks a Ruger from his waistband, firing two shots into it that send sparks flying.

“Where Rach-”

“With a friend for storage,” he answers glumly, cutting me off. “She deserves a burial with her family.”

I slip my phone back in my pocket, my skin humming in panic as I pull the door wide.

I’m two hours from the cabin. Grady might be there now.

I failed Emily.

I led the wolves straight to her.

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