Page 61 of Mason

Another thud forces the decrepit frame to give way, the handle functioning more like a hinge now as the door drunkenly swings inward and debris falls to the floor. A boot crunches over the broken splinters, and a man steps in with a gun drawn. Mason.

His hair twists in a thicket of golden waves, messier than I’ve ever seen it. He’s changed clothes too, no longer wearing his James Dean number, switching to a flannel and brown work pants. There’s a faint diagonal line crossing his lips, too.

“Holy hell, you scared me!” My heart’s going a mile a minute, threatening to leap out of my chest. “What was all that about?”

“Emily Rose?” His head jerks to me, his eyes squinting. They lack warmth, replaced with an unsettling chill, and for the first time since we met, I feel nothing when he looks at me.

So, we’re back to this again. I was hoping he only called me by my full name out of anger, but that seems like a big, fat nope.

I ease up my grip on the log. “Why didn’t you use your key?”

He ignores the question, lunging at me with a hand outstretched, the other still clutching his gun. I dodge him, stepping back into the bathroom, and he frowns. “Put the log down. We need to go. Your dad’s waiting.”

The overwhelming scent of cigarettes follows him, invading the bathroom. Something is wrong. My legs flinch with the urge to run, my mouth going bone dry. Mason doesn’t smoke. He all but said he hates smoking.

I study the man. His wild hair. Injured lips. Jagged movements as he reaches toward me again, and once again I dip out of range, circling the bathroom with him like a fighting ring. He may look like Mason, but this isn’t Mason.

“Where is he?” I ask, trying to stall. If I can just get to the door, I can run. He can’t get a clear shot if I weave. Game of Thrones taught me that much.

“In the car; come on. We don’t have time for this shit.”

Nearing the bathroom door in our square off, the gap to get away closes rapidly. He’s stalking me, moving with heavy, purposeful steps. It’s now or never. If he gets ahold of me, I’ll never get away.

I springboard the log at his face, and it connects with a sickening thump. He grunts and curses, grabbing at his nose, giving me the chance to sprint through the bathroom door.

If I can make it outside, I’m free.

A loud boom behind me sends my heart plummeting. A bullet screams by, grazing my shoulder, and blazing heat erupts across the skin.

But I don’t stop. I can’t stop. I’m almost to the cabin’s broken front door when another shot rings out. My left leg collapses from under me, a hit to the calf sending me to my knees. It takes a second for the pain to hit, a piercing burn that almost immediately throbs.

I’m shot. The reality brings a tidal wave of nausea and a fear that cuts to my core. He’s going to kill me.

I try to stand, but the leg gives way, and I fall to the plank floor again on my hands and knees.

“Wrong move, bitch!”

He thunders over, landing a vicious kick to my side. I’m nothing against it, the impact forcing me to the floor with a yelp. He delivers two more in rapid succession, leaving me coughing and gasping for breath.

He hooks his boot under my elbow and flips me to my back, giving me no choice but to look up at him. To look at what I’ve done. His nose leaks blood, a fat drop landing on my cheek.

“You got some fight in you, huh?”

I can’t answer. He’s knocked wind out of me, and no matter how much I sputter, I can’t seem to get any air.

He leans in for a good look at me, smirking as his blood falls to my skin in steady drips. “I know why Mason saved you. He wanted to fuck a piece of Giambelli. The valuable piece. You’re not a dog like your sister.”

I don’t particularly care for Anna, but I’m tempted to spit in his face. I might as well. I’m done for. My calf pulses, the wet heat of blood soaking through the fabric of my legging. I can’t run. I can’t even put weight on it.

“He’s a selfish fuck. Who doesn’t share with their brother?” He waves his gun around like he’s conducting an orchestra rather than standing over someone he put a bullet in.

The information overload floods my mind, my skin dotting with goosebumps. This monster is Mason’s brother?

“Get on the bed,” he orders, nudging at my hip with his boot. “Now.”

“I can’t walk,” I choke out, every breath excruciating. Even if I could, I wouldn’t go anywhere near the cot. I’m not going out of this world like that. He might as well shoot me dead now.

“Crawl.” He aims the gun at my face.

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