Page 64 of Mason

“We can go for a walk,” I plead, eyeing him in the gun’s sights. “We can talk about this and work out what we’re going to do next. We can go to Vegas. Maybe LA. Far away from here.”

He’s unmoved, keeping his weapon trained on me. “What I’m going to do next, you mean?”

“Why are you hurting her?” I ask, switching gears. He’s furious at me, but maybe somewhere in there he has a sliver of Mom. A pin drop of humanity. “She has nothing to do with this. Deliver her unharmed to Anthony and take the money. You don’t need to torture her.”

“Because she’s important to you.” His answer is simple and devastatingly accurate.

“She’s a job,” I lie. “A means to finding out what happened to Spencer.”

Now that he’s barreled in like a fucking hurricane, I doubt that’ll ever happen. If Giambelli had anything to do with Spencer’s murder, no one will care now. Not after Grady battered his daughter to hell and back and I held her captive. Our sins outweigh his.

He laughs, and the chuckles flat line into a groan. “Spencer, Spencer, fucking Spencer! Jesus Christ, you’d think the man was a hero! Everyone couldn’t wait for the Messiah to take over for Thomas! Plot fucking twist, he didn’t! He would’ve run us further into the ground!”

Ignoring the insults, I take a shaky breath. He’s manic, rambling. Probably out of his fucking mind on adrenaline. He always shorts under pressure. “This isn’t how we get back at Giambelli, Grady. He killed Spencer. You said so yourself. This is giving him what he wants. He’s tearing our family apart from the inside out.”

“Anthony didn’t kill him, you stupid fuck. He was too busy snorting blow and fucking Kozlov-supplied cunts to give a rat’s ass about us. I emptied a clip into that smug motherfucker. Now I don’t have to hear him piss and moan and walk around like God’s gift to humanity. The world’s a better place without him wasting oxygen.”

The truth is worse than fiction. Worse than any fucked up explanation I cooked up on the way over here, trying to brush off Grady’s antics as grief. “You killed him because you were jealous?”

Wrong answer.

He fires again, but he telegraphs it with a jerk, so dipping to the side avoids a direct hit. Instead, the bullet skims my jaw with blistering heat, but mine lands.

Grady clutches at the center of his green flannel as blood turns the fabric a deep crimson, dropping his gun to the floor and swaying. Heart shot. He releases Emily’s hair, staggering and looking at me with wide, terrified eyes.

Emily lunges for the gun, cradling it in her bound hands as she rolls toward the cot. I don’t care that she may shoot me. I’ll take the punishment I deserve. I’m already dead inside.

“I’m sorry,” I say, directing it at no one in particular.

I am sorry.

For everything.

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