Page 80 of Mason

“It’s okay,” I breathe, shooting from the hip. “You can make it up to me next time.”

He clears his throat, which isn’t the answer I expect, and pushes to stand. “Come on. We need to get you dressed and back in your cage before your father removes my balls and uses them for a hood ornament.”

This man might be the death of me. Not physically by his own hand, but of complete and utter frustration.

I sit up, ready to rip him a new one. “Seriously?”

But in typical Mason fashion, he’s already out of reach, moving toward the door. “Don’t be a brat. I’ve far exceeded my original promise of five minutes.”

“Did you seriously just call me a brat?”

If Papa doesn’t take his balls, I might.

“You’re acting like one.” He tosses the reply over his shoulder like a hand grenade, and I’m left storming after him to hurl one back, though he shuts the bathroom door and locks it before I can force an apology out of him.

I refuse to argue through a door, so I head to the living room and begin dressing, pulling on every piece of clothing more angrily than the last.

He strolls into the room naked when I’m sliding my feet back into my slippers. His semi-hard penis bobs with every step, now clean and condom-free.

He’s about to restart his campaign of taunts when his phone rings from its spot on the couch, pulling his attention from me to the Bad Boys ringtone. He answers, planting a hand on his bare hip, his erection still hanging in the wind. “Anthony.”

I don’t know whether to laugh at his ringtone or burst into tears. I’m not ready to leave. Not yet.

“Yes, she just got here. No, I didn’t know about it. And yes, I can bring her to you now.” He talks about me like a deliverable. A package shipped to the wrong address.

I wring my hands, eyeing the front door and flirting with making a run for it, but Mason catches my gaze and steps in my path. I don’t doubt for a second that he’ll tackle me, nude or not.

He doesn’t look all that happy at whatever Papa’s rattling off, delivering rapid fire yeses before disconnecting with a quick, “Understood.”

“Don’t even think about it. I’m bigger and faster. Not to mention I can run, unlike you in those slippers.” He sets his phone on an end table, nestling it beside a picture of him and his brothers.

“My father’s ringtone is the Cops theme song?” I ask, pushing aside the rush of sadness. I can’t imagine what he’s gone through over the last few weeks.

He fires off a wolfish grin. “If the shoe fits…”

I cross my arms over my chest protectively, trying to ignore the rain clouds on the horizon. “Coming from you, that’s rich. I’m assuming he wants my head on a plate?” I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t install a tracker around my neck like a dog after this latest move.

He slides his boxers on, stuffing the monster between his legs back into its lair. “Based on that little exchange, you’re lucky you’re his daughter. Otherwise, you might not live to see the ball drop at midnight.”

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