Page 24 of Mason

Carlie’s pissed, and I can’t even blame her. She’s thinking about the risk, about the bodies left behind in Walker’s wake, and about what happens if he comes for me next. I get it. But this is the club. This is my life. You don’t just walk away when shit gets real. But now, she’s looking at me like I’m the one choosing danger over her, like I’m blind to how close this all is to falling apart. And the truth is, I’m not sure how to make her understand that standing by the club is standing byus, even when the Vipers are out there hunting us down.

"Damn it, Carlie! You just don't get it, do you?" My voice ricochets off the garage walls, frustration boiling in my gut. I can smell the oil and gasoline, a scent as familiar as my own skin, but right now, they're just fuel to the fire burning inside me.

"Get it? Mason, I get that your club is your life, but you can’t be blind to the risks," she fires back, hands on her hips, blonde curls bouncing with every jolt of righteous anger. Yeah, she’s beautiful when she's fired up, but hell if that makes this any easier.

"It’s not about being blind, babe. It's about standing by my brothers, no matter what." The words come out gruff, edged with the steel of my resolve.

"Your brothers? What about us, Mason?" her voice is louder than I expect it to be, echoing against the cold metal of the bikes lined up like steel horses. "If Walker hits you guys hard, it's not just the members who pay the price. Have you thought about that?"

"Every damn day," I growl.

Then the world tilts as Dagger bursts through the door. "Pres, it's Walker. He's rallying for a full-scale hit—soon."

"Shit." The single syllable is a grenade in the still air, blowing up whatever false sense of peace we had. My heart's a hammer in my chest, pounding out a rhythm of war.

"Mason, please—" Carlie starts, but I cut her off with a raised hand.

"Enough, Carlie. I gotta gear up for this. Can't let Walker and his boys think they got us by the balls." I turn to Dagger, "Get the boys ready. We're rolling out deep."

I can see Carlie's lips part, words forming, but I'm already moving, mind racing faster than any bike I've ever ridden. This isn't just about love or loyalty, it's survival, pure and simple.

"Be safe," she whispers, but her voice is drowned out by the roar of engines firing to life as we prepare for war.

I'm pacing, a caged beast in the dim light of the clubhouse. The walls close in, and I can feel the weight of my patch heavy on my back. It's the lives of my brothers, the legacy of the Iron Reapers.

"Mason," Carlie's voice cuts through the din of my thoughts, sharp and clear. "You need to focus on the club now. I'll be okay."

Her words are like steel wrapped in velvet, strong yet soothing. I stop mid-stride, facing her. She's standing firm, those blonde curls defiant against the backdrop of chaos.

"Damn it, Carlie, you know it isn’t that simple," I argue, but even as I speak, I see the unyielding resolve in her eyes.

"Love can wait, survival can't." She steps closer, her hand finding mine, squeezing tight.

CARLIE

He’s torn, I can see it—the man who commands respect with a look now searching for answers in my gaze. But this is bigger than us. I can’t let him break under the pressure, not when the club is counting on him.

"Your brothers need you. You've always put them first, don't doubt yourself now," I coax. "And I'll be right here when the dust settles."

His grip tightens, his tattooed knuckles white. "Carlie, baby—" There's a plea in his voice, the Pres persona slipping away to reveal the man beneath.

"Go," I urge, pressing a quick, fierce kiss to his lips. "Show Walker what happens when he messes with the Iron Reapers."

MASON

Her kiss is a spark, igniting the fire I need to lead my men. Still, it damn near kills me to step back, to tear myself away from her warmth. But she's right. Always has been.

"Alright," I concede, voice gravelly with conflict. "But if anything—"

"Nothing will happen to me," she interrupts, conviction lacing her tone. "Focus on your war, Mason. Win it."

I nod, feeling the president's mantle settle back onto my shoulders. She gives me one last look, a silent promise, beforeturning away. And I watch her go, every fiber in my body screaming to follow, to shield her from the world.

But she’s given me no choice. With a roar trapped in my chest, I turn to face my brothers, my family by choice, gearing up for the fight of our lives. Carlie's strength flows through me—a beacon in the night, guiding me through the storm ahead.

The clubhouse reeks of sweat and gasoline, the air thick with tension. My family, my club—all eyes on me as I lay out the plan. The map on the table's a mess of scrawled lines and Xs, territories marked, escape routes plotted. Every man's ready to bleed for the patch on their back.

"Lockdown at 2200 hours," I bark, my voice slicing through the murmurs. "The Vipers won't find an inch to exploit."

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