Page 26 of Mason

"Go!" I answer.

Walker's crew comes at us hard. But we're Iron Reapers, we never back down.

"Push 'em back!" My command cuts through the din, my bike an extension of my will as I weave through the chaos. A fist connects with a jaw, bone meeting knuckle in a satisfying crunch. Around me, my brothers fight with the same ferocity that pumps through my veins—this isn't just our territory, it's home.

"Pres, watch your six!" A voice warns, and I duck just in time as a pipe swings where my head just was. I kick out, sending a Viper spiraling into the fray. We're in it now, no turning back.

But even as we trade blows, I see it—the cost. A brother goes down, his bike skidding out from under him, flames high into the night sky. The Vipers pay too, one of their own caught beneath a Harley, motionless.

"Damn it," I mutter, driving my bike forward. These are lives—men with families. But the thought gets buried under the next wave of attackers and my survival instincts take over.

"Mason!" Carlie's voice echoes in my skull, her face flashing before my eyes—a reminder of what I'm fighting for.

"Stay alive," I whisper, more a vow than a prayer. The battle rages on, each side giving as good as they get. But when the dust settles, we'll still stand. Because we're Iron Reapers, and we ride through hell for each other.

I lose sight of Walker, and his men must also because one by one, they tuck tail and ride out. Not knowing where they’re going, I gather my men and tell them to head to the clubhouse. I’ll be there, but I have somewhere to be first.

I'm tearing down the road to Carlie's place, each mile ticking by slower than the last. I can't shake the image of her, alone and vulnerable. My gut is twisted up, knotted with the kind of fear that has nothing to do with cops or rival clubs. It's about her. Always about her now.

The closer I get, the louder the demons in my head scream. What if Walker got to her first? What if I'm too late? There’s no way I can live with that. Not when it's Carlie we're talking about.

Pulling up outside her house, my heart's hammering against my ribcage. I cut the engine, silence slamming into me hard. This is it. Judgment time. Just gotta hope I'm not about to find my world shattered at my feet.

FIFTEEN

CARLIE

Peering through my curtains,I see his bike roll up. That familiar rumble sends a shiver right through me. He's here. Finally. My chest is tight, heart racing like it's trying to beat right out of my skin. Been counting seconds since he called and told me he was on his way.

"Come on, Mason," I whisper to myself, willing him to hurry.

I've been stuck in this limbo, swinging between hope and dread. Every creak of the house, every gust of wind against the window pane had me jumping, thinking maybe it was him—or worse, someone else. But now, it's really him. The man who's turned my life upside down with just one look, one touch.

The front porch light throws a halo around his figure as he strides up the walkway. I can't help the flutter in my belly, the surge of something fierce and sweet that drowns out the worry. At least for a heartbeat. Then it crashes back—hard. Because I know that look in his eye, the set of his jaw. Mason Blackstone’s got something heavy on his mind, and it's got nothing to do with a sunset ride or a quiet night in.

"Mason," I breathe out, hand already on the doorknob. Gotta remind myself to stay strong, no matter what he's come to say. This isn't just about me anymore. It's about us.

MASON

The door swings open before my knuckles even graze the door. Carlie’s there, a storm of blonde curls and wide, hopeful eyes that don't miss a beat. She launches herself at me, arms thrown around my neck, and I'm swallowed up by the scent of her.

"Mason," she breathes, lips crashing against mine with a fierce urgency.

I'm frozen for a heartbeat, caught in the crossfire of what I want and what I gotta do. Her mouth is fire and comfort all at once, branding me with every desperate kiss. I should push her away, make a clean break before the chaos in my life burns her too. But damn, my body's got other ideas, answering the call of her touch, the softness of her curves pressed hard against my leather-clad chest.

"Darlin'," I manage to grunt out, voice rough as gravel, hands hovering over the silken curve of her waist. "Carlie, we—"

"Shh," she cuts me off, fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me closer if that's even possible. She's all in, no hesitation, no holding back. And it kills me, because I'm here to put an end to whatever crazy, beautiful thing we got going.

"Stop thinking," she whispers against my lips, sensing the war raging inside me. "Just be here with me, Mason. Please."

Her plea's a siren song, luring me into the wreckage. I’m Pres, the man who leads with his gut, rides hard, lives fast. Butright now, I'm just Mason – divided, conquered by this woman who sees past the ink and steel.

"Damn it, Carlie," I growl out. My lips find hers again, but it's a bittersweet symphony playing on borrowed time. I'm burning down our last bridge, and she doesn't even know it yet.

The heat of her skin seeps through the fabric of my cut, but there’s a cold dread twisting in my gut. I pull back, just enough to catch her eyes, deep pools of blue that don't deserve what’s about to happen.

"Carlie, we need to talk," I say, my voice thick with regret.

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