Page 107 of 12 Months of Mayhem

Mason’s expression shifted, his features sharpening like a blade, his tone a low rasp that cut through the silence like the rumble of distant thunder. “Because you hurt me?” The sound was almost a growl, but it wasn’t anger—it was something deeper and darker.

Something that made the hair on my arms stand on end, that made my heart feel like it had been tied in knots.

I felt the weight of it, like the air before a lightning strike.

With every second that passed, it became more charged.

More dangerous.

And when it struck, it wasn’t going to spare anyone.

“You didn’t hurt me,” Mason snarled, each word punctuated like a punch. “You betrayed me. You turned your fucking back. You let me rot!”

His anger hit me hard, knocking the wind out of me and forcing me to step back as if I’d been physically shoved. I thought the night I left and the choice I made—one I had believed would protect us both—was all I could do at the time to keep him and me alive and in one piece.

But instead, I’d fractured our relationship.

Shattering it into pieces.

“You don’t understand,” I whispered, the tough façade I’d been trying to maintain falling apart. “It was the only option I had.”

Mason’s eyes darkened, the storm finally breaking through the clouds. He took a step forward, the space between us shrinking. “How was planting drugs in my truck and having me sent to jail the only option you had?”

The weight of his words pressed into me, and for the first time since I left, I felt like I was standing on the edge of something I couldn’t control.

There was no running now.

No hiding from the truth.

If we were going to get through this, we’d have to face the storm, and it was already here.

“Because I saw the man who killed your father.”

CHAPTER NINE

Calli

Eighteen Years Old

Mason pressed against me, trapping my body between his and the cold steel door of his truck. If it wasn’t for Mason, this part of Kingston City would have scared the shit out of me. Old buildings and brick factories—some still in use, while others hadn’t seen workers in years. And on top of that, none of the streetlights worked—but that was the appeal.

It was a place we could hide in the darkness.

A place where we weren’t constantly looking over our shoulders, but instead, could just focus on each other. Though even then, there was still a sense of urgency between us, his hands gripping my waist and his mouth devouring mine like he was trying to make up for all the time we didn’t have.

A week.

That’s all we ever got.

Every year, we met at Scorch, pretending like it was enough and that it didn’t tear us both apart every time the season ended, and we had to head back home.

“This shit drives me crazy,” he muttered, his breath warm against my skin as he dragged his mouth along my jaw. “Having to wait a whole goddamn year just to touch you is fucking torture.”

I tangled my fingers in his hair. It was longer than last year, by a few inches at least, and I managed to get a tight grip on it. “So don’t stop.”

He let out a low, rough laugh, his hands sliding lower, gripping me like he was afraid I’d disappear if he let go. “Baby, all I’ve though about for the last fucking three hundred and sixty-five days is you. Your smile. Your laugh. The way you fucking moan my name when I’m buried deep inside you.”

Last year at Scorch was the year things had changed.

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